Restaurant Review - Passage to Peru

Oh! This isn’t El Azteca anymore?

A soccer mom with two pre-teens in tow has walked into the Amazon Bar & Grill and brought her posse to a halt in front of the cash register. I watch her absorb the unfamiliar scenery: makeshift thatched roofs, decorated with rainbow-colored hammocks; cutouts of butterflies and parrots and low-budget renditions of Incan ruins hung on peach-hued walls. A bizarre little mannequin dressed in island wear stands poised at the head of the room.

“The restaurant opened seven months ago. We serve Peruvian food,” a staff member offers gently.

Soccer Mom nods nervously, brandishes a tight wave of thanks and herds her kids right out the door.

I almost stop her. Peruvian is a largely untapped but accessible cuisine ripe for converts. It’s a rich confluence of indigenous and Spanish cooking with Italian, Chinese, African and Japanese immigrant influences. You’ll find American-accepted familiars like linguine with pesto and cumin-tinged roasted chicken alongside chile-sparked, saffron-scented exotica.

Restaurants like Limon in San Francisco have successfully tapped into Peruvian’s adaptability to fine dining. Here in the ATL, our Peruvian eateries tend toward homier-style cooking (the Amazon has ties to Machu Picchu on Buford Highway, probably the city’s best known Peruvian spot). You won’t find trendy imports like quinoa and purple potatoes: Like Machu Piccu, the Amazon’s menu leans heavily on approachable mixed seafood and grilled meat dishes.

But first things first: If you’re imbibing alcohol, unwind with a pisco sour, the national drink of Peru. Pisco is a white grape brandy akin to a mild tequila. It arrives tart-sweet with lime and frothy from egg whites. If mom and her brood had stayed, I’m sure their server would have brought the kids chicha, the feisty, mulled juice dyed inky from purple corn. It tastes like Christmas.

A starter of papas a la huancaina eases you into the Peruvian perspective: two boiled potato halves are eclipsed under a sheer drape of sauce made from queso blanco cheese and aji amarillo, a chile that purrs rather than barks on the tongue.

I have conflicted feelings about the Amazon’s ceviche. Chunks of squid, shrimp, scallops, mussels and baby octopus in the ceviche de mariscos are steeped in an almost too puckery bath of lemon and are more tender on one visit than another. Ceviche mixto, on the day I try it, includes small, mushy pieces of fish left so long to marinate that the lemon has practically disintegrated them. What balances and ultimately saves the ceviche are the traditional accompaniments - a boiled piece of fleshy sweet potato and a lump of Peruvian corn-on-the-cob sporting the biggest honkin’ nuggets you’ve ever seen. The corn is a particular treat when it’s served warm to contrast with the icebox-cold ceviche.

But, really, I prefer my seafood at the Amazon hot. The kitchen produces a stellar arroz con mariscos, the fluorescent, sensual rice dish redolent with saffron and the same mix of oceanic morsels as the ceviche. Our server, Joey, a native of Lima and an enthusiastic guide to this cuisine, pointed out chupe de camarones, a cheering soup of milky, saffron-graced broth, rice, and plenty of plump shrimp.

The menu here is dense and verbose and, especially for newcomers, a tad challenging to navigate. If you want to hone in on some sure bets, peruse the short section titled platos criollos - house specials that equate to Peruvian comfort food. My favorite in the selection is aji de gallina, an Italian-influenced creamed chicken dish with the lovely warmth of aji amarillos and a healthy dose of Parmesan.

You’ll also find linguine verdes con churrasco a la parrilla - a thin, juicy sirloin steak served over an appealing tangle of linguine in a pesto sauce more herbaceous and mellow than its garlicky Italian counterpart. The beef in the seco de carne was something of a jaw workout, but its verdant cilantro sauce makes the dish worth trying. (I ordered the seco de carne at lunch, and I suspect it would be better at night or on the weekends - when Peruvian families descend on the restaurant - and the kitchen is more on top of its game.)

If you start to feel emboldened and adventurous, you might unfortunately run into some outright clunkers. Conchitas a la Parmesana - scallops encrusted with soggy, grainy Parmesan - taste like a losing entry in a recipe contest sponsored by Kraft. Grilled baby octopus are passable but chewy, but come with the most inedibly woody asparagus I’ve ever attempted to consume.

Lomo saltado is a classic stir-fry of beef with onions and tomatoes over french fries. Though the fries come out crisp and hot, the stir-fry needs more soy sauce to add complexity and oomph to the medley of flavors. The beef, as in the stew, was a chaw fest.

For now, I’d bypass dessert. Watery, flan-like leche asada and stale alfajores cookies sandwiched between a cloying layer of dulce de leche head the list of typical offerings. On my final visit, I ask knowledgeable Joey about a pudding called mazamorra morada and he shakes his head violently.

“It’s like sticky chicha,” he counsels.

Stubborn with curiosity, I request one anyway. Damn if it wasn’t sticky chicha: Picture a bulbous glob of super-sweet, undulating purple juice thickened to plasma-like rigor mortis with cornstarch. (Joey later confided that the owner makes an expertly creamy, non-gluey version, but she wasn’t in that shift.)

Despite the gaffes, this is a restaurant I’d gladly return to. When the food succeeds, it stirs a convivial, capricious spirit - and it’s heartingly affordable. And not to be hatin’, but I’ll take a Pisco sour and a soulful plate of aji de gallina over the middling fare at a puzzlingly popular Mexican chain any ol’ day of the week.

bill.addison@creativeloafing.com