Perfect Peruana

While peruvian cuisine has gone haute cuisine all around the world, SARAH TRELEAVEN finds that the wonders of Lima’s top chefs are rivalled by the country’s classic dishes

One afternoon, I lingered over a $200 tasting menu in a pretty yellow 300-year-old hacienda in San Isidro, one of Lima’s swankiest neighbourhoods. The young staff at Casa Moreyra worked quietly and efficiently, and I watched a floor manager swiftly reject two spotless plates as a new table was being set. This was a new venture by chef Gastón Acurio, one of the world’s greatest ambassadors for Peruvian cuisine, and the vibe was similar to many of his restaurants across South America: chic and exclusive, with a kitchen sufficiently exposed that you could hear the commands being issued.

The intent of the meal was to evocatively capture the experience of a Peruvian childhood I did not actually have—the most literal Proustian meal I’ve ever been served. Each dish was presented with an explanation that didn’t always make sense: “This is a reminder of a dish that our mothers used to make but we didn’t appreciate.” Another was meant to bring to mind trips made to the beach after school, while another was a tribute to a certain type of avocado that was slowly being destroyed by modern agriculture’s monoculture. But the impact was nevertheless highly impressive: a series of small plates combining unlikely flavours like sugar candy with anchovies, red peppers with olive meringue, sea urchin and apple ceviche, and asparagus with caviar.

Restaurants like this are now popping up across Lima, a city finding a way forward and emerging from a stubborn reputation as both dangerous and unappealing. The Shining Path guerrillas have receded and greater prosperity has arrived for many Peruvians. The culinary scene has been essential to the lifting fog. Peruvian food has become both popular and revered all over the world—including London, New York City, Hong Kong and throughout South America—and now Lima itself is having its own boom, with boundary-pushing upscale restaurants popping up in increasingly manicured neighbourhoods.

At La Mar, well-heeled locals with quilted Chanel bags snack on leche de tigre mixed seafood ceviche. IK showcases some of the country’s finest ingredients, from plump langoustines to tender river fish—all against the elegant backdrop of a two-storey living wall. Bravo Restobar is the brainchild of boyish celebrity chef Christian Bravo, who experiments heavily with local offerings, like spicy alpaca ribs.

But Lima, like all of the world’s best food cities, offers a spectrum of experiences, from high to low. And so, a day after my superb and very expensive tasting menu at Casa Moreyra, I found myself meeting with a guide named Cesar, who was committed to showing me the less glamorous, but nevertheless essential, big five of Peruvian cuisine: antecucho, ceviche, picarones, arroz con leche and the Pisco Sour. Cesar and I met in Barranco, a nexus of the young, hip and middle class, with an enviable waterside location, to wander and sample in this vibrant cobblestoned neighbourhood.

I confessed to Cesar that I had already tried the Pisco Sour—the sweet and tart concoction of clear Pisco liqueur, lemon juice and icing sugar—on my own, multiple times, since my arrival. So Cesar guided me towards Ti Mario (Uncle Mario) for antecuchos— marinated and grilled cow hearts served on a skewer.

A selection of ceviche for tasting at Casa Moreyra.

Lima’s the perfect place to explore a fusion of Japanese nigiri and traditional Peruvian flavours.

Freshly caught fish.

Chef Gastón Acurio, one of the world’s greatest ambassadors for Peruvian cuisine, chats up some potato farmers.

A selection of fresh seafood on display at La Mar Cebichería.

They were slightly chewy and very firm, a little spicy and intensely meaty. Cesar and I made small talk about quinoa (really), and then I asked him about how people are coping with increasing prices. Quinoa is now double the price of chicken, he reported, but, for those who can afford it, there are “300 to 400 per cent more restaurants” in Lima than 10 years ago.

We moved onto ceviche at Picos, where we took a seat on the patio next to fire pyramids and listened to a soundtrack of mostly Depeche Mode until our order arrived. Picos’ sea bass ceviche has fish cured in lime, accompanied by diced onions, bell peppers and cayenne. The dish was simple but complex, with an immediate burst of tart, salty and spicy complementing the seabass’ soft flesh. The role of ceviche in Peruvian cuisine can’t be underestimated; it serves as a cornerstone and has traditionally been consumed by mid-afternoon in order to take maximum advantage of the freshness of an early-morning catch. But in the summer months, Cesar told me, locals now liked to go out late to eat ceviche and salsa dance (not at the same time).

At Acantilado de Barranco, a cliffside spot overlooking a private beach, expensive new seaside apartment complexes and a private marina, we tried the first phase of dessert: picarones. Several Peruvians mentioned to me, more excitedly than casually, that there are more than 2,500 types of potatoes in the country, and starches play a prominent role even in sweet dishes. Picarones are little donuts made with sweet potatoes, pumpkin, flour and sugar, and topped with syrup made of sugarcane, cinnamon and cloves.

A sea urchin makes the perfect ingredient; one of the rooms at Museo Mario Testino, celebrating one of Peru’s creative exports.

Photos and artwork create delight in Hotel B’s lounge.

A stroll through Lima’s Museum of Modern Art.

They look like chubby little onion rings, and they’re completely delectable: crispy and soft, with a hint of spice.

Our last stop was a little stand on wheels, but licensed by the city, where a woman wearing a long white coat was serving up arroz con leche, a pleasant and creamy rice pudding topped with grated cinnamon. I was full, as I had been since shortly after arriving in Lima days before, but I took a seat on a nearby wall and soldiered through the pudding, a pleasing mush that, in its own way, invoked the sweet and gooey confections of childhood. Cesar beamed at me as I enjoyed the dish, proud of a food culture he referred to as “the culinary capital of the Americas.”

When we finished near Barranco’s central square, Plaza des Armes, it was late but the streets were bustling. Nearby, grand colonial haciendas were being reclaimed as boutique hotels, high-end apartment buildings and stores selling scarves knit from the softest baby alpaca hair. Small crowds of students and young families, couples leaning into each other as they walked to and from restaurants or stopping to window shop, surrounded us. For most, Gastón Acurio’s Casa Moreyra, along with the ventures of many other celebrity chefs, would be out of reach. But despite the Starbucks and the Pinkberry, Peruvians across a spectrum appear content to embrace their own cuisine: more ceviche, more potatoes, more of everything now being proudly dispersed across the globe.

Hotel B’s rooftop provides great city views.