I have never yet been faced with the question of whether to say "Bonsoir" or "Buenas Noches" when walking into a restaurant called "Cafe Express," but to the great amusement of my French club located directly across the highway at Café Express, there is a Peruvian restaurant also called (Peru) Cafe Express, and I went to both on the same evening after waiting a long time for the need to go out to eat to arise in between the 9-whenever and an occasion to attend French club. Having suffered a ball to the head during a volleyball match, I was in imperfect shape to play sports as per usual at risk of a steep "spike" in medical bills, but I expected to have a "ball" this evening nevertheless.
After fighting through various alternate routes and a ten-minute effort to get to the other side of the freeway, I snuck by the back door into the plaza filled with enough Latin American restaurants to instigate a second Franco-Spanish War and walked inside a shockingly empty restaurant. With brilliant lighting, exuberant Latin news anchors on the TV, attractively intimate tables, and a tiny Peruvian grocery behind the front counter staffed by a millennial-aged professional waiter with barely peccable English, there should be no real reason for me to have such complete privacy. My immediate request for a glass of chicha morada was met just as immediately, the delicious apple-flecked purple corn drink keeping me refreshed and attuning my mind to the wonders of Peruvian cuisine laid out on the fairly standard but concise and relatively inexpensive menu. As a relative newcomer to cooking Peruvian food, I specifically wanted to sample papas a la huancaína and ají de gallina, but decided, given my stomach's age rapidly encroaching on the big 3-0, I would be better off just ordering a main dish to see if I would have the "guts" to order any more. At the word of the primary waiter who affirmed it was a popular item on the menu, I waited hungrily for a plate of this white-yellow equivalent to creamy chicken soup without the broth.
It only took about six minutes, during which I casually conversed with the staff to find out he is actually Venezuelan and knows "chicha" as a half-horchata and half-hot chocolate beverage with cinnamon, and that the woman beside him seemed either shy or not yet very comfortable with English, for the chicken to appear on my plate smiling broadly at me through eyes of hard-boiled eggs and nose of black olives. Especially when it folded itself neatly into the parsley-garnished white rice, the chicken went down like a creamy Thai coconut curry, the evaporated milk keeping the stew thick but not overpoweringly milky and allowing the spicy ají amarillo flavor to dominate but still remain very subtle and at the ideal heat level. Slices of carefully boiled potatoes kept the dish's texture engaging as shreds of chicken melted away luxuriously. I couldn't name anything wrong with the dish, except that it was more filling than it appeared even at the decently healthy portion size and I knew I was beat for the evening, even as I expended caloric energy furiously typing in Spanish to my Venezuelan coworkers about why I didn't yet know about Venezuelan chicha.
And when the woman at the counter headed back into the kitchen with a blush on her face as she talked about an anticipated date in Spanish, I was in the perfect frame of mind as I laughed audibly to clue them in that I actually understood what they were saying. Failing that, I remarked towards the kitchen in Spanish. And then I didn't see her again for a few minutes.
And I paid and left, promising to come back quite shortly to try the dishes I missed out on, and knowing I'd found a quick and inexpensive representative of South America's best cuisine and a much more delicious "Café Express." With warm welcoming service and flawlessly executed Peruvian classics, "express" in a world of Panda Expresses almost does the restaurant a disfavor, but it does make itself prone to remaining an undiscovered treasure under the radar. read more