The Ecuadorian ceviche is not Peruvian — and that matters. Ours is made with fresh shrimp bathed in a citrus-tomato leche de tigre, with pickled onion, toasted chulpi corn and a splash of hot sauce. Cool, bright, alive. The coast of Ecuador in a glass.

Pacific prawns, grilled over high heat until caramelized outside and just-done inside. Served with sautéed vegetables and a choice of sauce. Simple in the best possible way — the prawn does all the work.

This is Quito's soul in a bowl. A thick, creamy potato soup slow-cooked with cheese, avocado and ají. The recipe hasn't changed in generations, and it shouldn't. On a cold highland evening — and evenings here are always highland — nothing else will do.

Slow-cooked pork, crisped to perfection, served with llapingachos (pan-fried potato patties), fried ripe plantain and a sharp ají criollo. This is the Sunday dish of a million Ecuadorian households — and you're now at the table.

Four hand-made empanadas — beef, chicken and corn — golden-baked with a thin crisp crust and a generous filling. The kind of thing you order as a starter and end up fighting over. Comes with two dipping sauces.

Ecuador produces some of the world's finest cacao — and this dessert knows it. A dark chocolate dome filled with white chocolate mousse, coffee and almond pieces. Cracked at the table. Theatrical, rich, unforgettable.