Inca Grill, Middlesex, NJ

There’s a strong possibility, I was Peruvian in my previous life. For one thing — potatoes. They must be included in my last meal. But then, here’s this whole new development in my possible Peruvian heritage that has surfaced recently.

These are the last few weeks we’re following Charlotte, our youngest baby, and her winterguard performances. The performances are usually on Saturdays, which means I come home from the studio, we jump in the car and go. When her schedule gives us room to eat before, we try to find an interesting local place.

So a few weeks ago, Tom was at the wheel and I was on the phone — looking for a place. And one restaurant popped offering Peruvian:
— Do you know what kind of food is that?
— Not really.

In my book, it means — Go!

The place was small, the menu extensive, there was only one waitress running the room. We made our picks, the waitress came:
— Sorry, out of this. Sorry, don’t have that. Sorry, ran out that, too.. Sorry, no. No. No…

We were really hungry and there was no time to go look for another place:
— Whatever. Just give us something what you have.
— Fish?
— Fine.
— You like spicy?
— Yes.

The plate that appeared before us looked anything but appetizing: pale pink chunks of something floating in a pool of soupy liquid. Tom and I gave each other looks that said: we have to be strong.

I stuck my fork into a piece of That, put it in my mouth and… called the waitress:
— Can you please bring me a spoon. The soup one. Big. Serving spoon is fine, too. Two spoons.

This was how for the first time I tried Peruvian ceviche, raw fish marinated in lime juice and red onion. I cleaned up the plate to the point of embarrassing and when we came home, I immediately located all Peruvian restaurants within driving distance from our house.

If you think sushi is it when it comes to raw fish, think again. Incans knew what they were doing.

Naturally, on our next trip into Central Jersey to watch Charlotte, my mind was all Peruvian. Besides, it was the first somewhat spring feeling day and we wanted outside.

Google directed us to Inca Grill in Middlesex. The girl on the phone was hesitant:
— Out patio is not cleaned up. Leaves. How many?
— We don’t care. Just two.
— Ok. Come.

We were the only ones when we walked in. Although, their outdoor space was obviously not ready for a sudden outburst of spring, they cleared a nice place for us and went off their way to make us feel wanted.

There were Peruvian muscles.

We cleaned them up.

Salsa criolla. Where are you, Maria de Lourdes?

And where do they get this kind of corn?

And of course — ceviche — the crown jewel. Yes, that’s what I was talking about — this pinkish grey soupy looking nothing. But once you taste, you’ll never go back home…

And the art around this place.

And these two girls who welcomed us like we were their long lost relatives.

And then there were all those hills of Watchung on the way home… But I was too full to capture that.