When I boarded the plane from Miami to Lima, I was both nervous and excited. At 17, this was my very first trip abroad alone. My parents said I was brave, but I wasn’t sure — I just knew I had to see my abuela, who lived in a small coastal town in Peru. She always told me over the phone, “Cuando vengas, te daré ceviche como nunca lo probaste en tu vida” — “When you come, I’ll give you ceviche like you’ve never tasted in your life.”
I had eaten seafood before, sure. But ceviche? Raw fish cured in lime juice, with chili and onions? It sounded bold, daring — maybe even a little scary. Little did I know, ceviche would not just be a dish; it would be the doorway into Peru’s culture, history, and warmth.
First Impressions of Lima
The moment I landed in Lima, the air smelled different — salty, misty, and alive with the Pacific breeze. My abuela greeted me with the tightest hug, her short frame barely reaching my shoulders. She laughed and said, “Ay, chiquita, you’re too tall for me now.”
Before heading to her town, we spent two days exploring Lima. We walked through Miraflores, where cliffs dropped dramatically into the ocean. Surfboards dotted the waves, and food carts lined the streets with churros, anticuchos (grilled beef heart skewers), and picarones (sweet potato doughnuts drizzled with syrup). I tried them all, each bite sweeter or spicier than the last.
But the moment that etched into my memory was at a seaside restaurant in Barranco. Abuela ordered ceviche for us to share. The waiter brought a plate piled high with cubes of raw white fish, shimmering in a citrus marinade, topped with red onion slivers and a sprinkle of cilantro. Next to it were cancha (crunchy corn nuts) and thick slices of sweet potato.
I took my first bite, and my entire mouth lit up — sour, spicy, salty, fresh. The fish wasn’t raw anymore; the lime had “cooked” it perfectly. I was hooked.
A Journey Through Peru’s Food
Over the next few weeks, Abuela and I traveled across Peru, visiting her friends, markets, and favorite restaurants. Every region had its own flavor, its own rhythm.
1. The Markets of Lima
We wandered through Mercado Surquillo, a bustling market where fishmongers shouted prices and women sold every kind of chili imaginable — ají amarillo, ají limo, rocoto. The colors were dazzling, from the red snapper piled on ice to the golden stacks of corn. I tasted chicha morada, a sweet drink made from purple corn, cinnamon, and pineapple.
2. Cusco and the Sacred Valley
From Lima, we took a flight to Cusco, the old capital of the Inca Empire. The altitude hit me hard, but the food helped. I tried alpaca steak — lean and flavorful — and chuño, freeze-dried potatoes that have been made the same way for centuries. One day, in a tiny village in the Sacred Valley, I ate pachamanca, a traditional feast where meat and potatoes are cooked in an underground oven with hot stones. It felt like magic when they pulled the food from the earth.
3. Arequipa – The White City
In Arequipa, I discovered rocoto relleno, a fiery red pepper stuffed with beef, onions, and cheese. My lips burned, but I couldn’t stop eating. Abuela laughed and handed me a glass of leche to calm the heat.
4. The Coast – Back to Abuela’s Home
Finally, we returned to Abuela’s town along the coast. Every morning, fishermen brought in their catch: corvina (sea bass), flounder, shrimp. And every afternoon, neighbors would gather around the kitchen, sharing food, gossip, and laughter. That’s when Abuela decided it was time to teach me how to make ceviche — the dish she had promised me all along.
Step-by-Step Recipe: Peruvian Ceviche
Ceviche is simple in theory but requires care and balance. Abuela always said, “El secreto está en la frescura” — “The secret is in freshness.” You need the freshest fish, the sharpest limes, and just the right touch of spice.
Ingredients (4 servings)
- 500 g (1 lb) fresh white fish fillets (sea bass, flounder, or snapper), skinless and boneless
- 1 red onion, thinly sliced into half-moons
- 1–2 fresh ají limo or red chili peppers, finely chopped (seeds removed if you want less heat)
- 10–12 limes (enough for about 1 cup of juice), freshly squeezed
- A handful of fresh cilantro leaves, chopped
- 1 teaspoon salt
- ½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
- 1 small piece of fresh ginger (optional, grated for extra zing)
To Serve
- 1 sweet potato, boiled and sliced into rounds
- 1 ear of Peruvian corn (or large-kernel corn), boiled and cut into chunks
- A handful of cancha (toasted corn nuts)
Method
- Prepare the onions
- Slice the red onion into thin half-moons.
- Rinse in cold water and drain. This removes bitterness and keeps them crisp.
- Cut the fish
- Dice the fish into bite-sized cubes, about 1 cm each.
- Place in a chilled glass or ceramic bowl (never metal, as it can react with the lime).
- Season the fish
- Sprinkle with salt and pepper. Add the chopped chili and optional ginger.
- Add lime juice
- Pour freshly squeezed lime juice over the fish until fully covered.
- Stir gently to combine. The acid will begin to “cook” the fish instantly.
- Let it rest
- Allow the mixture to marinate for about 10–15 minutes. The fish should turn opaque but remain tender.
- Add onions and cilantro
- Mix in the rinsed onions and chopped cilantro just before serving.
- Serve immediately
- Plate the ceviche with slices of boiled sweet potato, chunks of corn, and a handful of cancha.
- Eat with a spoon, scoop with corn, or enjoy straight from the bowl.
Cooking Time
- Preparation: 20 minutes
- Marination: 10–15 minutes
- Total: ~35 minutes
Nutrition (per serving, approx.)
- Calories: ~280 kcal
- Protein: 30 g
- Fat: 6 g
- Carbohydrates: 22 g
- Fiber: 5 g
Reflections of a Teenage Traveler
As I sat in Abuela’s kitchen, eating ceviche that I had prepared with her guidance, I realized something. Traveling alone wasn’t about being fearless; it was about opening myself to experiences that seemed strange at first but became unforgettable.
Ceviche wasn’t just raw fish. It was the Pacific Ocean in a bite, the sharpness of Peruvian limes, the fire of chili, the sweetness of corn, and the comfort of Abuela’s laughter. It was the taste of a country that welcomed me with open arms.
When I return home, I know I’ll make ceviche for my parents and friends. They’ll probably look at me the way I once looked at the idea of raw fish — unsure. But when they taste it, I’m certain they’ll understand what I discovered: that food can be an adventure, and sometimes, a plate tells a whole story.
And maybe, just maybe, I’ll tell them that the best ceviche isn’t just eaten — it’s shared, in a kitchen filled with love.
Gracias, Perú. And gracias, Abuela.
