The Search for the Perfect Ceviche

I am Julian van Brakel. I am a chef and someone who can sometimes spend just a little too long searching for the perfect flavour. I currently work in Austria, but during my years in the Netherlands, I prepared an enormous amount of fish. Fish has always played an important role in my development as a chef. I love its versatility, its delicacy and the precision required to prepare it properly.

The First Encounter

My search for the perfect ceviche began at Vis op de Dijk. That was where I first saw and tasted the dish. Until then, I thought ceviche was little more than raw fish with an acidic dressing. I had no idea how much technique, history and intuition could lie behind such a seemingly simple dish.

My boss made the first ceviche I ever tasted. I believe he used hamachi. The fish was combined with citrus, chives, red chilli, wakame and fried leek. It was fresh, light and spicy, yet incredibly delicate at the same time. The flavours came together in a way I had never experienced before.

But it was not only the flavour that impressed me. I was fascinated by the story behind the preparation. The fish is not cooked with heat. Instead, the acid changes the proteins and therefore the texture of the fish. In the kitchen, we call that cooking, even though it happens in a completely different way from cooking in a pan or oven. The acidity, the time and the freshness of the fish determine what happens. Sometimes, a single minute can make all the difference.

At that moment, a door opened for me.

From a Dish to a Quest

During the first few months, I simply worked with the recipe we used at Vis op de Dijk. I had to sell the dish, so I needed to learn how to make it. At first, I mainly followed the steps. I did not yet fully understand why certain things had to be done in a particular way.

The real interest only began a few months later. I wanted to understand exactly what the acid did to the fish. I wanted to know how long the fish should be left in it, which fish worked best and why one combination tasted fresh and balanced while another tasted only of acid. Whenever something interests me, I want to know everything about it. From that moment on, ceviche was no longer just a dish to me. It became a quest.

Ceviche comes from one of the cuisines I find most fascinating: Peruvian cuisine. I am intrigued by its flavours, ingredients and history. For me, ceviche is its crowning glory. Today, variations are prepared all over the world. Some are traditional, some have an Asian twist and others contain additions that make you wonder whether they can still be called ceviche at all.

Those variations are precisely what make the dish so interesting. There is no single recipe you can follow that will automatically produce the perfect ceviche. The fish may be different. The acid may be stronger. One week, a lime may contain far more juice and flavour than the next. A change in temperature affects the result. A change in time affects it too. Even the way you cut the fish influences how it cooks.

Three Years of Experimenting

I have now been on this quest for about three years. I have made ceviche at home, in different kitchens and sometimes for weeks at a time. There were periods when I created a different version almost every week. Each time, I changed something: a different ratio, a different fish, another chilli or a different way of marinating it.

Some attempts were good. Others were truly terrible.

I have made ceviche so acidic that you could barely taste the fish. I tried using plaice and did not like the result at all. Mahi-mahi did not give me what I was looking for either. During one of my first attempts, I left the fish in the acid for far too long. The texture disappeared completely and the fish fell apart.

I even once made a leche de tigre so bad that I threw it off the balcony. It was not my most professional solution, but at the time, it seemed like the only place that sauce belonged.

Yet those failures taught me the most.

The Heart of Ceviche

Leche de tigre is ultimately the heart of a ceviche. I first heard the name at work and then began researching what it was. I looked up recipes, watched videos and tried existing sauces. I even ordered a ready-made version, but it was not good enough for me. Still, it helped me understand what I did and did not want.

My leche de tigre needs to be clear. I do not want a cloudy sauce with powders floating through it. I have worked with different chillies and even ghost pepper powder, but that not only made the sauce far too intense, it also ruined its beautiful clarity. That is why I prefer using a fresh red chilli, chopped extremely finely.

Lime is important for cooking the fish and giving the dish its freshness. Lemon can add another beautiful layer of flavour, while a tiny amount of orange can give the fish a slightly different kick. For me, coriander is absolutely essential. It has a very distinctive freshness that you either love or hate. I love it.

Above all, however, I have learned that simplicity may be the most important thing. The more ingredients and ideas you try to force into a single dish, the more likely you are to tie yourself in knots. The foundation needs to remain powerful, clear and understandable. From there, you can continue building with garnishes and presentation.

The Fish and the Timing

For me, a good ceviche always begins with exceptionally fresh fish. Ideally, the fish has only just been caught and is still in rigor mortis. Its texture needs to be firm. The fish can be fatty or very lean, but the composition of the sauce must be adjusted to the fish you are using.

Hamachi is still my favourite. I have also achieved good results with sea bass and grouper. I prefer working with a firm white fish. I like to cut the fish into a fine brunoise. It creates a clean appearance, works beautifully in a plating ring and allows the acid to do its work quickly and evenly.

