Staten Island Restaurant Tour, Part XIII: Inca’s Peruvian Grill (Grant City)

The Moravian Cemetery and New Dorp Moravian Church.

In Grant City, I ate Peruvian food and communed with the Moravian dead.

Plus a Vanderbilt or two.

If you look at a map of Staten Island, one of its more prominent green belts is a hatchet-shaped formation smack in the center. At the bottom tip of the hatchet blade is the Moravian Cemetery, anchored by the New Dorp Moravian Church, one of two Czech churches on the island. Nestled beneath the blade is Egbertville, and if you walk east toward the water, you’ll come to Midland Beach, which does indeed have a beach probably not unlike the one I visited in the last episode on New Dorp. For a change of pace, and to stick with the concept of naming episodes after rail stops, this time I did my strolling closer to Grant City, originally known as Frenchtown, but now named for General Ulysses S. Grant, Civil War hero and subsequent president. Without U.S. Grant, there would be no U.S. as we now know it.

A cluster of Staten Island’s many parks.

Here is the church’s Parish House. I’m not sure if it’s as old as the church…

Available for event rentals.

…which dates from 1763, making it the second oldest church on the island.

Moravia is part of the Czech Republic.

The area was dead quiet, so to speak, and gave me what the song calls a peaceful easy feeling. ’Cause I’m already standin’ on the ground.

Not under it, as yet.

I had company on the large lake wandering through the graveyard. Judging from the way they steamed toward me, I’m guessing the swans were used to getting fed by visitors.

Sorry, left my breadcrumbs at home.

Mausoleums for the fancy folk. The Vanderbilts were prominent in neighboring New Dorp and I saw many graves financed by their shipping and railroad money. Possibly or possibly including not these.

Eternal rest in the high-rent district.

The common folk rested nearby, in a more crowded quarter, across a narrow stream.

Not as much shipping and railroad money here.

Was this a visitor’s center, I wondered? Nope, just a larger mausoleum.

Sheltered from the elements.

Exiting through the parking lot between the church and its parish house…

Sometimes I just don’t feel like writing a caption.

…I made my way across busy Richmond Avenue, down a couple of peaceful residential blocks, many with Civil War and other 19th century names, to this afternoon’s lunch special.

Pollos a la brasa were prominent in the signage. Pollos are of course chickens. A la brasa means grilled.

Chicken on the awning.

There’s even chicken in the overhead sign, in case you were in any doubt that this is a place where Peruvian roast chicken is served. Not to mention cerviche, which is marinated raw fish with lime and chili.

Chicken in two languages.

View from my table. The place was decked out for Valentine’s Day.

Love, Peruvian style.

Here’s the bar, where the only other customers, a regular, was chatting with the staff. The place seemed to get more colorful as I moved farther back.

More colors for your cocktail.

And here’s the back end. My server was never less than attentive, which I appreciated, and perhaps mildly bemused, since I was a stranger here on this slow afternoon. Hey, I love being the center of attention. I’m not sure what kind of clientele she was used to, since there wasn’t much to be seen, but this might be a festive place on a Saturday night.

Pink and purple and blue, oh my.

A generous bowl of cilantro chicken soup, with overhead light fixture reflected atop the green waters.

I couldn’t finish it!

I polished off the tortilla chips with squirts of ají verde, a sauce served in a ketchup bottle made from cilantro, jalapeño, and mayo. It was delicious, with a kick that I didn’t notice at first, but came to relish. I squirted that good green stuff all over everything.

Inducing only a modest sweat. The jalapeño kick was subtle.

The chicken was served. I opted for tostones (fried green plantains) in lieu of fries for an extra buck or two, which was fair. That green nectar of life made an excellent side-salad dressing and I doused pretty much everything with it. Every Peruvian chicken I’ve had has been spiced a little differently. This one was a subtle variation of what I know and love. Once you’ve tasted it, you can never go back to regular rotisserie chicken (at least, when you have any choice in the matter).

The main event.

¿Como se lama?

That was a joke. I can spell.

I’m guessing that the kinky little stream that is the major geographic feature of the next Staten Island Railway stop, Jefferson Avenue, will not be as scenic as the Moravian Cemetery. But the diner I’ve already scoped out is more than piquant enough to compensate. Sample chatter I’ve already overheard there: “I always go for the eyes, the throat.” Uh-huh. Exciting times ahead.

Previously on the Staten Island Restaurant Tour:

Part I: Angelina’s (Tottenville)

Part II: Fina’s Farmhouse (Arthur Kill)

Part III: Laila (Richmond Valley)

Part IV: Il Forno (Pleasant Plains)

Part V: Breaking Bread (Prince’s Bay)

Part VI: Woodrow Diner (Huguenot)

Part VII: Il Sogno (Annadale)

Part VIII: Riva (Eltingville)

Part IX: Marina Cafe (Great Kills)

Part X: Do Eat (Bay Terrace)

Part XI: Canlon’s (Oakwood Heights)

Part XII: Prince Tea House (New Dorp)

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