"'Cause it's too darn hot, it's too darn hot…"

When the weather gets hot, a lot of people lose their appetite. I’m not one of those people, mind you, but I have heard that it’s been known to happen. Granted, I’m not running to the oven to make an oxtail stew when the outdoor thermometer actually starts to sweat, but if hot weather is supposed to equal a drop in appetite, I guess my stomach never got the memo. Ceviche is one of those dishes that I love to make on a hot lazy Sunday while putting down a beer or two, and I seldom get any complaints from the peanut gallery, so I made some this weekend and decided to share the wealth—I apologize in advance for the lacking scratch ‘n’ sniff on your screen.

Ceviche is one of those things that I get my panties into a bunch about—much like I do with caprese salads, martinis and sushi—make it right, otherwise, don’t call it ceviche. I don’t really care what kind of fish you use when you make it, but for the love of Pete, do NOT cook any of it! When you make your ceviche, the citric acid in the lime juice (or lemon if you’re a weirdo) causes the proteins in the seafood to become denatured, which basically pickles or “cooks” the fish without heat. I get that there are people out there that live in perpetual fear that their fish will not be completely cooked through when they sit to chow down, I do—and those people should go poach a salmon and leave ceviche the hell alone. Leave the raw fish in the acid for at least 3 hours and you’ll be peachy keen…seriously, why would you wanna eat the dish before then anyway? The marinade will not have had enough time to do its magic.

You can pretty much use whatever type of fish you like (preferably white fish). One of my favorites is grouper, but sea bass is also very popular in Peru, where the dish originated. Cut the fish into small chunks and put them in a large bowl. After that, you’ll need to halve a bunch of limes and squeeze the ever-loving shit out of them. One by one, roll each lime back and forth on the counter with the heel of your hand. This bruises the pulp inside a bit, making it easier to squeeze. Then, halve them along what I call the “belly” which means NOT top to bottom. This also makes the squeezing more fruitful. Then go to town. When you’re done, the limes should look like the photo on the right. If yours don’t, go back and squeeze some more you sloth!! The only other slicing & dicing required is some red onion (very thinly sliced) and plenty of cilantro. Again, I’m gonna put a proverbial foot down—if you don’t like cilantro, go away and make something else. Don’t use basil and call it an Italian ceviche, whack job. The damned dish calls for cilantro. Most Peruvians will also add some diced rocoto, a super-hot pepper, but I’ve seen it made with jalapenos and other milder peppers for the less ballsy. Then season the whole shebang, toss it really well, cover it, and throw it in the fridge. Resist any temptation to dig in for at least 3 hours, though I’ve often let it sit overnight. If your resistance is low, distract yourself by cleaning the dust off the tops of your wall art, which is long overdue.

I’d happily eat ceviche on its own, with nothing but a hunk of crusty bread to sop up the “leche de tigre” (I’ll explain in a minute) but it’s traditionally served with a slice or two of sweet potato and/or some corn. As for the leche de tigre (which means tiger’s milk), that’s the leftover milky marinade that sits at the bottom of the ceviche bowl. Peruvian culture would tell you that a shot made of the marinade and some local pisco serves as a great hangover remedy. Me, personally, I’ll just merrily dunk my bread in the stuff and keep my shot of pisco straight, chased by my ice-cold Cristal beer.

Tagged as: ceviche