Timing is everything.

The Perfect Balance

The perfect ceviche should begin with soft, juicy fish. Then the acidity should arrive, followed by the flavour of the fish itself. The heat may build gradually, but it should never overpower everything else. Red onion belongs in the original dish, but I quickly find its flavour too dominant. I prefer working with chives because they provide a softer onion flavour. Coriander is important, as are a little chilli and a small amount of good-quality salt.

Above all, the dish should remain light, fresh and summery. It should never become too salty, too sweet or too spicy. For me, its beauty lies in the moment when all the flavours flow into one another without any single ingredient shouting over the others.

My Harshest Critic

Over the years, some guests have tasted several versions of my ceviche. Every time, they experienced a different flavour. Colleagues and guests often tell me they enjoy my ceviche. Yet I almost do not believe them. Not because I do not value their opinions, but because I am still not satisfied.

In the end, the most honest and harshest criticism comes from me.

Years ago, someone said to me, “This is not real Peruvian ceviche.”

That comment has always stayed with me. Perhaps the dish tasted good, but was it really ceviche? When can a Dutch chef claim that something is authentically Peruvian? I believe you need to be careful with that. You cannot simply throw a few ingredients together, pour lime juice over them and then claim you have made an authentic ceviche.

Respect for the Original

You must first respect the original dish. You need to learn the traditional knowledge before attempting a modern interpretation. After that, as far as I am concerned, you may experiment with the preparation, the ratios and the presentation, as long as the foundation and the philosophy behind the dish remain intact.

I have studied Peruvian recipes, watched countless videos and worked with ingredients such as ají amarillo. I once spoke about ceviche with someone from Peru. Unfortunately, he did not want to share all his knowledge with me, but he did tell me that balance was the most important thing of all.

Somewhere, I already knew that. But perhaps balance is the most difficult thing there is.

I have never eaten ceviche prepared for me by a Peruvian chef. That is actually quite strange. I have spent three years working on a dish whose original version I have never been able to experience in Peru. Perhaps that also explains why I am never completely satisfied. I know I am getting closer, but I do not know exactly where the finish line is.

One Perfect Moment

Last month, for a moment, I thought I had found it.

I was alone in the kitchen. Things were everywhere. My notebook lay open. There were chopped chives, fish, chilli and everything else I had used during testing. The kitchen smelled of onion, acid, fish, salt and fresh herbs. Every breath seemed to reveal a different aroma.

I had used sea bass. When I tasted it, something happened that I can hardly describe. The fish was juicy and everything tasted right. The acidity, the texture and every small detail came together at precisely the right moment.

“Eureka,” I said to myself. “I’ve got it. I’ve found it.”

There was just no one at home to taste it.

One minute later, I took another bite from the same container. The fish had continued cooking and the perfect moment had already passed.

That is ceviche.

You can spend days, weeks and months working on it. You can believe you have found the answer, only to lose it again a minute later. I used to become angry with myself when something did not work. I wanted to move too quickly and did not always have the patience to understand why a preparation had failed. Now I understand that the search itself is one of the most beautiful parts of this profession.

A Pause in Austria

At the moment, my experimentation has slowed down somewhat in Austria. The selection of truly fresh fish, vegetables and fruit is far more limited here than in the Netherlands. There is plenty of trout and char, but the Netherlands is a much better place for the fish and ingredients I want to experiment with. I cannot wait to have access to those products again so I can continue.

My current version comes close, but I am keeping the recipe to myself. Over the past few years, I have filled almost an entire book with recipes, adjustments, mistakes and new ideas. I want to save certain details for the moment when people can actually come and eat my ceviche.

Eventually, I want to create a dish that does not simply look beautiful on the plate, but above all shows how I work as a chef. I will continue searching until every detail is right. But once it is right, I will never touch the recipe again.

Whether that moment will ever come with ceviche, I do not know. Perhaps I need another thousand versions.

The Next Chapter

Next year, I want to travel to Peru. I want to visit Lima and spend an entire week eating as much ceviche as possible. I want to work alongside a great Peruvian chef, see everything, ask every possible question and probably try to steal all his secrets. Perhaps my search will end immediately afterwards. Or perhaps that is when it will truly begin.

For me, the ultimate proof would not be a compliment from a guest in the Netherlands. One day, I want to prepare my own ceviche in Peru for a great Peruvian chef. I want him to taste it, fall silent for a moment and then say just one word:

“Wow.”

Until then, I will continue researching, tasting, adjusting and starting again. This is not yet the story of the perfect ceviche.

This is only the first chapter of the search.