RESTAURANTS : Twain Meet at Orange Blossom, but Never at Beijing

To Westernize or not to Westernize. That is the question.

Because of this nearly insoluble dilemma, many local Chinese restaurants are suffering an identity crisis. Most Chinese restaurant owners haven’t figured out our palates yet--and I wish they would stop trying. Generally, they would be better off simply doing what they know best: preparing their native dishes, and letting us choose from among them. It takes tremendous skill to be a successful impostor.

That’s why I was surprised to find Orange Blossom, a restaurant that proves my theory wrong. And it’s just down the same street in Orange from Beijing, a restaurant that sticks to its roots.

Beijing plays it straight, and does most of its trade at lunchtime. Orange Blossom is as manicured as any Chinese restaurant you’re ever likely to see, and opens only for dinner. One restaurant faces West, the other faces East.

Orange Blossom is owned by Andrew Wang, an urbane fellow with a taste for European appointments. He is reluctant to admit that his is merely a Chinese restaurant. “Orange Blossom is a Chinese Continental dinner house,” he says rather proudly. Looking around the room, I begin to get the picture.

First, it’s darker inside than any other Chinese restaurant in memory; the faint glow of candlelight illuminates tables that are draped in expensive cloth, just like a romantic French relais in a small country town. Then there is the strange choice of loud classical music, which was mostly Mozart and Brahms on my visit. Even after I asked the owner to turn down the volume, the sound still filled the room. I left with a stronger impression of the “Jupiter” Symphony than what I ate. Mozart is a tough act to follow.

Most of the preparations here are attractive and tasty, without the unfamiliar flavors and textures of more authentic dishes. What they lack in soul they make up for in tone and color, despite a cooking-class aura and a light touch with the spices. There is a separate “gourmet menu” with some traditional Chinese banquet dishes, but none is fashioned from things that Westerners don’t normally eat. Wang and his staff take no chances.

Egg rolls are the usual Cantonese-American variety, jammed full of celery, and waiting to be immersed in a candy-red sauce. Crab meat-and-cheese won tons (little pillows stuffed with a soft filling and deep-fried) make a better beginning, a spinoff of Trader Vic’s “crab Rangoon.” A little more crab and they would be absolutely divine.

Entrees are first-rate. A hot braised-shrimp plate, the most Chinese item of anything I tasted, was delightfully fresh-tasting, and dotted with flaked red pepper. Butterfly eggplant worked wonderfully as a cream cheese sandwich--substitute deep-fried eggplant for bread.

Since many adult Chinese have a lactase intolerance, you don’t find this dish on many Chinese menus. Minced pigeon in lettuce, a Chinese New Year’s dish, arrives already assembled with a mixture of minced meat, vegetables, rice noodles and a peanut sauce inside. It’s a completely customized interpretation, but manages to score anyhow.

Wang does about as good a job of second-guessing our palates as any Chinese restaurateur. And he’s careful to offer solicitous service and a small, well-thought-out wine list. I’d go back just for another bottle of the Milbara Chardonnay I had for $14.95, an Australian import that outperforms the domestic models in every way.

If I wanted real Chinese food, however, Beijing wouldn’t be a bad choice. It’s not as accomplished as Orange Blossom, but it doesn’t try to be. It looks like a Chinese restaurant, with temple-style woodwork, large bronze characters and good-luck flowerpots. But if you’re looking for intimacy, head back to Orange Blossom. Food, and lots of it, is what you’ll find here.

The restaurant, operated by Yeong and Lily Chao, a young Chinese-Korean couple from Seoul, has a menu full of home-style dishes that are just like what the Chaos would eat for dinner themselves. Egg rolls here are called spring rolls, but still are composed of the pork and cabbage that originally comprised the dish. Steamed and fried dumplings, sine qua non in any northern Chinese restaurant, are excellent here accompanied by a dark soy sauce. Spinach bean curd soup is light and nutritious.

On the bottom of the menu there is a note about altering spices to taste, and omitting MSG, sugar or salt from the dishes. I suggest you take them up on their offer. Many of the dishes I tasted did have MSG, and one in particular, dry braised beef, was as salty as a sailor. Beyond that I have no objections.

Mandarin chicken is terrific, lightly breaded in a vinegar sauce with garlic, chili and ginger. Twice-cooked pork, a fiery Szechuan specialty that has been boiled, and then pan-fried with vegetables, is worth eating twice. There are many, many other choices on what is an enormous menu.

The restaurant is much busier at lunch than dinner, perhaps because it is too generous with the lunch specials. Ranging from $3.25 to $4.25, lunches include soup, won ton, fried rice, spring rolls, an entree, and a wonderful dessert (glazed bananas), in addition to tea, fortune cookies, and almond cookies. There are 20 dishes to choose from, and the portions are enormous.

Whether you prefer Beijing or Orange Blossom will depend on your mood. Orange Blossom is more expensive than most Chinese restaurants, but inexpensive in relation to most dinner houses. Appetizers are $3.25 to $6, soups are $4.95 to $6.25, and main courses are $5.95 to $9.25 on the regular menu, and $9.95 to $28.95 on the gourmet menu.

Beijing is a bargain at lunch; dinners are moderately priced. Appetizers are $2.95 to $6.50, main dishes $4.50 to $12.50, and a special Peking duck is $24.

ORANGE BLOSSOM

3804 E. Chapman Ave., Orange.

Open daily from 4:30 p.m.

Visa, MasterCard.

(714) 633-1888.

BEIJING

2940 E. Chapman Ave., Orange

(714) 744-2491.

Open daily 11:30 a.m. to 10 p.m.

Visa, MasterCard.