Pilgrimage to Peru at El Sol

We’re in the Peruvian Andes--way up at the top where the wind whistles and the air is crisp. John Wayne and Gary Cooper have headed off the posse and are making their way up the mountain to a small, rather primitive cantina called El Sol on a snowcapped-ridge called Melrose Avenue. You could see the flickering light from the windows and hear the haunting Indian pipe-and-drum music.

“C’mon, pardner, we need ta . . . get some grub before we start out agin. Y’ll like the food and the chica who serves it too.”

“Does she speak English, dude? I’m pretty hungry.”

“Nope. But she doesn’t need ta, friend. Customers are mostly Peruvian, but the menu is in English. Best of all, it’s numbered. All ya got ta . . . do is point. In fact, don’t even say the numbers or you’ll get No. 11 instead of No. 22.”

“What’s No. 11?”

“Tripe.”

“Gee, dude, I hope they’ve got steak on the menu. I’m dying for a good steak.”

“Stop yur yappin’, friend. Yeah, they got steak. Chewy, but good bisteck a la huancaina-- that’s steak with boiled potatoes, eggs and olives. You get lots of potatoes in these here parts. People like ‘em--grow ‘em on the mountain, ya know. That’s No. 18. Or if you want yur steak breaded--like say, bisteck apanado --point to No. 20. You get those with rice, but if you want papas fritas-- that’s fried potatoes--ya got ta . . . say it clear so the chica will get it right. Papas fritas. Got it?”

“Gee, dude. You sure have got that menu memorized.”

“I should, I’ve been comin’ ta . . . this here spot, headin’ off posses, since ’85 when the owner took over from a place that used be called Adagio, or somethin’ like that. Not my style. Anyway, the only problem with this place, friend, is that they don’t want ta . . . stay open past 8 p.m. weekdays or 9 p.m. weekends. That means I got ta . . . schedule the raids accordin’ ta . . . their hours so I can get some grub before they close. Slightly inconven . . . .”

CUT, CUT, CUT.

Just kidding, folks. But only some. There really is an El Sol restaurant on Melrose Avenue (and one in Lawndale) so seemingly authentic in flavor and mood that you feel you are in the Andes. There is a presiding patrone behind the cash register, who only lifts a finger to take cash, and a faithful, resolute waitress handling it all single-handedly with a smile.

So let’s slip away while our phantom director rants and raves over the trashy script and the lifeless performance of his two stars. And let’s order some of the bisteck, which is indeed chewy top sirloin, but tasty, the way Peruvians like it, and inexpensive ($5.75 for a five- to eight-ounce steak). And we’ll also order some of their excellent pescado encebollado , or fried red snapper, served with a garnish of tomatoes, onions and lettuce.

El Sol is big on fish because, after all, Peru is on the Pacific Coast of South America. The calamares , or deep-fried squid, and the combination plate saltado de mariscos, made up of sauteed shrimp, scallops, squid and bay octopus and served with fries and white rice, is incredible for the money ($6.35). Considering the freshness of ingredients and authenticity of the food, you can hardly go wrong, provided, of course, you can make it there before 8 p.m. weekdays, when they close up, fork in hand or not.

I would start with entradas , or appetizers, such as cebiche (ceviche), or tamal con salsa criolla. This Peruvian huskless tamale is huge, very tasty and filled with several fillings. The chicken soup, or sopa de gallina , would rival the best Jewish mother’s chicken soup in size, freshness and healing powers. It’s really a great meal and only $2.50. The bread served is pathetic, but no worse than the bad bread found in some of the most expensive places in town. Stick to the potatoes and rice. They’re great.

They also have some interesting imported beers (Pilsen Callao, Cuzco and Pilsen Negra; some from Chile, too: San Pedro and Urmeneta); plus some Cotes du Rhone house wine by the liter. For teetotalers, there are a few excellent Peruvian soft drinks, such as Inca Kola, an herb-flavored soft drink, or yerba luisa , that is more refreshing than Gatorade, plus chicha morada , a purple corn and fruit drink, and caramba , or assorted fruit drinks manufactured in Los Angeles.

Dessert is quite representative: cakey flan and rice pudding, when available. Good, too.

I found the place a refreshing change from the slick, yuppie-puppy, hygienic places being pumped out of money machines. The people, refreshingly warm and sweet, are ready to serve without an ego hitch.

The decor? Nothing’s coordinated or tries to be. It’s slap-dash, loving-hands all over the place with some comforts of home--some homes, anyway: plastic flowers, carved pile, worn nylon bathroom carpeting, car wash art, and, if you get there before they sell it, you’ll find a piece of Peruvian furniture called sapo (frog in Spanish), which must be the precursor of the pinball machine. It can provide hours of amusement, if you so choose. Customers get a kick out of tossing chips, or sichas , into the openings. Anyway, it’s part of the fun.

El Sol Peruvian Restaurant, 5259 Melrose Ave. , Los Angeles, (213) 464-2667. Open Tuesday through Thursday from 11 a.m. to 8 p.m., Friday and Saturday until 9 p.m., Sunday until 6 p.m. Major credit cards accepted. Parking on streets only. Reservations suggested, especially on weekends. Entrees from $2.50 to $6.50.