Ceviche is savored in layers—the first kiss of lime, the warmth of ginger and rocoto, the whisper of culantro. Then comes the final spark: ají, bold and electric. Leche de tigre brings it to life, a potion that awakens the sea on your tongue.
For twenty centuries, Peru has shaped this dish. Long before the Incas, hands carved fish into clay vessels, honoring a tradition still alive today. Over the past month, I’ve tasted its many forms—sweet, sharp, fiery with ají. More than eighty generations have passed it down, a gift of time and tide, the ocean speaking through spice.
Memory of my travels through Peru in February 2025.
