If you ask a local about traditional Peruvian dishes, be ready to listen to a story or two, especially when it comes to tiraditos, ceviches, and causas.
Ceviche is the most well-known dish, and the one with the most difficult roots to trace. At its most basic, raw fish is served in a lime juice–based sauce called leche de tigre. Two types of corn—crispy, popped Cancha (page 46) and tender boiled choclo corn (page 28)—are usually served alongside, with crunchy, red onion–based Salsa Criolla (page 44) on top.
Today, the word is sometimes spelled seviche, but more commonly along the coast, you see ceviche or cebiche painted on a sign out front of a little seaside café. In Peru, locals say the version with a “b” evolved from English speakers who would ask for the “sea-beach” dish served on the beach that they’d heard was so good. There is also a Quechua (which the Incas spoke, as do many locals today) word for a dish called siwichi, but the name probably comes from somewhere else.
Some historians trace modern ceviche to the fish preparations of the Incas even earlier, to the Moche, the dominant civilization in northern Peru from the early second to around the eighth century. They supposedly preserved raw fish with fermented juices and ate it with local ají peppers, which isn’t all that different from partially “cooking” raw fish in lime juice (modern ceviches also use various ají peppers for spice). The dish developed into today’s version when the Spanish colonists brought those limes, along with other now local ingredients, to South America in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries.
There is also a practical story behind modern ceviches. Before refrigerators, fishermen delivered their predawn catch to restaurants during the first few hours of daylight. To keep the fish from spoiling in the heat, restaurants had to serve the fish by midday, so the cevicherias were only open for lunch. Today, even with modern-era refrigeration, many still only keep daylight hours. In Lima, you’ll also see the carretillas, pushcarts, that ceviche vendors use to make a quick batch on the spot. I actually prefer to eat ceviche at night, for a light and refreshing supper.
The folklore around tiraditos centers around local pescadores, fishermen. When they came in from their early morning fishing runs, they would supposedly slice off thin strips of fish as they cleaned their catch for snacks. They tossed the raw fish strips onto the hot rocks along the coastline for a few seconds to barely sear the fish and ate the fish right there, with a squeeze of lime juice.
My guess is the dish likely evolved in home kitchens. Still, I’ve always liked the fisherman story, and the word tiradito refers to the Spanish verb tirar, or “to throw,” so who knows, maybe there is some truth there.
Causas are chilled, layered potato casseroles with a thick spread of smashed avocados, then often chicken or tuna salad, or whatever leftovers are around, on top. In the most traditional versions, you can count on some sort of decorative topping— pot luck casserole art.
The history varies depending on whom you ask, but kausay, the Quechua word for “existence” or “sustenance of life,” goes back to pre-Columbian times. The word may not have even directly referred to causas, but to me, they show an enduring appreciation of potatoes.
In a lot of ways, causas today serve the same social and crowd-feeding function as potato salads in the American South, only the Peruvian version is more of a complete dish. I can’t say that I am still drawn to many of those old-school flavors, but I will always have a soft spot for the leftover chicken and canned tuna versions. You may even spot a few riding shotgun in Lima on mototaxis (converted motorcycles with bench seats in back for passengers) dressed up in their Sunday potato-garnish finest and headed to a family gathering.