Lince not only has the appeal of budgetary eats but, it imbues you with a vibrance that isn’t normally found in San Isidro. This is exactly the same district where we came upon Bangkok Restaurant rather intentionally as we scoured the city for alternative Asian cuisine. So as custom determines its course, Niki had the choice factor in the grip of her concealed fist. It was ideally one of those rare days where I wasn’t inclined to choose or had a particular craving. She later mentioned something about topping my previous selection of Thai with Peruvian cuisine with a stark difference from what we had been previously consuming. I felt that however radical a particular cuisine gets, there is still a very strong foundation and flavor profile that contain its distinctiveness.
It’s September and when the spring skies open up to let a flood of sunlight in, especially between noon and 5 PM, Peruvians embrace its arrival in troves: on bicycles, foot, skateboards and scooters. 2022 had seen a pretty long and gloomy winter and it was glorious to feel the sun lightly coat my cheeks with alluring warmth. I got done with my classes around 10 and Niki had to run a couple of errands pertaining to a now quite secretive move (as in change of location kinda move), which would surely be disclosed later on.
The taxi arrived three minutes late and it was the perfect opportunity for us to do the sun dance in a direct beam that was exponentially expanding as the minutes transpired. We hopped in the cab and San Isidro began to recede in the background, as we crossed Javier Prado (again), into the ramshackle streets of Lince, which is something that is more attune to Peruvian life. San Isidro, we have come to identify after years of living here, is cocooned from everything that is Peruvianly ensuing around its heavily seranazgoed (Limanean private security) borders. Señor taxista dropped us off at a corner busy with fruit markets and vendors. As Niki walked away toward her Saturday lunch selection, I was drawn to glass boxes of dried fruits and nuts. I have been customizing my cereal every morning and knowing what’s out there runs my creative breakfast facilities on overdrive. I almost lost Niki among a crowd and I caught a sight of her toeing to get the security’s attention. Yes, Peru has security at its restaurants. It is actually a job. We had a reservation, yes. We had to wait, yes. It is just procedure. Reservations don’t work in this country the way it’s supposed to but, it is always better to have one. I stepped onto the street to see what the fuss was all about.
I wish I had gotten a picture of the store front but you can easily find it here. What was particularly nice about this waiting experience was that every staff member was especially nice. They poured us all free Cokes which was at first a gesture of fine service however, putting that up against the price we paid, it wasn’t really free but, essentially good business strategy. I guess what adds to a reservation privilege in this situation was having the waitress come outside to take our order while we were in line. Niki secretively perused the menu while I pretended or rather absentmindedly tried to avoid listening to her elaborate (secretive) exchange if it all makes sense. Minutes later, we were through the main dining hall and into another more vibrant one with the clickety clacks of clatter and chatter. As we sat and removed our masks, we were immediately served with chifles (banana chips) and a rocoto sauce, fresh with an after smell of muña (Andean mint). My chicha morada (Peruvian purple corn drink) crept in from the left a split second after the chips were served and it all happened consecutively at dizzying speed. There was also a chilcano de pescado (Fish broth) that appeared at our table somewhat simultaneously.
Niki gaped in excitement at the Peruvianess of the establishment, the bright bubbly fonts snaking like graffitied balloons on the walls, the cantina tables and chairs and just the general loudness and vibe of the place. The clientele consisted of an elaborate rendition of Lima from your pot-bellied beer guzzlers to children of the Chinese merchant class to the chubby kid bouncing forks and knives off the table. The chicha trickled down my throat with its fruity-syrupy glow and let me just document right here that this is one of the most unrivaled thirst quenchers I have experienced. The chilcano was as soothing as spring itself, scented with the aroma of thinly sliced cilantro. Light. Comforting. Niki is never satisfied with a soup until she has squeezed the juice of a hundred limes. (you may notice the sliced limes in picture #1). The chifles were uneventful on its own, but with a coat of minty Rocoto, it elevated the appetizer experience to paradisiacal. Having used that word, notwithstanding things couldn’t get any better, here now arrived our leche de tigre (literally translated: milk of the tiger, which is essentially the concentrated juice from ceviche), quite a quintessential order for Niki to quench (even more) her body’s capacity for citrus. I have grown to find agreeable this exciting Peruvian concoction.
