More lovely Peruvian hybridization
5163 Venice Blvd. (west of La Brea)
Phone: 323-936-4444 | map

I keep doing this to myself, but I'm quite happy. It is a well-known equation: the productivity of a workday after lunch is inversely proportional to the level of Peruvian food involved.

It's easy to race by this little spot, hidden in a corner mall along a wide stretch of Venice Blvd. on your way elsewhere. The building is painted-over brick, the interior oddly glass-walled as if a travel agency suddenly decided to become an eatery. A small television shows salsa videos. A dignified Japanese man or woman may take your order, and can break out the Spanish if need be.

I don't often see this, since the word "lomo" gets tossed around a lot, but I rather like the Pescado Saltado. Like the lomo and pollo versions, the main feature is sizzled in an iron pan with slivers of red onion, tomato and french fries until the meter reaches "sodden and sleepy."

The pescado here is fish strips, once breaded and fried and probably crisp, now wrinkled and surrendered to the sauce. The tomato is nearly nonexistent, but the fries are numerous and explosive with flavor.

There is something about how Peruvian cuisine handles the interaction between chicken and firewood. The Combo #4 (1/4 pollo con tortilla) is plain-clothed, but! The chicken! It gives Pollo A La Brasa on Western serious competition. Brilliantly dark with spices, bright and full-flavored, as if it had been fraternizing with a pair of duck flight attendants in a jacuzzi of pork drippings.

While you're dealing with that florid ornithological simile, I can tell you that the mild-looking frijol is a cup of thickly rendered pinto beans, and incredibly tasty. Incredibly. Enough to make one pause and think on it. There is also a calm ensalada and a bebida that come with this deal.

Adam, who found this joint and is not easily impressed: Not just good. It's surprisingly awesome.

For dashing over everything a gaggle of squeeze bottles huddles on your table, including mustard, ketchup, a good, hot chipotle mayonnaise, and a fairly tame aji sauce with a patient spice somewhere in its verdant paleness.

Pollo el Brasero #3 is closed on Mondays, may or may not be cash only, and may or may not be open until 6 on weekdays, 7 on weekends, and may slip into closure early.

Do I add to the Peruvian Tally? This is a tough one. The list is getting extensive, and this is also a rotisserie joint. But what the hell.

Fowl, on a spit, over wood that's on fire, and, well, that's all I need, really
764 S. Western Ave. (@ 8th, in Koreatown)
Phone: 213-382-4090 | map
16527 S. Vermont Ave. (west of the 110, in Gardena)
Phone: 310-715-2494 | map

The Pollo a la Brasa Western is the last structure remaining on a strange triangular strip that divides 8th Street from itself. There is no parking, unless you find a meter.

See that stack of wood that walls this building on two sides? That, dear friends, is the fiery chariot by which meat on a rotisserie skewer ascends to Valhalla. The scent of wood and smoke and chicken blends in a trio of intoxication.

The inside is tiny, with brushed metal and fake brick, and five tables with yellow seats which fit four if the four are reasonably at ease with each other. All the doors are open to let in a refreshing crossbreeze.

The menu has a few things that aren't chicken--grilled rib eye steak and anticucho (grilled beef heart)--but you are not concerned with them. You want the rotisserie chicken: 1/4, 1/2 or the entire bird.




The cuarto. I am unsure of words to use here, because everything seems inadequate. I am a big fan of properly crispy chicken skin, and the skin is a scarred landscape of brown, crackingly sweet darkness, ready to be pulled away and crunched. The meat has that pinkish tinge that Peruvian rotisserie does--don't worry, it's done--and is softer than a 1970s easy-listening yacht rock compilation, practically collapsing away from the bone.

A few unself-conscious minutes later I eye the bones sadly, wondering if more is hidden somewhere. I should have gotten the 1/2; I could have blown through that and still been longing for more. It is chicken, and since a quarter chicken with a couple of extras is about five bucks, it's doable.

With this you can get a few sides, like rice, salad, or beans. The salad is an eclectic mass of cool, leafy, vegetably things to crunch, the fries are big pale girders, and the rice is white, sticky and stubborn.

The black beans are ladled from a vast pot; they're saucy and infused with meat, rustic and absolutely all right with me. They are, in fact, my current favorite batch of black beans. I am also curious about the aguadito, Peruvian chicken soup, since the chicken here is so brilliant.

The aji is an airy green sauce with a tongue-bashing bite. The chicha morada is more clovey than most, and I like it.

