Quinua Cocina Peruana is no authentic adventure

When Peruvian food is prepared properly, it’s an exhilarating tapestry of flavors, textures and fragrances. Derived from the Incan empire, the cuisine hopscotches Spanish, Asian, European, African and ancient American influences, celebrating indigenous fruits, potatoes, seafood and brilliant chiles.

It’s a pleasure I’ve enjoyed many times in South America, and so I looked forward to dining at Quinua Cocina Peruana, which debuted in February in a little lime green building on Petaluma Boulevard South at ?G Street.

Sadly, this is no authentic adventure. Owner Juan Gutierrez looked to his Peruvian heritage for the menu, with traditional dishes like tallerin saltado (chicken sautéed with tomato, bell pepper, green onion, ginger and soy sauce over linguine, $15) and aji de gallina (chicken in creamy yellow chile sauce, $17). He hung some pretty Peruvian art on the walls. But the food coming out of the kitchen is dull, sloppily prepared and overpriced.

That’s harsh, I know. Yet how else to explain ceviche mixto that tasted as if the cod, shrimp, octopus, calamari and a single mussel-in-the-shell were frozen, then thawed on the plate in a watery vinegar sauce? There was no hint of the lime juice, leche de tigre or rocoto chile that makes ceviche sing, while big kernels of white cuzco corn and sweet potato coins were mushy and flavorless. Cancha had barely any of its signature beer nut toastiness, and red onion curls added little more than color. For $19, it was robbery.

A simple empanada ($6) missed on all marks, too, delivering an undercooked dough pocket lightly stuffed with cooked-to-death, unseasoned ground beef and a few raisins, then oddly sprinkled with powdered sugar. Instead of a robust chutney to brighten things up, the dip was a bland aji de gallina sauce.

The missteps went on and on, and after two visits without a single successful dish, I gave up.

One of my favorite Peruvian appetizers would seem easy to prepare. Papa a la huancaina ($8) is thick slab-boiled potato and onion strips with that above-mentioned aji de gallina sauce, sliced hard-boiled egg and black olives. The spark comes in the neon-yellow, creamy cheese sauce, traditionally spiked with palillo, a highly aromatic herb found in the highland city of Huancayo and blessed with fiery aji amarillo chile for a slow, blissful burn on the tongue.

Except we got a thick, gritty, tasteless, mayonnaise-like sauce.

For tallerines verde ($16), the green sauce usually is pesto-like with spinach, basil and lots of queso fresco for silky creaminess. Ours was more like wallpaper paste. The menu threatened that the steak served with the noodles was “fried,” and though the meat was actually pan fried, it was cooked to such a tough chew I had to saw with my knife.

The four steamed mussels in the choritos a la chalaca were OK, but again, everything suffered from a watery mush taste and texture, the seafood scattered with white corn, chopped red onions, tomatoes, Peruvian peppers and lime ($14). We picked our way through the decent jalea de mariscos, too, a pile of batter fried fish, shrimp and calamari tumbled with yucca fries and salsa criolla of red onions, cilantro and lime ($23). It was fine, if under-seasoned, and topped it off with a bottle of Cusqueña beer (a Peruvian golden lager, $5) and a glass of effervescent Txakolina white wine from Spain’s Basque region ($12/$54).

Yet I ate only a few bites of the carapulcra nortenito, since the lukewarm pork and potato stew was more like a thin soup with just three forlorn chunks of pork, and white potato was served cold, on the side, next to a scoop of dry white rice that lacked its promised salsa criolla ($17).

The most authentic nod to Peruvian food comes at dessert, with lucuma ice cream ($7) or an alfajor cookie ($8). Lucuma is a bright orange, grainy, coffee-flavored coastal fruit, while the cookie is a super-sweet biscuit, layered with sticky stripes of dulce de leche. Still, I prefer finishing with the chicha morada, a tart blend of purple corn pressed with pineapple rind and flavored with sugar ($4) - alas, no cinnamon notes in this restaurant’s recipe.

Perhaps the most surprising thing about Quinua is that, on both visits, it was packed. The small eatery has perhaps four dozen seats, including at the counter for the open kitchen, and our server apologized for abandoning us now and then at one dinner. He was the only waiter on duty, he explained.

At least as he sprinted from table to table, he added some energy to our meal.

Carey Sweet is a Santa Rosa-based food and restaurant writer. Read her restaurant reviews every other week in Sonoma Life. Contact her at carey@careysweet.com.