Ethnic Foods

"Chitlin Capital of the World" proclaims the town limits sign here. Atop the sign is a figure of a large pig. Because of chitlins, or chitterlings as they are also called, this sleepy little South Carolina town, population 584, boasts the lowest taxes in the state, minimal utility bills and excellent municipal services. "Our property taxes haven't increased in 24 years," bragged Mayor E. W. (Pete) Clamp, 76. "Our trash and garbage pickup is free. We pay $3.

For 25 years, the Lucky K.T. Noodle Factory in El Monte has been making fresh rice noodles for hundreds of Asian restaurants and supermarkets in Los Angeles and around the country. But a state law requiring manufacturers to refrigerate the pasta instead of allowing it to be stored at room temperature threatens to alter a long-held Asian tradition, said factory owner Tom Thong. "The health inspectors don't understand our culture," said Thong, 53. "We've been eating it this way for thousands of years and we've never had a problem.

Italian sausage and flan aren't threatening frankfurters and apple pie as yet, but Americans seem to be increasingly willing to experiment in their diets. Members of the post-World War II baby boom generation are leading the revolution in food tastes. Contributing to the nation's changing diet are the trend toward smaller households and an increase in the median age, both of which tend to lead to increased use of restaurants and prepared foods.

The turtle tank at Nam Hoa Fish Market is empty, but not to worry: The manager of this bustling Chinatown store says he has plenty in back. "Big ones," he says, spreading his hands as wide as a Christmas turkey. He nods to a worker, who slides a large, waxed-cardboard box from a stack behind the counter and strips off the lid. Inside is a squirming burlap bag, from which he dumps two 15-pound softshell turtles that hit the concrete with a clop, then flail helplessly on their backs.

Sitting in his sleek Melrose Avenue restaurant, Tommy Tang piles pieces of curried chicken, meekrob noodles and sprigs of fresh mint onto a bed of romaine lettuce, rolls it and dips it into a vinaigrette sauce. "If you eat Thai food every day, you automatically lose weight," says the chef and restaurateur in between bites. "I can eat like a pig and never gain weight."

What does an Israeli woman married to a Chinese man buy in a Japanese supermarket in Mar Vista? Would you believe, chocolate covered macadamia nuts from Hawaii? That, at least, was one item in Rachel Chung's basket as she headed toward the checkout stand recently at Yaohan market. Two Fuji apples and a chocolate-filled sponge cake from a Japanese bakery filled out her order. "We like to try new things," said Chung, who owns a shop called the "Flower Connection" in Gardena.

Ethnic food lovers have been bombarded with so much bad news lately, can a support group and 800 line be far behind? Chinese, Italian and now Mexican restaurant meals have all been skewered as unhealthy in recent surveys by researchers from the Center for Science in the Public Interest, the same spoilsports who bad-mouthed movie-theater popcorn. In the latest study, released last week by the Washington, D.C.-based consumer organization, chiles rellenos took the heat.

When Dada Ngo opened a Cajun-style crayfish restaurant in the heart of Orange County's Vietnamese enclave, she worried whether it would survive. Crayfish was popular fare along the Gulf Coast where she had lived, but the red-clawed crustaceans were alien to most West Coast Vietnamese diners. Some thought crayfish were fish. They were intimidated when what looked like tiny lobsters were brought from the kitchen in steaming plastic bags and dumped on the table.

It is just a variation on fermented cabbage, garlic and chile peppers, but Asians are scooping up record amounts of kimchi, hoping Korea's national dish is really a wonder drug. Southeast Asians are stocking up on it. China has embraced it. And South Koreans, who already eat it with every meal, are buying even more than usual amid hope that word of its curative powers will boost national fame, culture and fortune overseas.

ALTHOUGH I've stopped into this bakery on a whim, the sweet breads and pastries at Panaderia Antequera in Santa Monica are so appealing I can't buy just one or two but leave with a sackful. Then, on my way to the car, the aromas of yeast, cinnamon and anise wafting from the sugar-topped sweet rolls, flaky puff pastries and golden brown fruit-filled empanadas overwhelm me. I can't wait till I get home: I bite into one before I even get the car door open. I admit it.

