Barranco, Lima
Ricardo is warm, jovial, natural, and reflective. His apartment is light, bright, and full of musical instruments and plants. Washing dishes was his first foray into the culinary world while studying in Holland in his 20s.
Today, he is the co-owner and chef at Siete—a discreet, dark, and unpretentiously cool restaurant housed in an old casona. The name Siete, or seven, is the numerical sum of January 24—the date when the casona was registered more than a century ago. Some 80 years later, it was also the date Ricardo was born.
Upon entering Richie's Barranco flat, I spotted a stack of books piled on the floor. I wondered if he had read them—especially "Marxismo and Fascismo." Instead of politics, we began by discussing anthropology:
I had no idea you were an anthropologist...
Yes, well, I studied it, but it doesn’t make me an anthropologist. But I think it definitely made me a better chef.
Is your thesis what got you into Peruvian gastronomy, or were you already into food?
No, I was very much into anthropology, actually, and diaspora. I was living abroad, thinking a lot and understanding where I came from. This happens when you leave and go to a country where everything is new. I realized we were a very divided country recovering from the challenging circumstances of the 80s—terrorism, 4,000% inflation, and corruption.
All the diversity that we had as a nation—the jungle, the mountains, the coast—was unappreciated, almost pejorative. Then suddenly comes this guy, this amazing guy Gastón Acurio, and he says, “Our diversity is our asset.” This was a turning point; it was fantastic.
And when did you leave Peru?
In 2006, I left home; I was 20 years old. I was an au pair first… but I didn’t like kids (laughs). Then I went to university.
Were you a good student?
At school [in Lima], not at all. I hated what I was being taught. I was in a system that puts you within this box, where math is good for you just to be an administrator or an engineer. And it just sucks if you have different interests. So basically, I was very lazy; I had no interest in what I was doing. I was good at music, but nobody encouraged that.
That’s why when I left and was immersed in other ways of studying, I loved it because I was able to explore whatever I wanted.
So your thesis was “Gastronomic Influences on the Peruvian Identity”—what was your final conclusion?
It has to do a lot with theory on social classes and hierarchy. If you remove the passion about it, then when you put classic dishes like “ají de gallina” in a fine dining restaurant, it doesn't represent change. It’s like art—somebody gave it importance. It’s very symbolic in the end; it doesn’t have anything to do with any practical or pragmatic reasons. They just say, “Oh, ok, this is good,” or “We are proud,” and that’s falling down. This has to do with some theory that the upper classes dictate; it is pure anthropology theory.
So Gastón basically broke class barriers through food…
Exactly.
So it is unifying…
Yes. It’s the common denominator.
What would you say are some Peruvian eating rituals that set Peruvians apart? For me, what comes to mind is that Peruvians obsessively talk about food…
Yeah, I think the fact that we talk so much about it makes it good. It doesn’t matter, because there’s so much passion. We desperately need something to hold on to that we did well. Don’t tell this to anyone: it's not true that we are the best (laughs)... of course not! But it doesn’t matter—if we believe it, it's fine. I think that’s why we went to the World Cup, actually. I think it gives you a reason to feel good about being Peruvian.
In the 80s, I remember you wouldn’t normally eat ceviche after lunch. Peruvians were obsessed with everything being fresh. Do you think that’s changed a bit?
Do you mean for the worse?
Well, I always wonder why there’s not a single Michelin star in Latin America. When I tell people there’s no Michelin star in South America, they say, “Of course, we are at the top,” and then I correct them and say, "No, that's the Pellegrino list..."
No (laughs)... I worked in Michelin Star restaurants, and I remember a guy coming in to review. He even checked how dirty the top of the oven was. It was like a fiscalization. These guys [Michelin] really inspect every aspect. So it's a different set of standards.
It’s a whole other level.
Whole different level.
And why do you think there’s not one Michelin star?
It has to do with the industry...
Do you think it's that or that nobody reaches that standard?
Definitely not. It’s very hard. Because here, and it's understandable—it doesn’t make us worse or better—you have a lot of people that work in the kitchen because they have to; it’s not a choice. Whereas in first world countries, you see yourself surrounded by ambitious people; you work with the team like soldiers. Here it is also beautiful: the talent that you see, the spontaneity and flow, and it's more about cooking than being a soldier, you know? So, it has its pros and cons.
So, before your thesis, were you already interested in cooking?
