PIO PIO, Peruvian
According to food scholar Copeland Marks, "Peru probably has the most important cuisine in South America." It's something of a letdown, then, to learn that this distinguished diet is big on two less-than-remarkable ingredients: potatoes, including the purple Peruvian variety, and poultry. But before you scoff, consider the rotisserie chicken from Pio Pio, a chainlet of exceptional poultry parlors with branches in Queens and Washington Heights. The two-story branch on Northern Boulevard in Jackson Heights, with its electric-blue paint job, votive candles, and Dean & Deluca-worthy fruit-and-vegetable displays, stands out from the nondescript neighboring storefronts. Beef hearts, chicken gizzards, and cuy (guinea pig) are also emblematic of the country's cooking, but the owners of Pio Pio (and rivals like Park Slope's Coco Roco and Manhattan's El Pollo) rightly assume that succulent roasted birds would be a much easier sell, especially when they're as intensely fragrant with garlic, wonderfully browned, super savory, and perfectly cooked as they are at Pio Pio. The recipe runs in the family: One of the partners inherited it from his father, who runs a rotisserie of his own in Jauja, a small Peruvian mountain village. Their birds are marinated for twelve hours in a mixture of cumin, salt and pepper, garlic, Peruvian beer, and a few key ingredients that the owners prefer to keep as a trade secret. (After all, Pio Pio doesn't have a monopoly on Peruvian rotisserie chicken in this town, but it hopes to someday.) The ideal meal here begins with a sweet, tangy pisco sour, the Peruvian cocktail made from fresh lime juice, sugar, egg white, and the brandy called pisco (which some say has hallucinogenic properties, but don't hold your breath). Then order one of the hearty combination dinners, like the $26 Matador Combo, which includes a whole rotisserie chicken; fresh avocado salad; rice and beans; sweet, addictive plantains; and even a side of thin, little hot-dog slices on top of crispy fries (a popular Lima street food, not a pisco-fueled concession to Yankee palates).
Pio Pio, 84-13 Northern Boulevard, Queens; 718-426-1010.
RINCONCITO PERUANO, Peruvian
This Hell's Kitchen hole in the wall has no liquor license, no pisco sours, and no rotisserie chickens. But it does have a killer seviche: tidbits of sea bass, whole shrimp, and squid in an expert lime-juice marinade, redolent of garlic, ginger, red onion, cilantro, and pepper. It's garnished, as is traditional, with a chunk of sweet potato and a small mound of choclo, giant Peruvian corn kernels. The caliber of the seviche augurs well for the rest of the menu, which shrinks considerably during the week. (Go on Saturday.) And don't leave without ordering something yellow -- one of those national specialties that are drowned in a sea of spicy, marigold-yellow aji pepper sauce. Papas à la huancaina are cold boiled potatoes, cut lengthwise and drenched in a creamy cheese-and-aji sauce, with a garnish of olives and cilantro. And aji de gallina is a delicious casserole of those same two national building blocks, potatoes and chicken, ignited by the mirasol chili peppers that infiltrate an otherwise mellow purée of cheese, ground walnuts, and crushed bread crumbs. Try the chicha morada, a deep-purple drink made from a variety of pre-Columbian (or, more precisely, pre-Pizarro) corn, lemons, sugar, and cinnamon, plus the chalky ice cream in tropical fruit flavors like cherimoya, mango, and lucuma.
Rinconcito Peruano, 803 Ninth Avenue, near 53rd Street; 212-333-5685.
LA FONDA BORICUA, Puerto Rican
The cuisines of Puerto Rico and the Dominican Republic are closely linked. Both are based on a fusion of Spanish, African, and indigenous Arawak ingredients (especially yuca, yams, pigeon peas, and plantains), and both revolve around hearty, soul-nourishing "peasant fare" like tripe soup, rice and beans, and meat-and-vegetable stews. The Puerto Rican word for a casual, diner-style restaurant is fonda, and in New York, La Fonda Boricua in East Harlem is among the best. Identified by a sign that reads, perplexingly, gina y george (the names of the previous owners), La Fonda Boricua serves stews and rice from steam tables behind a long counter. Latin love songs blare from the jukebox to the giddy accompaniment of the waitress and counterman who like to sing along loudly. The menu changes daily, but all the regulars, including some roving park rangers, seem to know what they want before they sit down -- a good thing since the orders take some time. The basic rule of thumb is to order what looks good. Today, the octopus salad looks good, and it is: fresh, vinegary, nicely seasoned with peppers and diced onion. The asopao, or chicken soup, is deliciously soothing comfort food, chock-full of potatoes and shredded chicken in a slightly starchy, tomatoey broth.
La Fonda Boricua, 169 East 106th Street; 212-410-7292.
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