This did not happen at Almazen, but what do you do after being poisoned by dairy at a restaurant (I’m lactose intolerant. Maybe “poisoned” is too strong), a long argument with servers, being offered another meal after you tell the server you’re going to throw up, and feeling as though you can never trust another restaurant again in a country that generally doesn’t understand food intolerances? Well, you get awfully shaken up. And discouraged. And scared. And a little traumatized. Sound overly dramatic? Okay, maybe, but if you had my stomach and dietary history you might change your tune. I’ve had more than a few gastrointestinal problems in the 5 weeks I’ve been here.
The answer is that you go to Almazen. You walk into a room full of calm. I’ll admit I don’t like the music here. It’s soft and English and folky, but I don’t know who at the restaurant chooses it. Maybe if they justified their choice to me I’d be okay with it. It sets a bit of a sad mood when all you want is the relaxation. Still, the calm, whether sad or just relaxed, is a welcome respite from sometimes compassion-less, loud, fast, impractical, frustrating – though often wonderful – Lima.
So I walked in (after pushing really, really hard on the door and thinking they must not be open) and I sat down. Soon there was a small cup of hot liquid in front of me. Herba Louisa with lemon and agave. Caffeine free. And two stamped rice cakes. Gluten-free. Served on a bamboo roller.
I could have cried from joy and zen.
And it was as though the server saw that because when I asked about what I could eat on the menu, she went and got the chef because I was so in need of salvation. And out came Henry. He walked me through every dish, also going through in his own head how he prepared it to double check he wasn’t forgetting anything.
An Andean tasting board of native root vegetables, lentil pancakes, pita bread and hot pepper sauce; quinoa tabbouli with black olive tapenade; and avocado causa with a pepper cream sauce thickened with brazil nuts. There was lots I could eat!
Maybe an exclamation mark isn’t quite accurate for how I felt. I was more relieved than excited.But I really did love the sound of the pepper and tomato stew with onions, potatoes, carrots, brown rice and baked quinoa falafels. Other mains (below) included stuffed peppers with rice; yuca gnocchi with pepper dairy-free cream sauce or artichokes; and an Indian-style vegetable curry with mango chutney.
I went with the causa, which was a meal in itself. so rich. So creamy. So many textures.
Bottom layer – mildly spiced mashed yellow PEruvian potato. Middle layer – mixed black, red and white quinoa with mashed avocado cream. Top layer – more potato. Sauce -I think it’s a mild pepper paste blended with local Brazil nuts. Not just from Brazil, it turns out as the Amazon spreads into Peru too. The “mandala” of vegetables (cucumber, carrots and sweet cherry tomatoes in a sweet balsamic sauce, I think?) around the outside is a Hindu reflection of the tranquility I needed. Eat to feed your soul…
The main was the pepper and tomato stew.
I took half the causa and half the main to go because it was so much, rich food. Not rich like the fattening food throughout Lima, but rich in the filling, nutritiously dense kind of way. I wish there had been more stew, but Henry loves olive oil (and so do I) and I can only handle so much before I don’t feel like eating for a day. The falafel balls were so bland by comparison to the bright and sunny-sweet stew, and the dressing for the salad wasn’t even necessary. The vegetables held their own, and blended smoothly into the stew for anyone who disagreed. (I came back here a week later with a friend and tried the Andean native root vegetable board. The babaganoush was the best part. Smoky, not too much tahini, just enough lemon. It’s the kind of babaganoush to convince carnivores to try vegetarian food. The hummus and olive tapenade serving was also generous and the lentil pancakes were plenty savoury – read bitter – but the dessert-like cherry tomatoes were right there to help out).
Obviously no room for dessert but I knew I’d have a second chance on Saturday at the next Bioferia market.
Henry also gave me a jar of miso before I left, so sad was he for my poor gluten-free, struggling stomach. “There’s nowhere in Lima for soup,” was his answer to my question of where I could find a bowl of homemade stuff without the MSG and preservatives that come in the form of a packet or bouillon cube. “Make your own,” he continued, and went on to recommend a handful of vegetables I’d pick up that weekend at the market. It was a simple soup I made but a filling one, like a lot of his food. He just puts a lot of care into presentation and vegetable sourcing. It’s not cheap, but you pay for quality and you support local organic farms. GMOs may be illegal in Peru but pesticides and herbicides are not.
My stomach is happy. My soul is getting there. One secular mandala at a time.
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