ingredientes

Ingredients

Sometimes, creative cooking is simply about looking in a new way at ingredients that have been right under our noses. Most of the staple ingredients I cooked with when I was growing up I still use today. Some you probably know well, like potatoes; others, like certain Peruvian ají chile peppers, maybe not. I hope you will be as excited as I still am to try them all. Most aren’t very expensive and are pretty easy to find. Those that aren’t everywhere yet, like the pepper pastes, you can order online and keep in your pantry or refrigerator for months.

Ají (Chile Peppers)

Like most Peruvians, I’m pretty sure my blood is spiced with ají peppers. People from my country have been eating native wild and cultivated peppers, both spicy and sweet, since at least 7500 BC, and hundreds of varieties were later cultivated, worshipped as religious icons, and eaten in every fresh, roasted, and dried form (my money would have been on the Incas to win any ancient chile pepper–eating contests).

What’s really amazing to me is how those peppers were adopted all over the world. It’s hard to imagine eating Thai food without fiery bird’s-eye chiles, Indian food without cayenne pepper, or Spanish food without sweet, red pimientos. I would have loved to have seen the looks on people’s faces when they tasted those peppers for the first time.

Ají Amarillo, Ají Panca, and Rocoto Peppers and Pastes

I’m always surprised that many of the peppers that we use aren’t typically household names outside of Peru. I’m biased, but the people from the land where thousands of varieties of peppers first grew probably know a thing or two about choosing the best ones to grow. Fortunately, you really only need a few varieties of chile peppers to make most Peruvian dishes, and all of the dishes in this book: ají amarillo, ají panca, and rocoto. Most of my recipes use the first two, amarillo and panca, considered the yin and yang opposites of Peruvian cooking. Ají amarillo are spicy but light and subtly sweet, while ají panca have a big, smoky flavor but aren’t too hot.

In Peru, we like to turn the peppers we use the most into pastes. It is both convenient for cooking and concentrates the peppers’ flavors. I make my own “fresh” pepper pastes from frozen, blanched ají amarillo and rocoto peppers (it can still be hard to find the fresh peppers in the United States). Look for them in a well-stocked Latin market (some focus more on Mexican or other Latin products, not yet Peruvian) or online. Most of the jarred, store-bought pastes are very good quality, so I have adapted all of the recipes in the book to use them. I always keep jars of all three pastes in my fridge at home. With some peppers, like dried ají panca, I think the jarred paste is actually preferable over making your own paste. If you do luck out and find fresh or frozen ají amarillo or rocoto peppers (or whole, dried ají panca) and want to make your own pastes, I included a recipe on page 34. For frozen pepper and jarred paste sources, see Resources.

Ají Amarillo

These sunny orange peppers have an almost fruity flavor with a back heat that hits your throat, not the tip of your tongue. I really love that, as the spiciness doesn’t mask the other flavors in whatever you are eating. Ají amarillo are very versatile peppers, from the flavors and spiciness down to the skin, which changes colors like a camaleón, chameleon, from yellow to vibrant orange as the peppers mature (the sun-dried version is called ají mirasol, or “look into the sun”). The paste, made from blanched peppers, almost melts into slow-cooked sauces and stews, and yet is still bright enough for raw dishes like ceviche.

Ají Panca

More smoky-sweet than hot, ají panca paste is used most often in slow-cooked stews and sauces (many times along with spicier ají amarillo paste) to lend smokiness and depth of flavor. We use ají panca almost like tomato paste, to add flavor complexity. The paste also works well when grilling meats and poultry, as the dried pepper’s bigger flavors aren’t covered up by the smoke and char. If you find the dried, whole peppers (see Resources), you could make your own paste (page 36), but it’s a lot of work. I almost always use the store-bought panca pastes. The quality is usually really good, and you can’t beat the price, usually less than five dollars per jar from a Latin market or online.

Rocoto

For some reason, the bright red rocoto pepper goes by the shortened nickname rocoto without the ají in front (maybe all that extra heat it holds scared off the ají). The peppers have an almost green bell pepper flavor followed by a pretty intense heat. Like ají amarillo peppers, the fresh peppers can be tough to find. I hear they’re becoming popular with chile pepper buffs in the United States, who are growing their own. As with ají amarillo, I use frozen, blanched peppers to make my own paste (page 34), but the more widely available jarred pastes are usually very good quality. Don’t substitute powdered rocoto peppers for the paste—terrible.

