Asians In South America
That there are thousands of Chinese restaurants, or chifas, in Peru should not be surprising. South America is just as much a continent of immigrants as North America is. There is a statue of Chiang Kai-Shek in Paraguay (anti-Communist generalissimos tend to stick together). Carlos Menem, the Ferrari-driving Argentinean president, is of Syrian descent. Almost half of the population of Guyana is East Indian.
After the abolition of slavery in the 19th century, over 100,000 Chinese coolies went to Peru. Most worked on coastal plantations or dug guano (bird shit). Many chose Peru because the United States barred Chinese immigrants after the Gold Rush. Whenever there was economic or social turmoil for Chinese people (whether they lived in Macau, China, Hong Kong, Taiwan, or Indonesia), they moved to Peru, even as recently as the 1990s.
The word chifa is derived from "chi fan", which means "to eat food" in Mandarin. I thought I'd never eat at one unless I went to Peru. After a long search on the net, I found one in the Outer Mission District (Mission and Geneva) in San Francisco.
Chifa Peruano In San Francisco
It's called Chifa Peruano Asian Restaurant. The neighborhood is definitely working class, but not rough at all. Next door to the right is a huge pool hall. To the left is a party store that specializes in cakes for quinceaneras.
Despite my description below, you have to go there. You will have a great meal. You will have a good time.
The front glass door has a poster for a celebration of Peruvian independence day. As I enter, I notice that this is the prototypical cheap Chinese eatery. Everything about the decor is dated and kitsch.
The restaurant's floor plan is L shaped. The bottom, horizontal part of the L is a small banquet room with a long table. The main dining room takes up the bottom 3/4 of the vertical part of the L. The top 1/4 of the vertical part of the L contains a round table where the Chinese staff eats and converses in a mixture of Spanish and a Chinese dialect I am not familiar with. They have their own little TV playing Chinese soaps. The main dining room gets two flat screens showing a Peruvian satellite station.
We sit. On the wall is a Chinese zodiac chart. Unfortunately, it is in English. But on the opposite wall is a Chinese painting with the obligatory accompanying calligraphy. Next to the painting is a Quechuan tapestry showing two Andean women, no doubt made of vicuna or lama hair (maybe). Now that's more like it.
Before we look at the trilingual menu/paper place mat, we are served small cups of soup. It's vegetable broth with mystery ground meat (I think it's pork). And it's delicious. The kind lady asks what we would like to drink. Inca Kola, of course.
We definitely had to order lomo saltado, the national dish of Peru. It's a mix of French fry-cut potatoes, beef, onions, and tomatoes. We get a bucket of steamed rice. I asked our server what Chinese dish do Peruvians like the most. She pointed to #68, Chijokay. Okay, chijokay it is then.
We wait patiently. There is so much to take in. The old Chinese men speaking Spanish. The young Peruvian family ordering take out. The ad on TV for Wong hypermarkets, the WalMart of Peru.
Lomo Saltado
The lomo saltado arrives first. It was clearly cooked in a wok. I'm going to compare it to my favorite version, as prepared by El Chalan in El Sobrante. The potatoes are wetter and not as crispy as the El Chalan version. And instead of school chalk shaped and sized slices of steak, the beef in the Chifa version is cut the way you'd find in all of the restaurant's other Chinese beef entrees-- thin and oblong shaped. There was a lot more garlic here but hardly any tomatoes. Not surprisingly, it tasted like lomo saltado prepared by a Chinese guy in a Chinese restaurant. My enjoyment of the dish was attributed to 75% taste/flavor, 25% novelty.
Chijokay
I have no idea what I ordered. What arrived was a significant piece of chicken. There were no bones but just enough soft cartilage and tendon to add flavor. It's cut and served the same way as roasted duck-- in 1/2" slices. What set this dish apart was that it was quickly deep fried with a thin smattering of breading. And just before it is served, they pour a thin coat of sauce. I know that "sauce" sounds pretty generic. That's because I don't know what it's made of. A search on Peruvian recipe websites, with the help of Babelfish, reveals that the sauce is made of scallops(?!). Do they mean oyster sauce? Whatever it was, it has the distinct, umami flavor of MSG. The chicken was, inevitably, both curious and delicious.
The ingredients were not fresh. The presentation was tired. And the effort was lackluster. But I had a ball. The people were friendly and helpful. Everything about the place was honest and sincere. The sheer cultural value is priceless. If you're ever driving on 280 and need a meal break, get off on Geneva and chi fan.
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