Growing up in a Native American community in Oregon, Jack Strong ate a lot of canned meat and processed cheese, handouts from the Department of Agriculture. Strong wasn't exposed to most traditional Native American foods until two years ago, when he began working as the chef de cuisine at Kai, the AAA five-diamond restaurant at the Sheraton Wild Horse Pass Resort in Chandler, Ariz. Now he cooks with as many native ingredients as possible, including plenty of beans, corn and cactus.

You hear it from a block away: an amplified, singsong call with an uncanny power to slice through the urban din. The tone is cheap and tinny -- as kitschy as a sound can be. And it's my favorite in Mexico City. Listen now, as it nears, the nasal-toned male voice stretching out syllables and pauses, again and again, into a verse so familiar it could be the unofficial anthem of this vast city, a kind of culinary call to prayer. "Ri-cos ta-ma-les oaxa-que-nos!"

THERE ARE two kinds of fusion cooking. The first kind is self-conscious about its fusion; it exists in order to cross boundaries. It loudly proclaims its own eclecticism with emblematic ingredients -- you know, like tuna sashimi tacos with pomegranate-tahini sauce. It's theatrical fusion. But in Southern California, there's another kind of fusion cooking. It's happening in homes when someone dips a tortilla chip into some hummus, and it's happening in small neighborhood restaurants and cafes.

When Dada Ngo opened a Cajun-style crayfish restaurant in the heart of Orange County's Vietnamese enclave, she worried whether it would survive. Crayfish was popular fare along the Gulf Coast where she had lived, but the red-clawed crustaceans were alien to most West Coast Vietnamese diners. Some thought crayfish were fish. They were intimidated when what looked like tiny lobsters were brought from the kitchen in steaming plastic bags and dumped on the table.

AS dragons run and dance down Bolsa Avenue in Westminster during this Saturday's Tet parade celebrating the lunar New Year, the restaurants of Little Saigon will be opening their doors to floods of revelers. Many of the thousands of Vietnamese Americans who throng to the district for the holiday carnivals, concerts and events will head for favorite places that cook the regional dishes they grew up eating.

Business couldn't have been better in the narrow shop where Hussain Ali Rasheed's three workers raced to keep up with the demand for Baghdad's most basic need. As lunchtime approached, a crowd of old men, women in black robes and children waving 1,000-dinar bills clamored for their daily khubz. Rasheed distributed the floppy disks of browned flatbread from a cloth-covered table and stuffed the bills he was given into a drawer.

People choose Italian food when eating out more than any other ethnic category, according to a survey by the National Restaurant Assn. Most popular ethnic foods by share of eating occasions: Italian: 25% Mexican: 18.7% Cantonese: 11.8% Other Chinese: 8.2% Tex-Mex: 7.5% Soul food: 5.7% German: 3.9% Cajun/Creole: 3.7 Greek: 2.7% Japanese: 2.3% French: 2.0% Other*: 8.5% * Scandinavian, Caribbean, Middle Eastern, Thai, Vietnamese, Japanese (sushi), Indian and Korean foods.

A mound of fragrant jasmine rice arrives at the table piled high with a montage of slivered green mango, sliced lemon grass, finely cut green beans, bean sprouts, cucumbers and shredded carrots and cabbage. It's sprinkled with julienned kaffir lime leaves, ground dried shrimp and chile powder and served with a small bowl of sweet-salty budu sauce and a wedge of lime.

believed her. I do have photographic evidence. More important, I have the memory of a unique experience that reminded me how colorful, diverse and, yes, educational street market foods are. Eating scorpions, say, exposes the adventurous traveler to a new taste and demonstrates that all food aesthetics are relative; it also reflects the historic fact that billions of humans have had to consume whatever's available. I began this adventure as a boy in Mexico.

The vendor selling churros, snacks of fried dough tossed with sugar and cinnamon, shouted to attract customers because no one was in line. Tortas were unpopular, mariscos even more so, and some vendors quickly changed their sales strategy to selling drinks, instead of just food, in Saturday afternoon's warmth.