02x04 - Lima, Peru

[bunniefuu]

No cook aspires to have
a hole-in-the-wall like mine.

Because Al Toke Pez

is an ugly, small place.

It's loud and chaotic.

For example,

the motor of the extraction fan
sounds like...

a tank or an airplane.

But in my case,
I enjoy having the place look ugly.

Because it gives the place personality.

My staff and I...

are a band of losers.

Even though

it's everything
that no one would want it to be,

Al Toke Pez, at least for me,

is the perfect place.

Lima is the only capital in South America

on the seafront.

And the stereotype
of the Latin American seafront

is a blue sea,

where people dance to tropical music.

It's picture perfect.

But not here.

Our city is gray.

The sky in Lima is gray,

and our sea is gray.

But it's a very proud city,
particularly because of its food.

In Lima,

we have a long history of street food.

We know what was eaten on the streets
by our great-great-great-grandfathers

because of a man called Pancho Fierro,

who made a detailed archive
during the mid-19th century

of all the types of street vendors

that walked around Lima selling food.

Each one of those dishes are things
that are still eaten in Lima today.

Anticuchos,

which is cow's heart.

Picarones,

a type of doughnut.

Causa.

Mazamorras.

Butifarras.

All kinds of combinados.

But ceviche is Peruvians' favorite dish.

Ceviche is fish, onion, lime,
chili pepper, and salt.

What makes Peruvian ceviche so special
is its Japanese influence.

Japanese cuisine

came with the wave of immigration

to Peru many years ago.

They taught us that if you prepare
the ceviche right away,

it could have a taste of the sea
and a freshness

that we had never experienced before.

That's how Nikkei cuisine was born.

It's a merge
of Japanese and Peruvian cuisine.

There's been a permanent influence
of Nikkei culture

in the seafood cuisine of Lima.

Some say it's because of the influence
of sashimi,

but the nuances are what make
the diversity of our ceviches magical.

There are plenty of cevicherías in Lima

but there's a very special one
that's called Al Toke Pez.

Hi, Cati!

How are you? Welcome!

It was created by Tomás Matsufuji,

whom we call Toshi.

He's the son of Darío Matsufuji,

who had a very famous restaurant,

La Cocina de Darío.

He was one of the most symbolic cooks

in all of Nikkei cuisine.

Toshi grew up
in the restaurant environment,

but he wanted more of a street food place,

more like Toshi's own identity.

He prepares this dish called combinado.

It's a mix of ceviche and fried calamari

on the same plate.

The dish isn't just delicious and fresh,

it has a flavor

that gives you goosebumps.

Toshi is an icon

of this type of easy, affordable,

fast and fun cuisine.

Although he wouldn't agree.

If you look at my life,

you'd say, "He's a loser."

I've always been shy.

I'm someone that simply
likes being alone.

I'm not really an extrovert,

that's a role that I create

for my restaurant.

Hey, this rice with seafood
is amazing, huh?

In case it doesn't go down well,
the place next door is a hospital.

-Perfect, I can walk to it.
-You can.

The work at Al Toke Pez
is very fast-paced.

All the time, it's...

madness, talking, telling jokes,

but it's not something that comes
totally naturally to me.

There are people who say

they like to eat hot food
when it's hot outside.

I prefer to have an ice cream.

I always try

to express myself in a sarcastic way.

It must be a way of protecting myself
so people don't feel sorry for me.

Maybe that's why I make fun
of myself a lot

because that way, at least people laugh.

Your food is very tasty.

Well, at least it doesn't k*ll.

It just makes you fat.

I see that people are happy,

and that also helps

make me happy too. Right?

In Peru, we have some of the best chefs
in the world.

But an important part of the food scene
in Lima

is the street food.

Eating on Lima's streets is a way

of understanding and getting closer
to the city.

Picarones are a dessert

that has existed since colonial times.

They're a type of doughnut

that's made with squash

and sweet potato flour.

Here.

It's topped with honey.

It has to be crunchy on the outside
and spongy and chewy on the inside.

And, well, it's marvelous.

Some of the best picarones
are in Kennedy Park.

It's a park that's always full of cats.

They put the cats there to k*ll the rats,

and the cats ended up staying.

Thank you.

I met Mary

thirty-eight years ago.

And I didn't play hard to get.

I had a cart to sell popcorn.

Pablo would walk by

and that's how we met.

One day, he was late for work,

so they suspended him.

So I said,

"Hey, Pablo, why don't we make picarones?"

She said to me,

"Which do you prefer,
your job or working with me?"

I said, "I'd prefer to be with you."

He quit his job and we dedicated ourselves
to the business.

