I don’t like to wait in line to eat. I mean, it’s one thing for a few minutes when a place first opens in the evening as they’re getting everyone situated, or I can even cope with a short wait in a bar/lounge with a cocktail until the rest of my party arrives (though I’m not fond of that one either). But to just stand in line and wait doesn’t work for me. It’s one of the reasons that I’ve only ever eaten at Shake Shack in NYC once – it’s a good burger, but I won’t do that again. And, it’s why, despite over thirteen years living here, and eating a ton of Peruvian food with (and without) Henry, I’ve never gone to La Conga, La Rioja 39, Once.

 

I wish I had a picture, but it’s normal, particularly in the evening, or weekend days, for the line of people waiting to get into La Conga to stretch a solid half block to the corner, or more. Henry and his friends talk about waiting for an hour and a half or two hours to get in, just to eat there. Why? Because they don’t talk about it like it’s the best Peruvian food around, but more that it’s a great value – huge portions of good food, and a reasonable price. And that’s what has, apparently, had La Conga grow from its origins as a little “mom and pop” operation on the second floor of the same building that seated about two dozen people, to the massive, couple of hundred seat place that takes up the whole ground floor and serves more than 1,000 people a day, every day.

It was the 53rd outing of the Roving Ravenous Horde, and eight of us gathered at a table tucked off in the small side room (that seats as many as most restaurants do by itself). Thank you to the couple of group members who’d been there before and arrived early in order to get a table arranged, or we’d have had nowhere to sit. (And just to lock in my analysis above, Henry’s response when he found out I’d planned the group outing for La Conga was “que horror” – he couldn’t believe I’d picked it as a place for the group.)

The place is noisy, but not deafening (it was running a steady 71-72 dB, about the sound level of a shower). Service is friendly, but clearly overworked. It took awhile to get someone to take our order, the waiter in our section was attending to all the small tables, and more or less ignoring us, which he said to me, “once I get them taken care of, I can take care of you guys”. Yeah, but we’re not hard to take care of like some bigger groups. We’d decided as a group what to order, he only had to take the order from one of us for the whole table. But, once finally ordered, food fairly flew out of the kitchen to the table.

 

The original plan was just to order a couple of whole pollos a la brasa, the famed rotisserie chicken of Peru, and for which La Conga is particularly famous. And, what a deal – a whole chicken, with a mound of fries as big as the chicken, and a mixed salad just as big again, all for a mere 420 pesos, about $11, and enough to feed four people. But a couple of people had decided they wanted something else, and so that went out the window. We went with a chicken and a half (420 + 280 pesos) – we probably could have gone with just a single chicken. It comes out a glowing bronze color, lacquered with soy and chili paste and spices. Personally, I found it a little dry – that does happen with rotisserie chicken, but here, at least for me, more so than I’ve found at other places. But it is delicious, and the fries are excellent, and the salad is one of the better side salads I’ve had here in town with this dish. Personal favorites for pollo a la brasa in town are probably El Pollo Rico out in Chacarita and Mamaní behind the Abasto. But I’ll give this one third place….

 

Next up, as we were working our way down to the bones of the pollo, a massive “family sized” jalea mixta – mixed fried seafood, mounded with golden brown fish fillets, calamari rings, and more. Tender and soft, accompanied by the classic cebollita, red onion salad. Maybe some lemon wedges… we could have asked. 680 pesos (they have a non-family sized one for, I think, 490 pesos, that still would have been enough for us to share).

 

One of the group wanted chicharrón de cerdo – deep fried pork shortribs and belly. He did share some of it. Tasty, but for me, very dry, very overcooked. 260 pesos.

 

Highly recommended on the ‘net was their tortilla de camarones, a shrimp (really, I think, given their size, prawn) egg pancake that was creamy on the inside, the shrimp cooked perfectly, and a beautiful mottled brown and gold. For me, this was the best dish on the table. 390 pesos.

All in all, a very good lunch. I’m not overly fond of the room, but then, that happens a lot in bigger restaurants, especially the bigger Peruvian ones, where it’s just bustle, chaos, and noise. Service, once we got it, was excellent. The food good to very good – though as noted, I found two of four dishes to be overcooked and a little dry. The price, very reasonable – all the above, plus various beverages, and tip, and the eight of us walked out of their for 2800 pesos, 350 apiece, or, under $10. It wasn’t, however, good enough for me to go back and stand in a long line, but if there wasn’t one, I might stop in for that tortilla again….

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I’m going to do a little sidebar here, because the topic came up. The four “biggies” of Peruvian chicken:

 

This is what we had here, pollo a las brasas – it’s spit roasted, or rotisserie chicken, glazed with, usually, soy, panca chili paste, a mix of spices and herbs, sometimes a touch of beer or wine in the glaze. It’s always accompanied by fries and a salad, and you can usually order either a whole, half, or quarter chicken.

 

This is pollo broaster, essentially fried chicken, usually a quarter of a chicken of either leg/thigh or breast/wing. Classically, the chicken is marinated in vinegar or lemon, then dusted lightly with mustard or chili powder before breading and frying. It’s almost always served with rice, though I’ve seen versions with fries or spaghetti. Pollo frito, or simply “fried chicken” looks more or less the same, though usually without the marinade and spicing. Instead it’s battered, or simply floured, and fried, more like North American style fried chicken. And usually served with fries. These two tend to get used somewhat interchangeably, so it’s not a hard and fast definition.

 

And finally, chicharrón de pollo, which is cut up smaller pieces of chicken, ofttimes solely white meat chicken, spiced, breaded, and fried. It’s classically served with roasted potatoes, though many places, particularly less expensive spots, serve it with fries, and wedges of lemon and a side salad.