Having lived in Houston for nearly two decades, I had grown accustomed to being able to get pretty much any ethnic food under the sun for the price of a short drive.

Five years ago, I moved from Houston to Gastonia, N.C., a small town outside Charlotte with one of the highest per capita ratios of good barbecue joints in the continental U.S. There was smoked pork, chicken and beef in abundance, but if my palate cried out for pad thai, Vietnamese pho or a good plate of sauerbraten, it was either drive into Charlotte or make it myself.

That is slowly changing, as urban flight brings more city dwellers with their varied tastes and (more importantly) platinum cards to my little suburb.

The ethnic cuisine most identified with Houston is, of course, Mexican food. More accurately, it’s Tex-Mex, that hybrid of Western frontier cooking, Southwestern spices and Mexican style that has spread across the U.S. like nacho cheese sauce on a white shirt.

One of the great culinary revelations of my younger life was that there is in fact a dramatic difference between Tex-Mex and Mexican food, and that in fact the cuisines of Mexico are every bit as varied as those in the U.S., with different states and regions being known for dishes and styles of cooking that use their own most abundant ingredients and native cooking methods.

Beyond that, for the intrepid culinary voyager, lay the foods of Latin and South America, a panoply of flavors and techniques that could keep even the hungriest of gourmands busy for a lifetime.

One of the first things I did upon hitting turf in Carolina was find out where I could get good chorizo, peppers, tortillas and the other necessities for making all my Mexican favorites at home. I was pleased to find that not only were those available in fair abundance, there were also some seriously good Mexican joints selling food that would be the pride of any Houston menu.

Two discoveries stand out on the culinary landscape of the area above all the rest.

Out in the town of Shelby, about halfway between Gastonia and the South Carolina border, is a restaurant called El Acapulco. At first glance, it looks like your typical Tex-Mex place with lots of red and green neon, Galavision on the big screen over the bar and the same tchotchkes on the wall that you find at every place that sells burritos between Newark and Seattle.

The bulk of the menu is, in fact, Tex-Mex, but careful perusal shows that the chef has slipped in some of his own comfort foods from home.

First to my eye was chilaquiles. If you’ve ever made a “dump” casserole, where you grab fairly random ingredients and dump them into a baking dish, you’ll recognize the theory here. Chilaquiles is basically a mixture of chicken, tortilla chips, queso fresco, chiles and tomatoes; although that recipe is open to an almost endless variety of alterations.

The way to tell you’re getting the real thing, however, is if it comes topped with a couple of fried eggs over easy. Once you mix that rich egg yolk into the dish and add a few shots of hot sauce, you’ll start thinking that your CPA job isn’t all it’s cracked up to be if it doesn’t let you have chilaquiles for lunch every day.

There were other finds, too, such as tortas made with roasted pork on bolillo rolls with a crust that was simply perfect and grilled meat platters that were redolent with the aromas of fresh spices and sizzling fat.

As great a find as El Acapulco was, it paled in comparison to one I made shortly before making the yearly holiday trip to Houston to take my sons to see both sets of grandparents.

In a nondescript building adorned only by a neon “open” sign and a few posters for local sporting events, Las Palmas restaurant hides in plain sight. I’d driven by it for three years, heading to and from the grocery store or day care, never having time to stop and find out why my food radar lit up like a Christmas tree every time I got close.

One rainy morning I took the boys to day care. I had many errands to run and chores to do and was burning off an excess vacation day. On the way home, I decided to fortify myself with whatever Las Palmas had in the way of a late breakfast.

For the uninitiated, breakfast is one of the greatest ways to experience the true character of any Latin or South American eatery. If they serve breakfast, the menu is sure to contain the favorites of all the cooks along with some traditional favorites.

In this case, I discovered that Las Palmas was a Colombian restaurant. I ordered the house breakfast, and sipped on a fantastic cup of coffee with steamed milk while I waited.

The plate arrived, and I was surprised the slim waitress was able to carry it without assistance. In the center were servings of rice and beans with two fried eggs atop the rice. At the top of the plate was a link of made-in-house chorizo with a small arepa (white corn cake) and a wedge of lime. To the left was a generous slab of grilled skirt steak. To the right was a bunch of freshly fried pork cracklings.

No, they didn't know what I do for a living. This was the regular breakfast plate. I saw three other men tuck into them while I was there. It seemed to be pretty much a guy thing, as the women were feasting more moderately.

There was not a single thing on the plate that wasn't done perfectly. The cracklings were salty and crunchy, the steak was tender and spicy, the chorizo, wrapped with arepa with lime juice squeezed on it, was a gourmet treat. Even the beans were excellent, with little bits of meat and a touch of heat.

Here in Gastonia, with less than 5 percent the population of Houston and 1,000 more miles between it and the southern border, I had found the best "ethnic" breakfast I'd ever had.

As with all these little travelogues, my purpose is to get you to head out into your own communities and find those hidden places. Find the nondescript, out-of-the-way eateries where the prices are reasonable and the food is cooked according to an actual recipe, not a corporate formulation.

Make a vow: Before you go to another chain restaurant, find at least one new, independent restaurant and eat a meal there. Thank me later.

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