Within its thickened sour milky righteousness, we found chunks of raw fish (probably flounder or sea bass), a stick of celery and the usual suspects: sliced onions, chopped cilantro and for the spice element, sliced aji limo (Peruvian red chili). We sequentially took sips of the juice in a silence of bliss. The bites of fish were so tender that it dissolved in your mouth immediately with the acidic combo. And it wasn’t even minutes until I was graced with Tacu Chaufa Oriental.
Peruvian Tacu tacu is essentially rice and beans mashed and mixed, fried and served on a plate among other sides such as lomo saltado (Peruvian beef stir fry) and fries. This however was one of the most fascinating takes on this dish that I have ever encountered. Niki’s selection for my palate was quite spot on as she managed to satiate my Asian taste buds at the same time allowing me to branch out of my comfort zone. I would have initially thought that this would have been a sacrilegious combination. Nevertheless, putting the first chunk of chicharron de pescado in my mouth, thickly coated with a citrussy peanut and sesame sauce, inexplicable sensations began to transpire. That bite was the tester. I piled the following one with some tacu-tacu, chicharron, snow peas, sliced bell pepper and wonton chips, coated with a general drizzle of sauce and converted I was. Explosion of flavors had never been as literal as this. It worked. It jived. The dish wanted you to continue with it on its journey to completion. It was an immediate calling. An addictive lure. When Niki took her bite, her pupils dilated and her eyeballs expanded. Her flushed cheeks said it all.
Now, the star attraction, or what it had attempted to be was Niki’s stab at breaking her routine. She was treading against the grain of her taste buds, diverging from the palate of citrus. Her dish pleasantly surprised me as well. Niki is never the one to splurge, however this she did. The presentation was immaculate and the toasty smells that emanated from the octopus and the sizzle of the plate itself managed to turn some heads. The sides were basic. You had sliced deep fried potatoes and choclo (Peruvian corn) boiled and lightly seasoned with herbs. While a slight disappointment ensued after Niki sliced into a tough tentacle, the first bites alone for both me and Niki were ordinary. The meat I found to be a tad bit chewy and it wasn’t all that exciting as the presentation made it out to be. The second bite, we tried with the chimichurri that it was slathered in. Nothing too exciting. Maybe we were just not the ones for grilled seafood. I especially am more attuned to flavor profiles that are a bit more chaotic, being Asian, but I do appreciate foods that shine on their own, something that Niki has been trying to encourage in me. Well, the octopus just didn’t do it. Not this way. Neither did it for Niki (this time), so she got down to the experimentation phase of the meal. We asked for some tartar, but in our opinions, it didn’t enhance the grill one bit. There was a very distinct separation of flavors in our mouths and it plainly didn’t work. Next, Niki spooned some of the tacu-tacu peanut sauce that I had and the octopus took on a whole new dimension. She nodded in approval and dipped a forkful of octopus in the sauce and aeroplaned it into my mouth. It held on well to the texture of the octopus and didn’t overpower the natural charred piquancy of the tentacled creature.
The whole experience set us back S/138 which really isn’t bad in the age of growing inflation. Now, like I said earlier, the entire Coke situation that we felt cozied by initially did work its way into the bill, by default, inconspicuously. All said and done, the meals averaged out and held its end of the bargain, despite being inclined to a few combinational experiments. Niki swiped her card and I smiled and told her I would work it into our monthly familial accounts. We stepped out into the now afternoon brimming heat, and walked along the bustling sidewalks of Lince, appreciating chaos as a weekend offering. We maneuvered through the crowds of side-biz hustlers, screaming proprietors as the tide of people gently carried us out of the district and unto Javier Prado once again. I kissed Niki as she rushed away to driving school and I meandered home complete.