PERUVIAN HEAT

Ají panca peppers are more smoky than hot, while ají amarillo and rocoto peppers are highest on the Scoville scale, a measure of the heat index of peppers. Both are used in small quantities in most dishes. Though they register the same Scoville units as ají amarillo peppers, rocoto peppers taste much hotter to me. (For comparison, jalapeños are 2,500 Scoville units.)

	AJí PANCA	AJí AMARILLO	ROCOTO
Heat Index	Mild to Medium	Hot	Very Hot
Scoville	1,000–1,500 units	30,000–50,000 units	30,000–50,000 units
Flavor Profile	Smoky and slightly sweet	Bright and fruity	Spicy and aromatic, like a hot green pepper
Uses	Deepens the flavor of cooked dishes Sauces, stews, and roasts	Most versatile, works well with other flavors in both fresh and cooked dishes Salad dressings, cocktails, salsas, dressings, ceviches	Usually added at the end of cooking or to raw dishes for a kick of heat Ceviches, salsas, sauces
Look for	Jarred paste Dried peppers (to make a paste)	Jarred paste Fresh or frozen peppers (to make a paste or chop)	Jarred paste Fresh or frozen peppers (to make a paste or chop)

Papas y Camotes (Potatoes and Sweet Potatoes)

The two places I’ve lived outside of Peru, the United States and England, are almost as obsessed with potatoes as my native country. I’m pretty sure that’s not a coincidence, but if you really want to get to know potatoes, you need to go to where they originated: the Andean highlands.

Papas is the Quechan word for “tuber.” Potatoes, sweet potatoes, and related tubers were grown—or tamed, really, as most wild potatoes are poisonous—by early Andean civilizations some seven thousand years ago. As Western explorers later learned, potatoes are hearty and, even better, grow underground, so they are relatively easy to grow in different climates. When Andean growers learned how to dry and preserve them (chuño and papas secas, page 27, are good examples), potatoes became an even more important part of the Peruvian diet.

Peru is still home to hundreds of varieties of edible tubers in all different sizes, shapes, and colors. Some are smooth and shiny, almost like pearls; others are so gnarled and twisted that they remind you of the hard work they had to do growing up. But even in Peru, you usually only see a handful of varieties at most markets today. You’d probably have to hike high up in the Andes to taste those with some of my favorite traditional Quechua names: Like a Deer’s White Tongue, Makes the Daughter-in-Law Cry, and Like an Old Bone (what I’m pretty sure my line chefs will call me from now on).

Fresh Potatoes

In a home kitchen, you really only need three types of potatoes to cover all of your cooking bases: a solid starchy variety, a versatile waxy variety, and sweet potatoes. (Most other Latin American countries refer to sweet potatoes as batatas, but in Peru, we call them camotes.) I also like some nice little guys for roasting, which usually fall under the waxy umbrella.

Waxy. Though not universally, smaller potato varieties (therefore, most potato varieties) tend to fall more on the waxy side of the potato kingdom to varying degrees. Because they hold their shape well and have a creamy texture, waxy potatoes are good in chilled salads, stews, and stir-fries, and for roasting. In Peru, we also use them for mashing. To make causas, a chilled potato casserole, I use the everyday, medium-size, red-skinned potatoes you find at most grocery stores. The mashed potatoes get a nice, creamy texture when you knead them, almost like pasta dough, and they hold their form when cut into different causa shapes.

You can use any potatoes for roasting, but I really like small potatoes like fingerlings, nubby purple Peruvian potatoes, or whatever small potato variety I can find at the farmers’ market. Most tend to be waxy, but when you get into specialty varieties, some are starchier. When roasting such little potatoes, the starch content really doesn’t matter. If you leave the skins on (cut larger potatoes in half), they get nice and crispy on the outside and so tender inside.

