Arequipa: Food tales from Peru’s hub of Andina cuisine in the Andes

Martin Morales’s new cookbook, ‘Andina’, comprises 11 food stories from around the Peruvian Andes. Here we share one from Arequipa in the south

The word ‘Andina’ refers to both the women of the Andes and the food that they are credited with innovating (Dave Brown)

The heart of Peruvian food is felt in all corners of the Andes: in the many markets, street stalls and restaurants, and in the aromas emanating from the kitchens inside the Andinas’ homes. But, I think, the heart beats faster and louder in Arequipa than anywhere else. Here, gastronomy is the result of plentiful native ingredients, dishes and traditions; like a culinary Inca warrior, it conquers the taste buds of all who cross its path; it is living, breathing history. The sheer quantity of dishes from Arequipa is exceptional. If I found 120 recipes in books from the region of Apurimac; I found more than 600 in books from Arequipa.

The region of Arequipa stretches across the central-south Andes right up to the Paci coast. It is 
a place rich in indigenous culture and tradition; a place where its early tribes were overpowered and organised by the Incas. Legend has it that in the late 13th century, the Inca leader Mayta Cápac was the first to settle in Arequipa, stationed there with his troops. When the time came for the troops to move on, many men asked Mayta Cápac if they could stay. “Ari quipay,” he replied, meaning “Yes, stay.” In time Arequipa became a melting pot of settlers from Europe, as well as mestizos (those of combined descent).

Like so many other cities of the Andina regions, Arequipa is the name of the region’s capital city
 as well as the region itself. Founded by the Spanish in 1540, the city enjoys a fine location and climate, and easy distance from both fertile lands and the coast. Arequipa prospered, so much so that after Peru declared independence from Spain in 1821, Arequipa city became the country’s capital, remaining so for almost 50 years. Now, it is second only to Lima. With its stunning churches and plazas, and buildings made using volcanic white rock (earning it the nickname the “white city”), Arequipa’s Old Town is a Unesco World Heritage site.

Migrants bring both their labour and cooking influences to Arequipa (Dave Brown)

A key economic outpost for the colonialists, Arequipa has attracted many migrants making it the land of opportunity within the Andes for those daring to venture from the capital city. For more than 500 years, migrants to Arequipa have brought their many influences and traditions. For me, this fusion has made it a culinary giant on the Peruvian food scene.

As in many second-largest cities (think Barcelona or Manchester), Arequipa’s residents are a proud people with a fierce regional patriotism that aims to differentiate the city from Lima. I think there is a lot Arequipa can claim as unique. For a start, Arequipa can boast being the origin of several of Peru’s most recognisable and emblematic dishes. These include the chupe de camarones antiguo, which is a kind of prawn chowder; the solterito – a delicious broad bean, queso fresco and olive salad; the ocopa sauce made with herbs and nuts and the rocoto relleno or stuffed hot red peppers. These were dishes my great aunts Carmela and Otilia cooked every week at home in Lima when I was a child. Today, everywhere I go I look for Carmela and Otilia. I miss them in so many ways, but most of all, I miss their cooking. During all the terrorism and violence we had to live through while we were in Peru, their food provided comfort – it made me happy and gave me hope.

When I left Peru in 1984, I left Carmel and Otilia in Lima, old but alive and well. Sadly they passed away almost a decade ago. I was not there, of course, and a part of me shall always mourn them. But, I will also always feel them with me. I see Otilia’s eyes in the eyes of my own daughter, whom I named after her; I have kept Aunt Carmela alive in recipes that have been published in books and newspapers, each printing bearing her name. I have photos of both of them all around my house. When I go back to Peru, I see them in different places: in markets, in churches, in restaurants – the places they so often took me. Above all, though, I see them through the eyes of the picanteras, the women chefs and mothers who hold their families together through food and love, feeding them, their friends and their customers in their picanterias. These traditional family-run restaurants pop up in many parts of Peru, but they appear especially in Arequipa, serving the regional versions of the dishes my great aunts used to cook. In a way these dishes are my spiritual connection to this ancestry and it is in Arequipa that I feel and hear Carmela and Otilia most.

Every time I go back to Arequipa, I’m received more and more like a prodigal son. The picanteras of this city have adopted me as one of their own. These exceptional women hold the secrets to traditional cooking techniques. They have set up the Picantera Society of Arequipa, a group of 40 or more (mostly) women, who come together to organise and chronicle their knowledge and establish key rules on how to run a picanteria. Their generosity and enthusiasm is limitless.

