For the past year or so, I’ve flirted with — and avoided — going to Machu Picchu, a Peruvian restaurant located at the intersection of Lyndale and Lake.

The reasons are twofold. First, and most importantly, the place looks like an abandoned storefront. It may have actually been abandoned at some point — I can’t confirm that. But the dark windows definitely project “out of business” or “drug front” far more than they project “delicious food served here.”

The second is a misguided sense of loyalty to Mancora, the Peruvian restaurant I used to go to constantly when I lived in Cobble Hill, Brooklyn.

Mancora, among other things, had a charming Mexican waiter who would always upsell you on better tequila (”Cuervo? Cuervo tastes like GASoleen. Worse than gasoleen,”) much to your own benefit. And they served a mean pisco sour. So I felt bad for Machu Picchu in advance; in addition to looking like a haunted house, it was also going up against a really solid NYC Peruvian joint.

My initial fears were confirmed when my fiance and I entered the place to find it largely deserted. Our waiter had us take seats at the bar before seating us at one of the dozen open tables, which struck us as odd. And then he brought me my pisco sour.

It was great. Stacked up against the pisco sours I had back in New York at a few different places, this was more ephemeral — the egg white in the drink was REALLY whipped, there was a heavy emphasis on fresh ground cinnamon. The balance of alcohol to flavor was essentially perfect.

The empanadas that showed up threaded the fried food needle perfectly. They weren’t too greasy, and they crackled with crunchy flavor. And the beef stuffing, so often fatty or dry and/or flavorless, was moist and beautifully spiced. Becca and I wolfed them down, and eagerly awaited our lomo saltado and ceviche.

Let me make a little digression here. There is a Lutheran jihad around here against heat (meaning chili-fueled spiciness) and spice (meaning depth of flavor provided by various spices). I’ve ordered food at more than one local place with the specific instructions to bring the spice, and received, in return, a dish that may have at one point been shown a pepper grinder… but otherwise left totally unmolested by any additives that might add heat or flavor.

Machu Picchu totally has a handle on spice and heat. Both the ceviche and lomo saltado were admirably balanced and delicious. There were aspects of my ceviche that were a little chewier than I would have liked them to be, but squid can be cranky, and it wasn’t too bad. And the flavor popped.

Would I go back? Hell yes. I’ve got a local Peruvian restaurant again, and I feel pretty good about that.

Related posts:

1. The Skeptical Diner: Khyber Pass
2. The Skeptical Diner: A Brief Thought on Service
3. The Skeptical Diner: K&B Drive-In
4. The Skeptical Diner: The Red Stag
5. The Skeptical Diner: Amazing Thailand