Starchy. With little water and a high starch content, the flesh of starchy potatoes is very tender inside but will get nice and crispy on the outside. I know people in the United States love their russets for mashed potatoes, but I really only use them to make french fries. They turn out too fluffy for causas, the closest thing to mashed potatoes in Peru. For fries, if you luck into Kennebecs, an American variety that looks like a russet, grab them. They have a lower water content, so they fry up super golden brown and crispy. Starchy potatoes are not the best for roasting, as they tend to fall apart.

Sweet. Camotes (sweet potatoes) come in varieties from starchy to waxy, with cream-, carrot-, or purple-colored flesh. The most common varieties in the States are the orange potatoes. Those are usually pretty starchy, but still hold up well, so they are good for mashing or roasting, make great fries, and are so good just boiled, which is how we serve them with ceviche and so many other dishes in Peru.

Sweet potatoes versus yams. We tend to use yams and sweet potatoes interchangeably and serve them boiled or in stews. True yams, which go by the same Spanish name as sweet potatoes in Peru, are not related to potatoes or sweet potatoes. They are a different tuber that has been cultivated in Asia, Africa, and the Americas for thousands of years.

Dried Potatoes

Chuño (South American freeze-dried potatoes) have a very distinct flavor and are definitely worth trying, but I mainly cook with papas secas (boiled and dried potatoes). They add an unexpectedly rich potato flavor to soups, stews, and similar slow-cooked dishes. For dried potato sources, see Resources.

Chuño. The process of naturally freeze-drying potatoes originated in Peru and Bolivia at least five hundred years ago, probably much earlier. Freeze-drying makes the uniquely bitter variety of potatoes that grow at high altitudes in the mountains edible (the process eliminates most of the bitter flavor) and also makes them shelf-stable and lightweight, so they are easy to transport. The dried potatoes are soaked in water and used in stews, or ground into a starchy flour to use as a thickener for sauces or in baked goods.

To make black chuño, the potatoes are left outside at night to freeze, then thawed by the mountain sunshine. After several days, the freeze-dried potatoes are smashed underfoot to remove the skins and break the potatoes into small pieces. During the process, the chuño turns dark brown to purple or almost black, resembling little lumps of charcoal. To make white chuño, the potatoes are freeze-dried in a similar process (left outside to freeze), and then soaked in icy-cold rivers or misted with water for a few days or as long as a month. Soaking turns the potatoes so chalky-white they almost look like powdered sugar–covered fritters.

Papas Secas. When preserved by boiling and drying, “everyday” (non-bitter) potato varieties become not only shelf-stable and lightweight to transport, but they develop a very interesting, chewy, almost al dente pasta–like texture. You can boil papas secas to use in potato soups or to make carapulcra (page 160), a traditional dried potato stew. If you’re going camping, think like an Andean mountain man and pack the dried potatoes along with cancha (page 46), dried corn used for toasting and popping.

Maíz (Corn)

In Peru, corn is as much of, if not more than, a daily presence as potatoes. In Lima, the giant, chewy cobs used to make choclo poke out of bubbling pots of water on street vendors’ anticucho grills, and the chilled cooked kernels are almost always spooned up alongside ceviche. My uncle Lucio, a man from, and truly of, the mountains, taught me how to make cancha (page 46), the oldest known version of popped corn, which dates back to around 4700 BC. The snack is still so popular, you can count on seeing empty little bowls and the salt remnants scattered on almost every restaurant table in Peru.

That’s not to say that corn is uniquely Peruvian. Maíz has been central to Mesoamerican culture for thousands of years. Corn was probably domesticated farther north, in Central America, around the same time as or a little earlier than potatoes, and was also considered sacred by both the ancient Moche and Inca civilizations.

Today, people all over Latin America grow everyday-looking stalks that open up to reveal corn the color of ivory, gold, and copper, or the deepest purples of the night sky. Some varieties are incredibly sweet and as juicy as a peach; others are starchy, like bread, with an almost earthy flavor. The diversity is incredible.

Fresh & Frozen Corn

I haven’t yet convinced my local farmers in southern Calfornia to grow fresh choclo, or had much luck with exporters when I go back to Peru. Fortunately, frozen imported choclo is usually very good quality. (I really don’t recommend the canned version.) For frozen corn sources, see Resources.

