El Ayllu: A guide to the Peruvian ceviche

Part I: In search of the perfect ceviche.

Ceviche at Juanito's

Okay, so maybe finding the perfect ceviche is a tall order, but I would be hard pressed to say that it was found outside of Peruvian borders.

Apparently the origins of the dish are a bit contested. There is evidence suggesting that the Moche civilization in the northern Peruvian coast had a similar variation of the dish, in which the fish is marinated with the fermented juice of a passionfruit. There is also evidence suggesting that the Incas created a similar concoction where the fish is marinated in chicha. Either way, scholars (food scholars?) generally agree that the modern dish as we now know it - a combination of fish and citrus juice - originated in coastal Peru during colonial times, when limes and other citrus fruit where brought over by Pizarro and his merry men.

Ceviche at La Canta Rana

There are a great variety of ceviches, cebiches or seviches (depending on your regional preference), ranging from cooked shrimp with lime juice served with tomatoes and tostadas (Mexico), to raw fish marinated with vinegar (Phillipines) - side note: in a strange turn of events, my dad professed the Ecuadorian and Costa Rican ceviches pretty good too. But, the best is the Peruvian version. Not that I'm biased or anything.

The Peruvian ceviche is traditionally made of either corvina (sea bass) or lenguado (sole), cut into small pieces and then marinated for 10-15 minutes in a combination of limon (like a key lime, but not quite), thinly sliced red onions, and some diced aji limo. There are variations, of course, most notably in the amount of aji, the use of various other types of seafood (for example, el ceviche mixto usually comes with corvina, scallops, squid and octopus), and a few secret tips of the trade professed as indispensable by certain chefs of (dis)repute: a dab of milk; fresh ginger or garlic rubbed on the serving plate; or a couple of ice cubes mixed in with the fish. The variations are quite endless. But, almost all ceviches are served with a side of camote (sweet potato), choclo, and a tall, cold glass of Cusquena (although my dad says that an exaggeration, since most Peruvians actually prefer a Pilsen).

Regardless, the traditional ceviche casero will likely have a rough, chunky cut of fish, as served at Juanito's, a seaside restaurant in the surfing town of Cerro Azul. The freshness of the fish makes up for the lackluster cut.

Ceviche at Punta Sal

My preference is for the more modern ceviche (perfected by the Peruvian-Japanese chef, Dario Matsufuji, in the 1970's), which uses a delicate sashimi-style carved fish. The tiradito is a variation of this method, taking the Japanese influence to a whole new level. Thin, long slices of fish are served in a shallow dish with an aji rocoto or aji amarillo sauce, completely raw. Punta Sal is one of Lima's more popular cevicherias, offering a great variety of ceviches, tiraditos and other Peruvian seafood specialties.

For a real taste of the innovations in gourmet ceviche that Lima now offers, I recommend both La Mar and Pescados Capitales (a play on pecados capitales - the seven deadly sins). Cheap, they are not. But, I've tried some of the best fish of my life there, so it's worth the extra buck (or more likely two).

Tiradito

Ceviche is a lunch time meal, so never make the faux pas of serving or ordering it for dinner. It is professed to be the ideal hangover cure and the left-over sauce, leche de tigre (tiger's milk), is supposed to have the same effects as Viagra. Whether it works or not, I unfortunately never had the opportunity to verify (wink, wink). But, there must be some merit to it. A shot of leche de tigre is often found on a cevicheria's menu as a popular number, served as either an aperitif or a digestif.

But, alas, what is the point of all of this if you're stuck in the brutal cold of a New York winter?