A little bit. I grew up in a family where my dad cooked and my grandfather cooked a lot too. We would go fishing when I was a kid, and then cook the fish. Though then, I didn’t really care about food. I was really into music; I studied music to go to the conservatory, but I said screw that. And I found myself in the situation where I had to choose what to do, and I said, "OK, I want to go to this university." I don’t know how, but I got in, and it was the best choice ever. And then I ended up in a kitchen by necessity—I was washing dishes at a restaurant. That was my first glimpse of working in a restaurant. I loved the work, I loved the crazy guys in there…
How much do you think that local food has changed in Peru since you came back from Europe?
A lot.
When did you come back?
First, I came back in 2011 for a year, worked with Central, and then I went to Cusco. In 2014, I came back again and realized what we have here with sea produce is outstanding—worldwide outstanding quality—but it’s really just taken for granted. We consume it all, and we don’t have a logistic system that sustains it. A system that would make it better... But it’s hard, there’s a lot of vested interests.
So when did you come back for good?
I came back because of a friend of mine who introduced me to Rafael [Osterling]. He interviewed me via Skype. I just loved the dialogue with Rafa; he was all about good food, with the best produce, and making it fun—this was a whole new lesson for me.
Rafael is a classic, and Rafa himself stands out to me as being really authentic.
Yes, everybody knows that, and his standards for food are by far the best in the country because that’s his main concern.
So how did Siete come along?
Siete actually began the moment I started cooking. When I look back, I can now see the thread that pulled it all together. Now I am involved with Peruvian music, a whole different level of understanding the beauty of it, so it all comes back. But Siete just found a place.
I called a friend and told him honestly, “I want to have a restaurant, can you lend me the money?” And he said, “Okay!” And then I realized: “What am I going to do? I don’t have a clue.” I didn’t have a clue. But overthinking too much about what you are going to do can sometimes get in the way. Sometimes it's better to have a little bit of the idea and then let the moment dictate what’s going to happen.
And the people you work with, like Solana?
Yes, Solanita, exactly. She did an amazing job. Yes, definitely. A lot of the design—like the adobe walls—we didn’t plan it that way. They just took off the tarrajeo [plaster], and when we saw it, we said, “Okay… that looks beautiful.” So, a lot comes in the moment, really. I do believe that moments have really strong feelings about what things mean. That’s the beauty of improvisation.
Do you have any memorable meals that changed the way you think about food?
Yes, that’s something beautiful you just said. I do believe food has to be memorable; I strongly believe that. One in Sardinia was outstanding—it was an Agriturismo. That was before I even considered being a chef—it is beautiful just to remember it. El Asador Etxebarri in País Vasco changed all my ways of working with fish: to focus on simplicity. And the Asian malls in Sydney, where you have a lot of color, a lot of scents... it was beautiful. The street food in Singapore is also outstanding.
Do you have a daily routine?
Lately, not really… I do have one, though. I just went back to playing the guitar after many, many years. I have classes with Andrés Prado, who is an outstanding teacher. I miss my routines, but I don’t know, I’m in this position right now, at this point where we consolidated ourselves. I found a good administrator, a good right hand in the kitchen. They are both married and with a family, so they are the balanced ones compared to me.
I started getting involved a lot with music and musicians. I’m going to do my first outside-the-restaurant concert in a place. I chose the place, the music, curating.
And what are your favorite restaurants in Lima?
Besides Rafael, I love this guy named De Alfredo. He makes one of the best ceviches ever. It is in La Victoria. It’s a small place with a TV, has just six dishes… and everything that’s cooked passes by his hands.
Does he use ajinomoto (MSG)?
Nooo! I don’t think it's good to use ajinomoto. I think the way that so many people use it is just criminal. I think it's beautiful when you take that out of your palette, how a lot of things start opening up. This guy doesn’t use it. And his fish is fantastically fresh!
So, Barranco. Why live in Barranco, and why did you choose Siete in Barranco?
Siete just showed up. Honestly, it made me Barranquino because I wasn’t here before. I grew up in Miraflores near La Dalmacia. Actually, that was always my favorite spot for a restaurant, but I think that Siete in Barranco made this match, myself as well.
I think Barranco gives you the opportunity to break the rules a little bit because this is still a very conservative city. There are some rules that you cannot break in Lima—it’s important to understand who you are dealing with—but I think Barranco offers you more room for rule-breaking.
And your new place… is in Miraflores?
Barranco.
So you are really consolidated in Barranco…
That’s what I always wanted.
Is there any café that you go to?
I drink coffee in the mornings. I do like coffee—I do appreciate it—but I never go to a coffee place. I rather sit down for a while at home.
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