A bit of Lima at Louise
8246 Louise Ave. (@ Roscoe, in Northridge)
Phone: 818-708-7061 | map | website

It is roomier than it looks, a humble counter facing walls of red. Rainbows of blankets lie under acrylic tablecloths. The interior is modest, but Peru's Taste gives Puro Sabor a run for its nuevos soles with the skill of its kitchen.

I first try a Peruvian/Chinese staple, the Pollo Saltado, dark chicken stir-fried with french fries and the ever-present red onion and tomato. The french fries are wan and uniform and probably not homemade; they are not the focus of this.

It is something about the juices. Delicate colors of green herb and dark spice gather toward something sublimely delicious, soaking into the foot of the steamed rice rising like a step pyramid above the plate. The taste can be savored for long minutes afterward; even a single slice of limp red onion is worthy of praise.

With over 2400 kilometers of coastline, Peruvian fare should be capable with the seafood, and it is reflected here. The Pescado a la Chorrillana is from Chorrillos, a district on the sound end of Lima, and it is my new favorite fish dish. Two large fillets are fried lightly, tender and shreddy, utterly unlike a fluffy beer-battered fish 'n chips style. Tomato and red onion, of course, are sautéed and laid over them like a romantic plot.

Peru also has an obsession with the potato, as might be assumed from the fries one sees in saltado dishes. On this plate there is a potato, sliced in half; each half is itself fried. The result is one potato-sized french fry, which seems unwise but really makes a lot of flavorly sense, and beats a baked potato two throws out of three.

The plantains here--porción de platano frito--are caramelized into deep browns and ambers, beautifully sweet and barely crispy at the ends. I will crave these too.

Their version of the puréed chili sauce known as aji is the color of mustard and instantly furious, the hottest of the Peruvian places I know except possibly for Mamita. It gives your tongue no greeting or attention at all, preferring to leap over it and slam into the back of your throat.

What else... I must try the salchipapas. French fries and sausage? Why isn't this already popular? French fries and sausage. Please. Write your Congressperson.

The chicha morada is thin and sweet and not memorable, but you're going to drain it quickly when you've dabbed too much aji over your dish.

Peru's Taste is in an uneven little corner mall (note the strange angles in the first photo), so parking is plentiful.

The Peruvian poll:

Mario's: Best Chance for Being Carted Home in a Basket
Los Balcones del Perú: Classiest Place for Making Yourself Useless
Lola's: Best Chicha Morada
Mamita: Most tongue-spanking Aji sauce
Peru's Taste: Most savory sauces
Puro Sabor: Best Lomo Saltado
Choza Mama: Most comfortably home-style

Now at work, status: sleepy
3121 W. Olive Ave. (@ Alameda, in Burbank)
Phone: 818-566-9888 | map | website

On the corner of Olive and Ontario is a touch of South American soul; an outside mural depicts Peruvians with mischievous expressions, traversing a mountain path to a thematically expected Machu Picchu. Their amusement is obvious, and contagious.

Once inside, one half is a no-frills kitchen counter, the other a fan-cooled room the color of butternut squash and desaturated green, combining to emit a homely and friendly aura. Romantic shows in Spanish, soccer matches, or even the SyFy Channel* may blare from one wall.

Let's talk about why we came here: brilliantly combined, nap-inducing Peruvian fare. The Pollo Saltado has a thicker sauce than most, almost a brown stew of dark chicken meat, red onions, sodden french fries, and tomato quarters. Together they become an integrated meld of deep character. I am thankful for the plastic plate and its raised edges that keep the liquid contained, yet saddened when I finish, because I could easily devour half again what was there.

The Combination Saltado--chicken, shrimp and steak--is heaped even higher in a gleaming array of purple and beige. The steak is well-done and firm, soaking up the sauce, while the shrimp is curled and bursting and trying to keep up with the steak and chicken.

When one orders a saltado dish, one expects an iron-sizzled mess of Heaven, with a stolid heap of white rice on the side for juice-soaking purposes. Choza Mama introduces an unexpected flexibility, in that you pick two sides. White rice is available, yes, and you should probably choose it because you need to drizzle green aji sauce on it, because I said so.

However, the available sides raise an interested eyebrow. The Lentils are soft like Indian daal, slices of red onion pulling out earthy richness. There are really nifty Peruvian Beans, almost like gently refried beans, if the beans happened to be great northern beans and therefore larger and softer. Both sides are quite tasty, but have no capacity for liquid absorption, being nearly liquid themselves.