Choclo. The name choclo (also known as Peruvian or Cuzco corn) refers to the starchy varieties of large-kernel corn that are available fresh at virtually every market in Peru. It is used as the traditional side dish for ceviche and anticuchos. The nickname “Cuzco corn” refers to the Incas’ capital city in southern Peru, Cuzco, where the dietary staple was cooked into a porridge. For an authentic flavor and texture, look for the frozen kernels at Latin markets. The fresh corn varieties available in the United States are very different, with smaller and sweeter kernels. They are a suitable substitute when steaming or boiling choclo as a side dish, but will taste very different. In dishes like tamalitos verdes (page 64), the starchiness of the authentic choclo is essential for the tamales to hold their shape.

Dried Corn

With dried corn, stock up when you find it at a Latin market or online. For dried corn sources, see Resources.

Maíz Chulpe. These large corn kernels are dried and then fried in oil to make cancha (page 46), a popular salty, crunchy snack that dates back to at least Moche times. Today, cancha is served almost like bread, in the center of the table. Sometimes you are also served bread, a Spanish addition (or rice, in Lima especially, with such a large Chinese-Peruvian population), so the old and new, or at least newer, influences are right there together on the table. I know many people refer to cancha as the Peruvian version of corn nuts, but it’s really the other way around. In the 1930s, after tasting them on a business trip, an American businessman began importing the dried kernels from Peru. He tinkered around with his recipe and gave the cancha a more marketing-friendly name. The real deal is lighter, with a softer, more popcornlike center and an extra-crunchy dried kernel “shell” on the outside. Several different varieties of maíz are used to make cancha, including serrana, with bigger kernels, but I really like the maíz chulpe. It’s just the right size for grabbing by the handful.

Maíz Morado. Dried, dark purple (morado) varieties of corn have a subtle, earthy flavor. Long used to make natural fabric dyes, the corn also turns drinks like chicha morada (corn punch, page 224) and dishes like mazamorra morada (purple corn pudding, page 243) an inky, Cabernet-like color. The corn is easy to cook with, since it is dried and sold on the cob, and you just throw everything into the pot. Like blueberry pie filling, the purple corn juice stains whatever it touches dark purple, so save your best white T-shirt for another day.

Maíz Mote or Mote. To make the Peruvian version of hominy, large, starchy varieties of corn are dried and nixtamalized, meaning treated with mineral lime. This variety is so big, it is known as maíz mote gigante del Cusco, “giant hominy from Cusco.” Like dried beans, you need to soak the corn for a really long time to soften the kernels up before cooking. One of my favorite preparations is the very simple, comforting, stewlike side dish that goes by the same name as the dried corn (page 220). Don’t substitute canned hominy. The dried corn has a distinct chewy texture that is very different.

Granos y Frijoles (Grains & Beans)

Peruvians have a long relationship with beans, going back to ancient cave dweller times and on through the Moche and other ancient societies. Indigenous Andean “grains,” really seeds like quinoa and amaranth, were just as central to the local diet, if not more so, and became powerful religious symbols (see pages 200 to 201). The Spanish brought barley, also some rice, with more to come later from the large Asian population that settled in Lima and surrounding areas.

In some ways, that eclectic mix of grains and beans, all still very important to the local culture, is very much what modern Peruvian cuisine is all about. The old and new work together at most meals, not separately.

Grains

Good-quality rice, quinoa, and similar seedlike grains, and barley are pretty easy to find these days at well-stocked grocery stores. For grain sources, see Resources.

Arroz (Rice). In Peru, we eat rice with enough emoción, excitement, you would think it is native to our soil. To fuel my huge family’s taste for rice, my dad would cart home 50-kilo (about 110-pound) bags at a time. In the smaller towns and villages, most people buy their rice from outdoor markets. You can scoop up as much rice as you want from giant sacks filled with a dozen different varieties, usually the medium- to long-grain rice used in Chinese cooking. I also cook with a lot of Japanese-style sushi rice. I love the sticky texture.

