By Paul Reidinger

A COLLEGE FRIEND , fashionably down and out in the service of theatrical ambitions that, as it happened, would never be realized, spent much of his early 20s subsisting on what he called "poverty pasta" – spaghetti tossed with some olive oil and a good shaking of Kraft Parmesan cheese from the big green can in the refrigerator; maybe some salt and pepper too, if any could be found. Poverty pasta cost practically nothing, was easy to make, tasted OK, and was filling.

The noodle, then, I came to associate with intelligent thrift. You might be living with a gaggle of your fellow penniless recent graduates (some of whom you seemed not to know) in a rented house of large rooms devoid of furnishings other than futons and stereos on the floor, but if you had a couple of bucks you could go to Lucky and gather the matériel for poverty pasta, and at least you would not have to eat canned dog food for supper or go to bed hungry.

In a better, or at least wittier, world, Poverty Pasta would be an excellent name for a restaurant – a place where, say, the movers from Starving Students could enjoy a square meal at a fair price. In this world, and in this grand city, it is fair to suppose that the word poverty (even if grandly capitalized) would put people off. Still, times are tough – so tough that even the occasional chain restaurant founders – and when the going gets tough, the tough eat noodles, often at more graciously named noodle houses, such as International Noodle House, which opened in May in the cavernous old Lyon's space near the Civic Center.

With a rather spectacular ceiling of canopied steel, a mezzanine and bar, and rows of broad windows along two busy streets, the setting always struck me as a bit too snazzy, a bit too Paris brasserie, to be an outlet of a chain whose chief rival in $1.99 breakfastdom is Denny's. Menus laminated in plastic – child-proofed, you might say – are not exactly standard issue in Civic Center restaurants. That's one blunder INH hasn't repeated. On the other hand, it still feels as if it must be part of a chain, though it isn't. Perhaps it's the ghost of food corporations past, whispering reminders to me as I sit there.

International could mean practically anything, or nothing, but at INH the kitchen makes a genuine effort to spread its wings. There are noodlish offerings from China, Japan, Vietnam, Thailand, and Hong Kong, as well as from Italy, whence issued Marco Polo, nearly a millennium ago, on the oriental journey that is reputed to have brought pasta to Italy.

Although the menu is heavily Asian, the spaghetti con polpe ($7.95) is more than creditable, with a memorably spicy tomato sauce and three golf ball-sized meatballs that seem not merely homemade but constituted in meaningful part from veal, which imparts a subtle richness and smoothness to mixed-meat grinds. You can't fake veal. Turkey is good but drier and less smooth; pork has a giveaway sweetness. (I speak here as sometime maker of meat loaf.)

Having established INH's occidental bona fides, we proceeded to sample our way through the more easterly offerings. We found: big flavor, sometimes odd textures, and modest prices, along with fitful and sometimes rushed service – easier to understand during the lunch crush than at the twilight hour of dinner. Thai fish cakes ($6.95), for example, were rubbery enough to make us long for steak knives, but, once slashed, they were bewitchingly scented with lemongrass, and the cucumber-hoisin dipping sauce on the side was an event in itself. Equally tricky to eat, on a subsequent visit, were the Vietnamese hand rolls – cylinders of rice pancakes holding (along with shredded cabbage and carrots) shrimp ($5.95) or vegetables ($4.95), the latter consisting largely of mushrooms. The rice-flour skins were tough to bite through, but the insides were fresh and minty.

You do not see pad see ew ($7.95) – Thai-style wide noodles tossed with broccoli – on all that many Thai menus hereabouts. INH's version is quite flavorfully immense, and bulked up with a choice of meat. We found that shreds of boneless chicken breast mingled very nicely with the other mild-mannered, though not bland, ingredients. And just as tastily mild-mannered was a Hong Kong-style seafood chow fun ($8.95), a big tangle of fettuce-like noodles tossed with scallops, prawns, calamari coins, and quarters of bok choy.

We also found a bit of Far Eastern fire to match that of the spaghetti con polpe: Thai noodles ($7.95) tossed with strips of beef and basil, along with julienne green and red bell peppers, chopped onion, and quartered tomatoes.

Like the rest of the menu, the dessert card tilts noticeably though not exclusively toward Asia. One of the better Western counterpoints is cheesecake ($2.95) – plain looking, unadorned by any sort of berry coulis and untweaked by ambitious extra flavorings (chocolate and amaretto being among the usual suspects). It looks like it's worth no more than $2.95, but in the mouth it turns out to be rich, fluffy, smooth, and honest; it would do credit to far fancier restaurants that would charge three times as much for it.