We bought ourselves a cart

that we've turned into Picarones Mary.

Mary's picarones are crispy...

and delicious.

It's a traditional sweet.

-It's delicious!
-So warm.

I'm third-generation Japanese,
born here in Peru.

I respect and love the Japanese culture,

but I identify as Peruvian.

-Hello, José.
-Hello, how are you?

What's it called, Titanic?

-El André.
-El André? Okay.

It's named after my son.

One of the loveliest moments
of my childhood

was going fishing with my dad.

But we didn't go fishing very often

because he was working all the time.

My dad had several restaurants
in his life.

There were times when they were
more important than us.

It's partially the Japanese mentality,

that work is the most important thing...

to be able to support a family.

But it was difficult for my mother,
for me,

because everyone wanted exclusivity
from Darío Matsufuji.

It would have been lovely
to have him around more.

But still, despite being absent,

I always saw my dad as a superhero.

You see?

I think it bit me.

WELCOME TO NUMBER 2 MARKET
IN SURQUILLO

Peruvians like variety.

So the solution is...

to mix everything, all the time.

Things that wouldn't normally
mix with together...

come together on one plate.

It's the country of the combinado.

The combinado here in Perú

symbolizes the union
of different cultures.

Dry combinado.

-Chicken and rice.
-Chicken and rice.

A combinado can have beef,

chicken, mutton with rice,

with beans, with ocopa sauce.

I've been in this market for 35 years.

I've had surgery on my spine twice,

and still I'm here
from five in the morning

until 11 at night,

standing.

Escabeche.

But I don't complain.

If you say, "I'm not okay,"
you'll feel bad.

But if you say, "I'll keep going,"

you'll keep going.

My work is the best therapy
I could have.

When customers come to have lunch,

they feel at home, they feel like family.

That really fills my heart.

And it gives me plenty of strength
to keep going.

I studied at a private school.

Hi, friends.

But it really...

wasn't the best environment for me.

I didn't socialize very well
in that type of society.

Besides, my father didn't care
if I got good grades.

He was never one to say,

"You're doing things right.
Congratulations, son."

He'd say, "Stupid, next time copy
from your classmate."

And my father never went to any
of my graduations. Never.

The onions are strong.

But despite all of that,
I tried to get good grades.

When I finished college,

I had the chance to get a PhD in Chemistry
in England.

I wanted to do it
because it was a challenge for me.

But when I was in England,

I really missed my country,
from day one.

So when I finished the PhD,

I returned directly to Peru.

And then it was time to look for a job.

But I preferred to go wash dishes
at my father's restaurant.

My dad thought it was quite funny,

and he told all his clients,

"My son has a PhD
and is washing the restaurant's dishes."

I think that it was a time for me to share

something he loved to do with him.

I began learning, little by little.

What I learned from chemistry

helped me a lot to understand what happens
in the kitchen.

How the temperature works,

the chemical part of the ingredients,

how they interact with each other.

At first, my job was just a short gig.

But I realized that I liked it a lot.

When I was a kid,

every day around 6PM,

the streets would take on the aroma

of charcoal, wood, smoke,

and then the meat.

That smell would tell you that there was
an anticucho seller nearby.

Anticuchos started
as the food of the sl*ves,

three hundred years ago.

They would receive the leftovers,
such as the cow's hearts.

They added

these very strong flavors:

spicy pepper, vinegar,

a lot of cumin.

Thank you.

Then, after a while, anticuchos went
from being a meal for the poor

to one of the most celebrated dishes
in Peruvian cooking.

I've been selling anticuchos
for 41 years.

At the age of 15, I had my first child.

It was very hard for me.

As a mother, I longed to have something
to give to my children for Christmas,

but I didn't have the money.

And then I started selling anticuchos.

I've moved forward and forward.

I haven't given up.

And now people wait in line

for my anticuchos.

I love selling on the streets,

and that's how I've achieved
my purpose and goals.

After working in my father's restaurant
for about two months,

my father got sick,

so he could no longer work in the kitchen.

The day after was, like,

"Tomás, Toshi, you went from dishwasher
to kitchen manager."

It was, like...

"Become a man." Something like that.

It was very hard to see my father sick.

I knew he had cardiac problems,
and the doctor said,

"No, only 20 percent of his heart
is working."

And I said,
"But 20 percent is fine, right?"

One day,

my brother called me and said,

"Come to the hospital right away,
it's an emergency."

When I arrived,
he had already passed away.

There was no goodbye moment, nothing.

But my mother told me that

before my dad died,

she asked him

if I was ready to be in charge
of the restaurant.

And my father, well, he nodded,
like, saying, "Yes."