Kinúwa (Quinoa) and Kiwicha (Amaranth). Quinoa and amaranth have been staples in the Peruvian diet for thousands of years. Quinoa was considered the sacred “mother grain” (really a seed) by the Incas and is a key export crop for Peru and Bolivia today. Quinoa’s much smaller cousin, amaranth, has also been cultivated in the Andes and throughout Central America for thousands of years. Both are incredibly versatile and can be used cold in salads or hot, like rice, in stews or stir-fries.

Trigo (Barley). The Spanish brought barley (also called mote de trigo, trigo pelado, or cebada) to Peru by way of the Middle East. It was originally used mainly to make emolientes, grain-and-herb-based teas that street vendors still sell claiming many health benefits. Barley has a nutty, slightly chewy texture that also works well in risottos (see page 214) and other dishes. I’m partial to those from Peru, but you can use any barley that you find.

Beans

So many different beans are native to Central and South America, while nonnative pulses like lentils are just as popular. These are the ones I use most in my cooking. For bean and pulse sources, see Resources.

Lentejas (Lentils). Lentils aren’t native to South America, but they are so affordable, filling, and tasty, they have become very popular in Peru. My mom used them as the base for tacu tacu, savory cakes make from various leftover beans and rice (page 211), or just cooked up big, steaming pots for the middle of the table. There are many varieties to try, but if you find them, beluga lentils, the black “caviar” of the bean world, are worth the price (see page 219).

Pallares (Lima Beans). In Peru, we call lima beans pallares, but the English name “lima” stuck after they were first shipped abroad (see sidebar, page 212). The nickname “butter beans” refers to their flavor. Lima beans are fairly firm and hold their shape well. Fresh, green limas are good in salads like solteritos (page 173), and I really like the dried white beans simply boiled in plenty of water with a few stock-friendly vegetables and a good shake of salt.

Canario (Mayocoba Beans). Despite the nickname Peruano beans, these medium-size beige beans (also called canario, or canary beans, even in Peru) are native to Central America. They have a mild flavor and a creamy texture that makes them versatile in so many dishes (see page 212), but I really like canarios in simple stews or boiled up the same way as lima beans. You could substitute great northern or similar beans.

La Despensa (The Pantry)

Along with the ingredients on the previous pages, I always keep these staple Peruvian ingredients in my pantry and produce drawers.

Ajo (Garlic) and Kión (Ginger)

Other than ají peppers, garlic and ginger are probably the most important ingredients in my kitchen. Garlic brings in the Spanish influence, ginger the Asian kick. Like peppers, we usually grind them up individually into pastes (see page 37). Unlike the minced or pressed versions of garlic, or grated ginger, the pastes almost melt into meats and sauces and don’t brown too quickly when cooked at high heat. Having the purees around also cuts down on prep time, since all you have to do is spoon out a dollop. You can also freeze them. I’ve had people tell me that, both flavor- and convenience-wise, the garlic paste in particular has changed their daily cooking lives. I’m not going to go that far, but just promise me you won’t substitute the jarred garlic pastes found at many grocery stores. The homemade version is on a whole other level. If you can’t make the pastes, you can finely grate the ginger and garlic (see page 37) as an alternative, if you must.

Cebollas Rojas (Red Onions)

In Peru, you never hear anyone say they don’t like onions, I think partly because we use red onions almost exclusively. The fresh onions are sliced or chopped up to use in salsa criolla (page 44), probably the most important condiment in Peruvian cooking, while the cooked onions are the base of so many stir-fries and stews. The varieties in Peru tend to be smaller and sweeter than the giant red onions widely available in the United States, but the ones you find here are still good, and I use them at my restaurants. To temper the acidity, especially if you are using the onions raw, soak freshly chopped or sliced red onions for a few minutes in ice water. A quick ice water soak also makes the onions extra-crispy.

Culantro (Cilantro), Sacha Culantro (Jungle Cilantro), and Huacatay (pronounced “wah-kah-tie”)

It probably goes without saying that shortly after arriving with the Conquistadors, cilantro was adopted into pretty much every Central and South American cuisine. If you ever get to Peru, look for our wild version called sacha culantro, or jungle cilantro. The plant, native to the Amazon, has small, pointy leaves and a stronger cilantrolike flavor that I like to use as a garnish when I can. Peruvian cooks also use a lot of huacatay, an herb native to the Andes known as “Peruvian black mint” that looks like a small, bushy fern with thin, spear-shaped leaves. It lends an almost aniselike mint flavor to traditional Andean dishes. Unlike cilantro, huacatay can be difficult to find fresh in the United States outside of a handful of growers at some farmers’ markets. I substitute smaller amounts of frozen huacatay (see Resources), which has a more concentrated flavor. You could also substitute equal parts fresh mint and basil. The flavor won’t be as intense, but the combination works.