My most recent visit to Arequipa was in the week of my birthday. La Nueva Palomino is a picanteria in the heart of Arequipa. It is run by the charismatic and loving Monica Huerta Alpaca, who invited me to celebrate my birthday with her, asking several other local picanteras to bring a celebratory dish, too. Monica’s chicha corn brew, which I’d go so far as to say is the best in Peru, flowed freely. We tucked into this and every other dish on offer. Every woman had chosen to cook something special – she had not only prepared it, but also offered it with love. It wasn’t just what these women did to celebrate my birthday that mattered, but how they did it.

Picanterias are unique, distinguished by four things:

1. They serve chicha
2. Every day has its own specific chupe (soup)
3. They serve a variety of picantes (stews) and other traditional dishes
4. They are democratic places where anyone from any walk of life can eat traditional food, drink chicha and socialise.

Presidents and authors, bricklayers and lawyers, artists and dentists – all are welcome. Years ago in fact, picanterias were primarily places of cultural exchange. Social gatherings, political protests, art exhibitions, poetry readings and live music all found a voice there. Now, many are attached to farms, orchards or allotments. They all use local and sustainable produce that is organically grown.

On the walls of Casita Andina hang specially commissioned portraits of four picanteras who have particularly inspired us: La Lucila, La Benita, La Cau Cau and La Palomino. Some of these women have now passed away, but I hope that our gesture on the walls of the restaurant keeps their
 spirit alive.

While I was in Arequipa, I spent the day at Picanteria La Lucila. Doña Lucila, who reminds me of my own great grandmother Luchita, died just
 a few years ago, but Gladys and Ruth, two of Lucila’s five daughters greeted me. Their kitchen is well-known in Arequipa. At more than 100 years old, this kitchen has been handed down through several generations. With its whitewashed adobe walls, natural light that streams in sunbeams through a ceiling hatch, wood-burning stove, and years of history etched on its walls, this kitchen embodies the real cooking of the Andes. The women have a large sink with fresh drinking water, but they have no electricity and no gas – there’s not a modern-day kitchen appliance in sight. All mixing and blending is done patiently and painstakingly by hand using the traditional batán. This is a giant moon-shaped smooth stone that the cook rocks from side to side over a flat boulder, using it as a grinder, a mill and a pestle and mortar. Lucila’s daughters use the same batán that has been used since the opening of their picanteria. It holds the key to their slow, fresh cooking that places no importance on time. Cooking is unrushed; tradition and flavour come first.

Preparation starts at dawn, with the rest dishes arriving on the table at 11am. The women keep going until the food runs out, or the picanteria closes at late afternoon. When I was there, I sat at the kitchen table and watched how Gladys spent an hour using the batán to make a traditional ocopa sauce, while Ruth fed me carrot fritters, and let me try some exquisite sarza de criadillas and sarza de patitas, all washed down with chicha. I was intrigued
 by their raw prawn dishes, such as sivinche, a kind of spicy prawn tartar, and celador de camarones, which is like a raw prawn ceviche. Packed with flavour and character, these are ancestral dishes that are hard to find outside Arequipa – which is all the more reason to have included them in my book.

While I sat there watching these women and tasting their beautiful food, I became aware of the utter importance of this restaurant and all the restaurants like it. These are kitchens rich in history, steeped in tradition, committed to serving the best food for the benefit of all people. I feel passionately about them and want t support them in any way I can.

I’ve brought many of my chefs and members of my team here. I want them to experience the roots of our traditions, and the ingredients and techniques that inspire our cooking back in London. I want them to witness the personality, ethos, ethics and attributes of these mothers of Peruvian cooking. It is the closest thing I can do to bottling that spirit and expertise and brining it back to London.

That day, as I watched Gladys and Ruth in their kitchen, they told me that I was sitting in the very place that had played host to thousands of other customers. Among those visitors was the great Latin American poet Pablo Neruda. Enriched by his experience, inspired and full of love, he looked over the small valley towards the fields of onions and wrote “Ode to the Onion”, a small tribute to a great region held up by its Andina women.

‘Andina: The Heart of Peruvian Food’ by Martin Morales is published by Quadrille, priced £27