In many major U.S. cities, the most visible Peruvian cultural imports are those poncho-draped guys with the pan flutes. But Chicago is home to a significant Peruvian population that supports at least nine endemic restaurants—some very good. So anyone with knowledge of them can be forgiven for initially viewing the landing of Peruvian star chef Gastón Acurio and his pan-Peruvian Tanta with the same skepticism that greeted (and chased out) carpetbagging celebs like Laurent Tourondel who plant their brands without bothering to figure out what Chicagoans seek out or, more importantly, need in their restaurants.
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But then Acurio’s target audience isn’t his expatriate countrymen, or even intrepid eaters unafraid to venture deep into Chicago’s neighborhoods. So if you take his mission seriously, it seems cagey that he would touch down in River North, where risk comes to get hammered and slur the lyrics to “Blurred Lines.” The neighborhood needs Tanta’s sampler of the keystones of Peruvian cuisine, with its variety of ceviches (here spelled cebiches), street food skewers, pollo a la brasa, hearty meatcentric entrees, and its heavy representation of Nikkei cuisine—the food developed by Japanese immigrants who began arriving in Peru in the late 19th century.
Tanta’s ceviches alone put it in a class by itself, each a distinct rendition of the form, each intensely acidic, but seasoned and brightly colored with a variety of flavors, like a catch-of-the-day squid-shrimp mixture bathed in lime and red rocoto pepper, or a distinctly Japanese-style tuna with avocado and tamarind, or, most extravagantly, the “power,” with uni, crab, scallop, and oysters, the softer creatures in the mix balanced out with snappy oversize kernels of Peruvian corn, or choclo. Some diners might have trouble distinguishing between these and another category called tiraditos, in which the fish are sliced sashimi style and dressed in similarly acidic but more fulsome sauces. One evening a special scallop version, bathing in creamy aji amarillo, was garnished with crunchy corn kernels and bites of sweet potato that had the textural strength to stand up to the powerful acidity.
A number of pisco-based cocktails headline a mostly intriguing list, well executed for a high-volume bar. It’s worthy of exploration, but steer clear of the classic pisco sour—whatever they’re using for egg white smells as sulfurous as a natural gas leak. And desserts are a little less consistently admirable. While orbs of toasted quinoa ooze molten chocolate alongside a gently perfumed tea-lime-lemongrass ice cream, and fresh, hot pumpkin-sweet potato fritters are the boutique doughnut the city’s been waiting for, a cheese-based ice cream is too crystallized, and the flavor of an oatmeal-topped purple corn and quince pie doesn’t match the intensity of its vivid color—or nearly anything else that comes out of the kitchen.
118 W. Grand 312-222-9700tantachicago.com
