There is plenty of time spent gazing out the windows of cars in Lima, because getting around this city of 10 million requires an inordinate amount of patience (and earplugs, depending on how loud a car’s horn is). As you pass the time, peering into dim auto body shops and tiny bodegas, you undoubtedly will see signs for “Chifa,” written in mock-cursive Mandarin, typically next to a faded pagoda.
It’s not a “China” typo but rather a designation signaling that a restaurant serves the style of Chinese-Peruvian food that’s become as ubiquitous in Peru as its legendary quinoa. Even more striking, in a country that lays claim to more than 2,000 varieties of potatoes, is the more recent mashup between refined Japanese cuisine and the heartier Peruvian one, resulting in a style known as “Nikkei.”
In just about any other country in the world, the term “fusion” is derided by most food critics, and yet here, perched high above the Pacific Ocean, sandwiched between the Andes mountain range and a rain forest, the two terms have become as familiar as an ornery but likable old uncle.
“Chifa has been used for at least 60 years, but Nikkei is a term we’ve only used since the early ’90s,” said Diego Salazar, an academy chair for The World’s 50 Best Restaurants Awards and editor of the Peru 21 daily newspaper. And the terms are not limited to Peru. Both styles already have migrated north across the U.S. border, thanks to a pair of celebrity chefs. Native son Gaston Acurio has a branch of his popular Tanta in Chicago (with his ceviche-focused La Mar in Miami and San Francisco), while Jose Andres recently opened a China Chilcano in the nation’s capital.
After outlawing African slavery, the Peruvian government turned to China in the 1850s for workers to tend its endless fields of corn and potatoes. As some of these workers ended up marrying local Peruvian women, a subculture — Tusan — was born. These Peruvian-born Chinese began opening restaurants in the early 20th century, as they were able to start growing their own crops of soybeans and rice.
Salazar said there probably are more Chifa restaurants in Lima than cebicherias, those temples of citrus-soaked seafood, but few of them stand out.
“Chifas are really bad in Peru. They used to be better, but we went through a (political and economic) crisis in the ’90s. Today, quality is measured by quantity, which is why you see the all-you-can-eat buffets.”
Typical dishes include arroz chaufa (fried rice), fried wontons and ti pa kay (sweet-and-sour) chicken. Not much different from the U.S. egg foo yong joint. But the cuisine is making a comeback, thanks to Acurio, Peru’s iconic celebrity chef who also is responsible for creating the annual Mistura food conference, a sort of weeklong Super Bowl for Peruvian food and drink every fall. The man who oversees some 46 restaurants in 12 countries also has created Madam Tusan, which recently opened its third location in Lima’s Miraflores district.
“We are the first ones doing this style of food,” said Tusan’s 31 year-old chef, Felix Loo. Born in Canton and trained in China, Loo is an honorary Tusan, having lived in Peru the last 15 years.
A weekend-only dim sum onslaught included delicate, handmade dumplings; each doughy purse stuffed with bits of pork or soup broth — pure Shanghai — while others contained finely diced squash or aji amarillo, the sharp yellow chili found in practically every other Peruvian dish. Quinoa-stuffed banana leaves and a dipping sauce trio with pungent rocoto chilis reminded me that I was far from Chinatown, even though the decor was strictly Chinese modern: black lacquered walls featuring etched dragons in a two-story mall complex that would be right at home in a Vancouver suburb.
Closer to the turn of the 20th century, the Japanese began arriving in Lima. Even though they had an easier time opening their own restaurants, the food was strictly Peruvian. But in the 1970s, as companies like Toyota and Mitsubishi established offices here, a new generation of immigrants emerged, less patient and more homesick for their native sushi and sashimi. Nobu Matsuhisa may have restaurants in every corner of the world today, but his menus all can be traced to his time spent in Peru during the 1970s, when he would combine the pristine seafood at his front door with the chilis, roots and herbs found in higher elevations. Think about that the next time you see hamachi-jalapeno at one of his namesake restaurants.
Nikkei is a term the Japanese use for Japanese people born abroad, but the term didn’t refer to a style of cuisine until 1989. That’s when local poet/food writer Rodolfo Hinostroza wrote a story about it in an influential magazine. Seemingly overnight, a tiny percentage of the population (about 30,000) suddenly had its own culinary identity.
“We have been eating like this for many years, but up until then, it was Japanese or Peruvian food,” said Mitsuharu Tsumura, 33, the chef and owner of Maido, in the Miraflores district. His father moved to Lima from Osaka 35 years ago, eventually marrying his Peruvian mother. Growing up Nikkei, his palate had certain advantages.
“Back then, we would sit at the sushi bar, and all of a sudden the rolls come out with Peruvian ceviche sauce, lomo saltado sauce, and everybody called it Japanese. But they weren’t actually eating Japanese food. Then we’d go to cebicherias for seafood — Peruvian food — but when you’d eat there, you’d find flavors would have a little ginger, seaweed, maybe some soy sauce,” he said. “There was sashimi on the menu, yellow chilis stuffed with kabocha squash, but nobody called it Nikkei.”
Six years ago, Tsumura opened his jewel box: Maido, a critical darling in Miraflores. Only when you look into the mirrored walls do you see the Japanese flag reflected by the hundreds of thick ropes dangling from above. The sushi bar looks like it’s right out of the West Village, but don’t expect to find any spicy tuna rolls. A lapas (mussel) ceviche arrives in a dramatic shell, hiding bits of fried corn and ceviche jelly, beneath an aji amarillo cloud, made semi-frozen with the aid of nitrogen.
A nigiri course features silver fish and salmon dressed with a nori (seaweed) emulsion and flying fish roe, propped over perfectly seasoned rice, as good as anywhere in New York or, for that matter, Tokyo.
Tsumura isn’t above using sous vide to marinate and cook either: a puck of roast beef is marinated in sake, soy and mirin, then cooked for 50 hours at a constant 149 degrees Fahrenheit until it’s as soft and tender as a Harlequin romance novel; a little bowl of fried rice is a nod to his Chifa and Nikkei cousins, who undoubtedly have a lot more eating options today than their predecessors once did.
If you go
Getting around Lima can be a nightmare, and you’ll have to negotiate a fee with cabdrivers before you get in. I hired journeyou.com for some of our in-town transfers; it also does pickups and drop-offs at the airport, which is about 45 minutes to an hour from Lima’s Miraflores district (depending on traffic).
Madam Tusan, Avenue Santa Cruz 859, Miraflores 15074
Maido, esq. con Colon, Calle San Martin 399, Miraflores Lima 18
