Where it all Started

I lived on the corner of 53rd st. & 9th Avenue for 3 years. Like a New Yorker, I would hustle past small non-descript restaurants without giving notice. One in particular, was directly below my apartment. It had no neon sign, no sleek design and no beautiful patrons to draw me in. Until, after two years of being oblivious, I noticed a line of people waiting for a seat. There was a Festival for Semana Santa at a small Peruvian church on 51st street and there were food vendors in the streets, but everyone seemed to want to eat at this one spot.

So I took note, but that was pretty much it. Months passed before I finally decided to eat there, as a last resort I’m sure. But I was immediately taken with this little eatery. The food was somehow exceptional. A heaping plate of ceviche mixto, mixed fresh seafood marinated in citrus with fresh cilantro, shaved red onions, half of a steamed sweet potato, and toasted corn. Aji de gallina, a traditional Peruvian dish of shredded chicken smothered in a rich chili sauce, served with hardboiled eggs and green olives. And Parihuela, a gigantic bowl of seafood soup, with crab legs creeping over the side. It had every sea creature imaginable floating in a fragrant broth. All with a side of perfectly fried yucca and lime. It was all completely new to me, and I was infatuated.

I was also disappointed that I had overlooked this place, El Riconcito Peruano, for so long. And maybe even a little ashamed that I had discriminated against because it lacked an outright appeal. I had blatantly misjudged this book by its cover, and missed out on some great food as a result.

As I returned to explore the menu, I pondered further the dilemma of this situation. Everything I tried on the menu was delicious and done well. The Yucca, for example, was always fried well, crispy and light, never greasy. As a cook I know this is a simple endeavor, but not necessarily an easy one. To consistently fry, the oil had to be changed often, a costly measure. The oil would have to always be at the right temperature to achieve crispiness without seeming oily. Lastly, and most importantly, the person doing the frying actually cared enough to consistently execute the process with care.

The ceviche mixto, basically a raw seafood salad, was only served on the weekend. I assume for the reason that the business could not move enough ceviche during the week to merit serving it; or in layman’s terms, simply to guarantee freshness. The underlying characteristic being that “if they can’t do it well, they don’t do it”.

I realized the overall quality of this food was exceptional, and I wasn’t paying much for such a great product. I had developed the habit of settling for mediocrity when dining. Paying too much for too little. In addition to this, came the realization that New York streets were peppered with gems like this and that I really wanted to mine them out. With these came the nagging feeling that I was rushing through my life. Hustling through my time in New York without enjoying it.

Unfortunately El Riconcito closed its doors in October of 2006. I don’t knows why for sure. So today I open my eyes a little when I walk down the street. I slow down and peer in places that look like they have potential, and if they do, I try them out. Most are “just fine”, but every once in while, one is truly noteworthy. These places make all the effort worthwhile and lend themselves to the feeling that my days are not wasted. El Riconcito Peruano is where it all started.