Harina de camote (Sweet Potato Starch) and Katakuriko (Japanese Potato Starch)

In Peru, starches are derived from locally grown crops like potatoes (rather than wheat) and are used as thickeners. In Japanese cooking, the starch of regular (not sweet) potatoes is often used as a coating for fried foods because it creates a very light, crispy crust. I use both in my cooking. I recommend looking for both at specialty Latin and Asian markets, but you can substitute any potato starch. Don’t substitute potato flour, a very different derivative of potatoes. Cornstarch is often a suitable substitute, especially when frying.

The most traditional Peruvian starch, harina de camote (sweet potato starch), gives puddings like mazamorra morada (page 243) an almost silky texture. It doesn’t leave the off-taste that corn and some wheat starches sometimes can, so it’s worth seeking out for desserts like the pudding that call for a large quantity of starch (alternatively, substitute regular potato starch). Potato starches also gelatinize at lower temperatures than corn starches. Like other starches, add the potato starch toward the end of cooking (prolonged high heat can cause the starches to break down and separate), and mix the powder into a little water or other liquid first.

Katakuriko (Japanese potato starch) gives fried foods a “lighter” crust than purely flour batters. I really prefer the texture of katakuriko, which is incredibly light, but you can substitute any regular potato starch for the fried recipes in this book. They all work well. When I don’t have potato starch, I use cornstarch for frying, which also works. Any katakuriko or potato starch is also a good stand-in for harina de camote in baking recipes.

Limón Peruano (Peruvian Limes)

Peruvian limes have a reputation for being more acidic than the Persian variety in most American grocery stores. They are, but in an aromatic and very balanced way. Persian limes are a good stand-in, and I use them for most dishes at my restaurants. The one exception is when I’m making a Pisco Sour (page 226). The cocktail really is top notch with Peruvian limes, but a mix of equal parts lime and lemon juice gives you a close approximation to the real deal.

Salsa de Soya (Soy Sauce) and Tamari

Most people refer to soy sauce as just Sillao in Peru, the name of the most popular brand there (based on the Cantonese word for soy sauce), and the one I grew up with. It’s so popular, the fermented-soybean-and-wheat-based sauce is a staple in both home kitchens and on tables at chifas, Peruvian-Chinese restaurants, all over Lima. It’s used not just for saltados, or Peruvian-style stir-fries, but on anything that needs a splash of bold, salty flavor. I use soy sauce to wake up everything from the simplest bowl of leftover rice to the most elegant-looking tiraditos, Peruvian-style sashimi. After working at sushi restaurants in London, I must admit I can't go back to the Peruvian version and switched to good-quality Japanese brands like Yamasa. It is so much more balanced, and less salty, than the everyday soy sauce I grew up eating.

Unlike soy sauce, most tamari does not contain wheat, so it is a little thicker and has a slightly stronger flavor. Tamari is also usually gluten-free (check the label; a few brands contain a tiny amount of wheat). If you are avoiding gluten, you can substitute tamari for the soy sauce in any of the recipes in this book. The flavor will be a little stronger, so decrease the amount slightly.

Yuzu Kosho

Peruvian cooking has many Asian influences, but I had never tasted the Japanese condiment yuzu kosho until I worked in Japanese restaurants. The paste is a tongue-awakening combination of fermented green or red chile peppers, yuzu peel, and salt. I use the more picante green chile pepper version that you can find at most Asian markets on grilled seafood and meats, often delivered by way of what I call my “Peruvian pesto” (page 117), an olive oil–based sauce packed with global flavors: yuzu kosho, ají amarillo peppers, garlic, ginger, lemongrass, cilantro, and lime juice. You don’t need much yuzu kosho, just a little so it doesn't overwhelm a dish. The paste keeps well for months in the refrigerator.