I walked to nearby coffee shop SOL first thing this morning for a few bites of a delicious focaccia sandwich, a cappuccino, and a chance to stretch my legs between two elaborate meals. Trotting back to the hotel with a cortado in hand for my friend, I was twittering with excitement, a goofy smile plastered on my face as we started our preparations for Central.

Eating at Central has been on my bucket list for years. The date that May reservations opened was marked on my calendar months in advance, and the frantic texts I sent when the website crashed at midnight were only a shade of the sinking disappointment in my stomach. I soon realized that I – and everyone else clamoring for a spring slot – had rushed to the page for nothing; it had not yet been updated with new dates. I solidified my reservation just shy of 9:00am the next day with a sigh of relief and the buzz of overjoyed adrenaline – whew!

We arrived a touch early for our 13:00 reservation and were greeted enthusiastically by security guards and hosts who led us through the broad garden, invited us to peruse the signature table of ingredients, and pulled out our chairs as we sat adjacent to the glass wall fronting the kitchen. And so began our next 14-course meal, resplendent in its showcase of food as an expression of Peru’s vast landscape and history. The menu was printed with the measure of sea level where each course’s components could be found (for example, my favorite dish, “Black Rocks,” comprised of squid, clams, and sargassum seaweed, was listed at 10 meters below sea level) and we sprang for the juice pairing that corresponded with the journey.

I will say about Central what I said about Noma, my 2023 Michelin pilgrimage: it was an entirely magical and worthy experience measured not only by the food, but also by the warm and wonderful service, the curated atmosphere, and the buzz of being in that place. Menus of this style explore food as a concept, as a reflection of an identity, and as a method of pushing the boundaries of cuisine and its industry. Many of the dishes were absolutely incredible, some were great, and one I would never eat again (while I loved the parade of pacu heads that arrived to the table with a dish called “Amazonian Water,” the squishy texture of the fish blend almost put a nail in my coffin while I was still sitting upright). I could debate the merits of the price tag with you all day but, to me, going to the number one restaurant in the world during its tenure on top is in itself a priceless and unforgettable treasure.

Back at the hotel, we bemoaned the hubris of eating meals of such heft in succession, cradling bottles of water as we attempted to rest before our friends’ wedding weekend welcome dinner. The dinner was held at Huaca Pucllana, a site housing a famous ancient adobe and clay pyramid on which excavation began only as recently as 1967 (!). Before dinner, we took a tour of the grounds, traipsing through the dirt in our high heels and bright, silky dresses before retiring to the adjacent restaurant for pisco sours, chilcanos, and hors d’oeuvres. Plates of salad, filet, and beautiful custard-filled meringue were set before me over the course of the night, and I regret to say that I had only single digit bites of each course, as I still couldn’t breathe properly after the extravagance of lunch. I also had a pisco sour, a sip of white wine, & three sips of a chilcano – but who’s counting? Add one passion fruit pisco sour while I danced at the rooftop afterparty and a bushel of room service fries just after 1:00am and that brings us to the end of a marathon day.