I drove by The Little Dumpling a dozen times when it was a nondescript Chinese place in a mini mall already home to Jersey Mike's, the barbecue joint Links and a family-run sushi bar named Koto. It wasn't until the restaurant hung out a banner that read "Chinese and Peruvian Food" that I put on the brakes and stopped in.
I'm glad I did. In a city like Miami, New York or Lima, no one would think twice about a restaurant doing this type of cooking. In Peru, just as in Cuba, the Chinese population is large and has had a pervasive influence on the national cuisine. Both countries serve fried rice, for instance, and call it "chaufa," a corruption of the Cantonese words chow fan.
What's more, Peruvian cooking is rich, distinctive and original. Peru gave the world the potato, the strawberry, the tomato, the raw marinated-seafood dish ceviche and a wealth of other things we now take for granted.
In Los Angeles, there are dozens of Peruvian restaurants, and the majority of them serve pollo a la brasa, crisp, skinned rotisserie chicken eaten with aji, a fiery green sauce. At the Little Dumpling, pollo a la brasa is on the menu, too, but has been unavailable all three times I've eaten here.
You won't miss it. One side of the menu, a paper printout, has the Peruvian fare, while the other side lists Chinese dishes, mostly holdovers from the original Little Dumpling. The cooks, incidentally, are all Peruvian and the management Spanish-speaking. Normally, I would say that this means to trust the Peruvian dishes more than the Chinese ones, but the cooks here do both with flair and competence, so order most things here with confidence.
Take the gorgeous, hugely proportioned house specialty fried rice, a platter that would feed four people. It's expertly wok-turned and loaded with big chunks of barbecued pork and chicken, plus a few shrimp and some fried egg—it's one of the tastiest versions in the entire Valley.
Ditto war won ton soup and kung pao chicken. The soup has a homey broth and excellent won ton, plus cut Chinese vegetables, pork and shrimp. The chicken dish is oversized as well, a mild version with only a few of those deadly torpedo-shaped fagara peppers and lots of sautéed peanuts. We asked twice when the small order was brought. I was sure the waiter had brought us a large order.
The only disappointment from the Chinese side of the menu, in fact, were the steamed dumplings, served eight to an order, for $4.95. My lunch companion and I shared the opinion that the dumplings were store-bought. I'm guessing Trader Joe's—no knock—but a place with the word dumpling on the door should do better.
No complaints about the Peruvian dishes, though. Every one I tasted is worth a second visit. Peruvians revere the potato; in fact, they cook dozens of varieties in their country. Have your potato stuffed with chopped meat, olive, hard-cooked egg and tomato, in the appetizer papa relleno; drenched with creamy cheese sauce in the dish papa a la Huancaina; or French fried, piled onto more than half of these entrées.
Ceviche is also exemplary, although quite different from ceviche served in a Mexican restaurant. This ceviche has less bite and is served with cilantro, corn and yes, potatoes, in tall glass vessels. The restaurant serves a choice of sea bass, shrimp or a combination of the two, called ceviche mixto.
Peruvian entrées are enormous, usually heavy on the meat, and then piled up with rice, potatoes and even pasta, a diet more carbo-loaded—not for Atkins fanatics. One of the more famous dishes is lomo saltado, and rightly so. It's a bit like fajitas, again without the bite, strips of sautéed beef, tomatoes, onions and spices.
I'm also a fan of seco norteno, Peruvian pot roast. Again, the meat comes in chunks, a tender beef in a rich sauce laced with cilantro, the leaves of the coriander plant, which are an acquired taste for some people. Milanesa is a pounded, breaded steak, a dish available in every South American country. This version is fine, but not terribly tender.
Since they do a chicken Milanese, as well, I'd choose that one instead. The stew called cau cau de pollo is based on basil, potatoes and spinach. Aji de gallina is another way to eat chicken here, the meat shredded, in milk and green chili-based sauce. I'm told that if you call ahead, the kitchen will make the rotisserie chicken, too. Maybe next time.
If you are brave, try Inca Kola, a canned soft drink from Peru that tastes like Fleer's Double Bubble. Personally, I'd rather have a spoonful of cod liver oil. For dessert, there are alfajores, shortbread cookies filled with dulce de leche, condensed milk that is boiled down to a gummy paste. Hey, beats a fortune cookie.