Global flavors unite in Peruvian cuisine

So, about the guinea pig thing. According to Martin Morales, 40, restaurateur and Peruvian food writer, our furry friends have “a flavour reminiscent of pork and rabbit combined”. His grandmother, who lived in a remote Andean village called Cachicadán, always had a few in her kitchen, “living happily under the stove”. They were delicious, apparently, “either roasted or cooked with chilli and spices”.

But, he hastens to add, there is more to Peruvian cooking than the consumption of household pets. Much more. “We’re talking healthy food, fresh food, packed with flavours, sometimes very subtle and delicate, often completely unique,” he says. “Peru has 491 national dishes, which is more than any other country in the world. You can check it in The Guinness Book of Records.”

At the turn of the last century, the legendary chef Auguste Escoffier ranked Peruvian cuisine as third best in the world, behind that of the Chinese and the French. It has taken everybody else a while to catch up, but in recent years Peruvian food has been heralded as the next big thing.

When Morales’s Peruvian restaurant, Ceviche, opened in Soho last year, it was praised by London restaurant reviewers. And with the publication of Morales’s new book, Ceviche: Peruvian Kitchen (￡25, Orion), a Peruvian twist will soon be seen on British dinner tables.

So varied is Peruvian cuisine that it is impossible – and I have tested this – to describe it adequately without becoming a crashing bore. The reason is its huge array of influences, which have all been welcomed wholeheartedly into the canon.

The indigenous peoples of the Inca period ate lots of stews, often cooked by being buried with hot stones in the ground; this style of cooking survives in baked meat dishes like pachamanca. In the 16th Century came the Spanish conquistadors, bringing European and Moorish recipes, and nuns who were skilled at baking. They also brought slaves from Congo and Angola, whose African traditions entered the cuisine in dishes like sangrecita, a black pudding made with chicken blood, and Frejol colado, a milky black bean dessert. An influx of Chinese indentured workers in the 1850s led to the development of a Chinese-Peruvian fusion called Chifa, and at the end of the 19th Century, immigration from Japan gave birth to Nikkei, in which sushi meets Peruvian spice.

The Japanese-Peruvian tradition is Morales’ demonstration start. “Ceviche, or raw fish marinated in chilli and citrus, is the most important national dish of Peru,” he says. “Fisherman have been eating it for thousands of years. Then the Japanese introduced their thin-slicing sashimi techniques and developed lighter, less onion-based marinades, sometimes containing soy and ginger.”

Two things are key to a good ceviche: the marinade, known as “tiger’s milk”, and the very freshest fish. “Firm” fish, like monkfish, hake and cod “cook” in tiger’s milk for twice as long as “medium” fish such as sea bass, halibut, tuna or salmon, which is left to marinate for two minutes. “Soft” fish (mullet, whiting, mackerel) requires half that time.

Tiger’s milk, which is said to have aphrodisiac and even anti-hangover properties, is made by combining lime juice, salt and chilli, sometimes with the addition of garlic, ginger and coriander. It can be blended, or left in an infused, liquid form. In Peru, it is so sacred that it is never thrown away. Leftovers are served as drinks.

Behind the bar at his restaurant, Morales thinly slices raw sea bass, marinates it in tiger’s milk and serves it with slivers of red onion, a sprinkle of chilli and sweet potato that has been baked, cooled and cut into cubes. The result is clean, zingy and refreshing, with a spicy kick.

Next he makes a 'causa’, a traditional layered side dish. Potatoes are mashed with coriander, salt, chilli paste and oil. It is smoother and creamier than British mash, though he cautions against “overmixing”. A mould is used to serve the causa in a cylinder, topped with a layer of avocado and another of carrot and beetroot, mixed with mayonnaise and drenched in lime juice, garnished with a sprinkle of sweet potato crisps.

Finally, he limbers up for “the daddy of them all”: the lomo saltado, or “jumping beef”. This is Peru’s most popular stir-fry, deriving from the Chinese-Peruvian chifa tradition. We descend to the kitchen, where chunks of fillet steak have been marinating for four hours in soy sauce, red wine vinegar, garlic and spice. Morales throws the beef into an oiled wok and cooks it “as quickly as possible” over a very high heat, agitating the pan constantly, so the beef “jumps”. For extra smokiness, he tilts the wok into the flames so the oil catches fire, which adds a flambéed tang to the beef. Then he adds onion, tomatoes and chilli, the remaining marinade and generous splashes of pisco.

Speaking of pisco – a Peruvian grape brandy – no Peruvian meal would be complete without a pisco sour cocktail. As Morales cooks, his barman knocks one up for me. It consists of an egg white, 30ml lime juice, 20ml sugar syrup (one part sugar to one part boiling water, then cool in the fridge) and 50ml pisco acholado, blended and served ice-cold. It is the ultimate refreshing aperitif and goes down like a breeze.

Morales wipes the sweat from his brow. Lunch is ready. We tuck in to the beef, served with white rice and thick-cut Peruvian chips, and wash it down with Cusque?a beer. And all is well with the world.