Tom Parker Bowles: Ceviche may be minimalist, but it's a bona-fide masterpiece

It would be a stretch to call Chez Wong a restaurant. Situated in Puebla Nuevo, one of the less salubrious parts of Lima, the capital of Peru, it’s little more than a sitting room with a few random tables, hidden behind a nondescript door. There’s no menu, wine list or waiters, only chef proprietor Javier Wong, a small, brusque Chinese-Peruvian man, armed with knife and chopping board. Entry is strictly by reservation (no walk-ins here) and the place is only open for lunch.

Wong serves just two things. A stir fry, which is decent enough, and ceviche, raw fish ‘cooked’ in lime juice, the national dish of Peru and the real reason for my visit. His is said to be one of the best on Earth, and the dozens of awards and accolades that plaster the walls seem to wholeheartedly agree.

Freshness is everything: the alpha and omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end. This is no place for frozen fish, nor specimens even a moment past their prime. Before the days of mass refrigeration, ceviche was not even traditionally eaten after lunch. Wong still goes to the market early every morning, choosing only the firmest, fleshiest and most bright-eyed of specimens.

Once back at Chez Wong, he gets to work, slicing red onion before filleting the fish (which are vast) with the precision of a neurosurgeon and cutting them into hearty chunks. Some cooked octopus is added, alongside a fistful of salt and a flurry of black pepper. Freshly squeezed lime juice next, rivers of the stuff. One good stir and the dish is ready to eat. Aji chillis, fierce and fruity, come chopped on a plate by its side.

Dear God it’s good, bracingly pure and startlingly clean, as if you’re supping on the very soul of the sole. This is high-octane eating at its finest, each mouthful a heady riot of citrus zing and chilli heat. The fish, however, is very much the star, its delicate, almost winsome texture in marked contrast to the muscular chew of the cephalopod. At the bottom of the bowl is a milky puddle of ‘leche de tigre’ (or tiger’s milk), containing the essence of the dish. It’s said to work wonders with hangovers. Wong’s ceviche may be minimalist, but it’s also a bona-fide masterpiece.

Lima is a magnificent place for those craving ceviche and you’ll find everything from the quick hit of the street-cart classic, guzzled on the hoof, to the elegantly heady highs of Maido, where Nikkei (or Peruvian-Japanese fusion, made famous by Nobu Matsuhisa) cuisine reaches its shimmering peak: ceviche served with dashi, ginger and shoyu, a masterclass in subtle restraint. You’ll also find tiraditos, a close relative, for which the fish is cut sashimi style, rather than cubed.

For those after something a little more baroque, there’s chef Gastón Acurio’s Criollo at La Mar in Miraflores, where flounder is tumbled with tiny shards of crisp calamari. And don’t miss the sole tiradito with sea urchin at El Mercado, dark and thrillingly dangerous.

Although the Peruvians may have perfected the dish, they didn’t necessarily invent it. Limes were only introduced by the Spanish conquistadors in the 15th and 16th centuries, meaning earlier versions used alternative acidic ingredients. Two millennia back, the Moche people of present-day Ecuador and Peru ‘cooked’ their fish in tumbo (or banana passion fruit) juice, whereas the Incas, a little later, used chicha, a fermented maize drink.

The Polynesians have their own cured-fish tradition, best seen in poisson cru, and I’ve eaten a dish called kinilaw in the Philippines, raw fish dipped in vinegar — very good it was, too. Yet every Latin American country with a Pacific coastline, from Mexico to Chile, Colombia to Ecuador, has its own take on ceviche and usually also claims it as its own.

One of the very finest I’ve ever eaten, up there with Wong’s, is at El Guero, a small and very famous seafood stand in Ensenada, Mexico. Its sea-urchin ceviche is served on a crisp tostada and will blow your mind. Everything else is pretty magnificent, too. You’ll also find agua-chile, or ‘chilli water’ across Mexico, a close cousin to ceviche, where raw prawns meet lime juice, onions, avocado and chilte-pín chillis for a dish with both kick and bite.

As for the fish, I prefer firm white flesh to the oily varieties, usually bream, bass or sole, although trout and tuna work, too, alongside clams, octopus, prawn and lobster. Do feel free to add whatever you want, from tomatoes and coriander, to deep-fried onion and cucumber. Simply seek out the very freshest fish and never leave it in the lime juice for more than 15 minutes. Too long and the fish firms up, becoming tough, woolly and dull — which is, of course, to totally and utterly miss the whole damned point.

Classic ceviche

Like Chef Wong’s recipe, this is the most simple of ceviches. Add chillis to taste. It’s hard to get hold of Peruvian aji over here, so substitute either three jalapeños (not too hot) or one scotch bonnet (fierce and fruity). Traditionally served with boiled corn — Peru has more than 50 varieties — and sweet potato, you can also use tortilla chips or tostadas.

Ingredients

Serves 4

1kg sole, bream or any other white fish, filleted, skinned and pin-boned

Juice of two fat juicy limes

3 jalapeño chillis, or 1 habanero, finely chopped (remove seeds and white for less heat)

1 red onion, finely sliced

Big pinch of sea salt

Big handful of chopped coriander

4 soft tortillas, fried until crisp (optional), to serve

Method

Slice the fish into long strips, then cut into 2cm (1in) dice.

Put in a bowl, mix with the lime juice and leave for 5–10 minutes.

Gently mix the chillis, onion and coriander, as well as the salt.

Serve alone or with fried tortillas