Essential to Peruvian fare is the aji, a pale green paste that ranges from a vegetal hiss to nostril-flaring burn. Choza Mama's is fairly mild. They also offer a butterscotch-colored sauce that is similar but hotter, with almost a curry/hummus flair.

There is a tight batch of spaces behind, but otherwise beware of street signage, mostly telling you not to park on Ontario during the day, ever, on pain of being forced to work at one of the nearby corporate Disney buildings.

Ah, yes! The Peruvian count:

Mario's: Best Chance for Being Carted Home in a Basket
Los Balcones del Perú: Classiest Place for Making Yourself Useless
Lola's: Best Chicha Morada
Mamita: Most tongue-spanking Aji sauce
Peru's Taste: Most savory sauces
Puro Sabor: Best Lomo Saltado
Choza Mama: Most comfortably home-style

* Have I ever told you how silly I think this name-change is? What's wrong with the "SciFi Channel"? People know what Sci Fi is. The new name just says "siffy" in my head. As an old-school speculative fiction and fantasy enthusiast, I demand sensibility. The defense rests.

More Perutopia
6366 Van Nuys Blvd. (@ Victory Blvd., in Van Nuys)
Phone: 818-908-0818 | map

Tucked amid the boulevard of cellphone stores, cigarette retailers, Ritmo Latino, pawnshops and Payless is this cleanly decorated haven: walls of peach and green, butterscotch tablecloths and strumming folk guitar.

Everything is multidimensionally crave-worthy. Even the bread roll is simultaneously crispy, light, hollow with air and freshness, and crunchy; it begs for butter and generous squeezes of pale green aji sauce, which itself is throat-hackingly spicy.

Puro Sabor's saltado de lomo y camarones is less likely to create a persistent vegetative state than Mario's or Mamita, but I rate it higher on the culinary expertise scale. Its steak is almost tender enough to crush with the tongue, the shrimps blossoming, all simmered with tomato, red onion and french fried potatoes, sodden with honest juices.

If you love me, do get the platano frito: wondrous slices of plantain, caramelized to paradisiacal proportions, soft and sweet with a very slight crisp to the skin.

To drink, the chicha morada is rich, thicker than most, and sweet like sangria.

There's actually a parking lot in back, which will make you bite your lip in indecision. Try the metered parking along Van Nuys. Puro Sabor is open 9 to 9 daily.

The Peruvian reckoning:

Mario's: Best Chance for Being Carted Home in a Basket
Los Balcones del Perú: Classiest Place for Making Yourself Useless
Lola's: Best Chicha Morada
Mamita: Most tongue-spanking Aji sauce
Peru's Taste: Most savory sauces
Puro Sabor: Best Lomo Saltado
Choza Mama: Most comfortably home-style

More Peruvian Coma Inducement
714 S. Brand Blvd.
Phone: 818-243-5121 | map

So in my "go get gastronomically stoned and then try to return to work" wisdom, I decide to squeeze between the grey Mercedes-Benz and BMW dealerships on Brand and enter Mamita. It's not quite tiny, but it feels like it, its stuccoed plaster interrupted by photo murals-cum-travel brochures of Peru.

Your first encounter with the Mamita Effect is a crisp, hot roll that will anoint you with crumbs. There is butter, which is important, and that Squeeze Bottle of the Gods filled with creamy green aji sauce. Mamita's aji has that back-of-the-palate cough quality of heat that will keep reminding you of its presence like a guilt-prompting grandmother.

The deeply purple chicha morada, a corn beverage I've mentioned before, doesn't help much (a Cusque?a beer would probably fare better); it's tasty but a little more cloying than lola's.

So I settle into a plate of saltado de pollo, dark-meat chicken stir-fried with red onion, tomatoes, and french fries, juice-soaked from the skillet and dizzyingly hearty enough to make your eyes want to roll back in their sockets. My nose is running from the heat of it, but do I stop applying non-Newtonian liquid streaks of aji sauce? I do not, because I am foolish.

Are we sure that Peruvian food doesn't have traces of tetrahydrocannabinol in it? Anyone done any scientific research on that? Can I help?

The slowly-growing tally of Peruvian experiences:

Mario's: Best Chance for Being Carted Home in a Basket
Los Balcones del Perú: Classiest Place for Making Yourself Useless
Lola's: Best Chicha Morada
Mamita: Most tongue-spanking Aji sauce
Puro Sabor: Best Lomo Saltado
Choza Mama: Most comfortably home-style