Having my father's approval,

after so many years,

was like I really achieved
something in life.

Four days after my father passed away,

we were back in the restaurant working.
We decided not to rest,

but to do what he had taught us
to do, to work.

So I assumed the responsibility
of La Cocina de Darío.

But I felt lost.

I had to be the new Darío Matsufuji
of the restaurant.

But I'm not him.

When you own a large restaurant,
you have to deal

with suppliers, advertising,
customer service...

a lot of things that have nothing to do
with the food itself.

But I like simplicity in life.

I wanted to do the opposite.

Oh, no.

I had a desire

to sell things that were accessible
to many people.

La Cocina de Darío
was a very successful restaurant,

but I realized that...

if I wanted to achieve...

something for myself,

the only way was to close the restaurant.

I had to start from the beginning,

with my own style.

A few months later,
I closed La Cocina de Darío

and opened Al Toke Pez.

I was emulating a bit
of the Fish & Chips businesses.

The "take away" concept
that I'd seen a lot in England.

My father might have seen it as a setback,

but for me it was a different path.

Come to work.

Are you ready to work? Good.

Go on in.

The first day of Al Toke Pez,
when we finally opened the place,

I was happy.

When it was closing time,

I said, "Let's count the money."

And I realized

the first day we sold
about 300 Peruvian soles.

It was more or less what I made
from one table at La Cocina de Darío.

The second day we sold less, 200,

and on the fifth day we sold 100.

So I thought, "I screwed up.

I think I screwed up.

Is it time to close the business?"

No.

It was time to cry.

Damned onions.

But my father taught me

that not everything in life
is going to be handed to you.

The thing is to be faithful
to your principles.

So I decided to focus only on the food...

and find my own way of cooking.

I started to experiment more
in the kitchen,

as if it were a chemistry lab.

I began to learn
how to interpret the fish.

I learned to talk to the fish.
I would say, "How would you like to die?"

No, I mean,
"How do you want me to cook you?"

That's when my combinado was born.

It comes with ceviche, rice with seafood,
and fried calamari.

It's very simple.

A dish

with enough food, at a cheap price,

that comes out fast.

People started to come.

After a few months,

a line started to form outside the place.

So yes,

I realized I'm not as dumb as I thought.

Al Toke Pez,

as ugly as it is,

it's my way of expressing my ideals.

It could be prettier,

but then it wouldn't be...

Tomás' Al Toke Pez, you know?

It would be someone else's.

Peru is very diverse,

but we all agree on one thing,

Peruvian food is the best.

We are firm believers, absolutely devoted,

to our faith in Peruvian food.

I connect a lot with the public
through my food.

Hello! How are you?

But everything was very hard,
very difficult for me.

Life is always tough...

but you learn from that,
and it gives you strength to go forward.

A long time ago,

my children couldn't have
a toy for Christmas.

Now, and at the end of every year,

I go to the poorest districts of Lima

to give out toys.

For me it's a great joy.

Lima is a joyful city...

full of flavors

and traditions.

Our cuisine unites us

and strengthens us as a nation.

Picarones are from the old days.

It's an ancient dessert.

I'm already 60 years old,

and my wife is 58,

but the business is going to last

because there's no end to picarones.

There are many traditions

that are still carried out today,

but food from the streets, street food,

is changing and evolving.

When Tomás decided

to open Al Toke Pez,

he gave street food a new look.

He grew up in this big restaurant world,

and his father was the artist.

Toshi is the son who opened
the smallest place he could find,

with his master ingredient,
which is talent.

It's 21st century street food.

He does it with the most humble fish
possible and makes it delicious.

He is legendary,
just as much as his father.

Three years of college and a PhD
to end up frying fish.

Someday, when I retire
with my millions of dollars,

I'll be there bathing in gold,

and I'll think about opening a place
smaller than Al Toke Pez

to serve three or four people at a time.

But in the meantime,

I'm focused on Al Toke Pez,

and I feel very proud

of my horrible place.

Toshi?

Thanks, Mom.

I live with my mother.

I couldn't have a girlfriend

because I stink of fish all the time.

So I think,
"What woman would ever love me?"

This is very good, Mom.

-You finally learned from me.
-Thanks.

I'm a loser.

"I'm a loser baby,
so why don't you k*ll me?"

That's the anthem of my life.

-It's tasty, huh?
-It's excellent.

You should come work
at Al Toke Pez.

But I don't really think

that my story is a sad story.

On the contrary, it's a very happy story.

And I've realized that I can be happy

just the way I am now.

As simple as,

"Toshi the Great,
Conqueror of the World."

That's what I'd like to be called.