Eat Like a Local: Authentic Peruvian Food Experiences from Cusco to Machu Picchu

After touching down in Cusco, most travelers make a beeline for the Plaza de Armas and end up paying through the nose for mediocre food with a 'view.' Not this old bus driver. My first stop is always San Pedro Market, where the real Cusqueños shop and eat.

The market is a riot of colors, smells, and local chatter—reminds me of Liverpool's Paddy's Market back in the day, only with more quinoa and fewer knock-off tracksuits. Head straight to the food stalls at the back where S/10 (about £2) gets you a menu del día that'll keep you fueled for hours of exploring. My go-to is the caldo de gallina—a hearty chicken soup that helps with altitude adjustment better than those oxygen canisters the tourist shops peddle.

For dinner, avoid anywhere with a chalkboard menu in English. Instead, wander down Calle Pampa del Castillo where local families run tiny restaurants from their front rooms. At Doña Julia's place (no website, no sign, just look for the blue door with a small wooden spoon hanging outside), I had the best rocoto relleno—stuffed spicy peppers—of my life for less than a tenner.

Before setting off on any Cusco adventure, I always pack my trusty water bottle with filter. Saved me countless times from dodgy tummy issues and plastic waste. When you're navigating narrow cobblestone streets at altitude, the last thing you need is dehydration slowing you down.

The Sacred Valley isn't just a stepping stone to Machu Picchu—it's a food destination in its own right. After decades of navigating Sydney's chaotic bus routes, the collectivos (shared vans) of the Sacred Valley felt like a homecoming. They're cheap as chips and connect all the major towns, though the drivers make me look like a cautious grandma by comparison!

In Pisac, skip the tourist restaurants lining the market and head to the local chicharronería on the corner of the main square. For S/25, you'll get a plate of chicharrón de cerdo (fried pork) with giant corn kernels (choclo) and mint tea that'll have you questioning why you ever bothered with fancy restaurants.

Urubamba holds my favorite food secret in all of Peru. Behind the main square, down an unmarked alley, is a family-run clay oven bakery. They make empanadas with fillings that change daily based on what's fresh. I've literally planned entire day trips around being there at 11am when they come steaming out of the oven.

In Ollantaytambo, the pre-Incan terraces aren't the only impressive sight. The town's cuy (guinea pig) is legendary. Now, I know what you're thinking—I was skeptical too. But when in Rome... or Peru. At La Esquina, they serve it without the head (a blessing for squeamish travelers) and crispy as anything. Tastes a bit like gamey duck. Not for everyone, but certainly a story to tell back home.

Aguas Calientes (or Machu Picchu Pueblo) is a necessary evil on your journey—a town that exists solely for tourism, with prices to match. After 35 years of navigating bus routes, I've developed a sixth sense for tourist traps, and this town is full of 'em.

My first piece of advice: avoid the restaurants on the main square like they're charging London prices—because they are. Instead, head to the local market on the upper side of town. Upstairs you'll find food stalls where workers eat. S/15 gets you a soup, main, and drink. Nothing fancy, but honest cooking that won't empty your wallet.

For dinner, walk ten minutes uphill from the train station to Chaska Restaurant. It's where the train staff and porters eat, which tells you everything. Their lomo saltado (stir-fried beef) could rival any I've had in Lima, and at half the price of the tourist joints.

One thing I never travel without in these remote mountain towns is my portable power bank. The electricity in Aguas Calientes can be spotty, and there's nothing worse than losing your camera charge before Machu Picchu. This one's powerful enough to charge my camera, phone, and even my mate's tablet when he forgot his adapter.

If you've got an early start for Machu Picchu (and you should—the first buses leave at an ungodly hour), several bakeries open around 4:30 am selling fresh bread and strong coffee. The one opposite the bus station does a bacon sandwich that reminds me of greasy spoon cafes back in Liverpool—not Peruvian, but sometimes comfort food is what you need before a big day.

Let's get one thing straight—the food at Machu Picchu itself is daylight robbery. A sandwich and water can set you back S/50, and it's about as inspiring as the sandwiches we used to get at the Liverpool bus depot canteen.

The savvy move is to prepare your own picnic. I always bring a small packable daypack that folds into nothing in my main bag but expands to hold a decent lunch. The night before visiting Machu Picchu, I hit the small grocery shops in Aguas Calientes for fresh rolls, local cheese, avocados (they're enormous in Peru), and a bag of chifles (plantain chips).

There's something magical about munching your sandwich while perched on a quiet corner of the ancient city, watching the clouds drift between the peaks. Just remember to pack out all your rubbish—this isn't a Sydney park where the council comes through with bin bags.

After you've had your fill of Incan architecture, the walk back down to Aguas Calientes (instead of taking the bus) works up an appetite. At the bottom, reward yourself with picarones—Peruvian donuts made with sweet potato and squash, drizzled with syrup. There's usually a lady selling them from a cart near the bridge. Best S/5 you'll spend all day.

If you're catching the afternoon train back to Cusco, the vendors at Poroy station (where many trains terminate) sell hot cups of emoliente—a herbal tea with toasted barley, flaxseed, and medicinal herbs. It's the perfect nightcap after a long day of exploring, and at S/2, it won't break the bank.

If there's one thing my decades of bus driving taught me, it's that the best meals often come from the most unexpected places. The same holds true in Peru, where some of the most memorable flavors come from street carts and hole-in-the-wall joints that would give health inspectors back home heart palpitations.

In Cusco, the area around San Pedro market transforms at night when vendors wheel out carts selling anticuchos (beef heart skewers). Now, I know what you're thinking—heart? Trust this old bus driver who's eaten his way across five continents: they're magnificent. Marinated in garlic and spices, then grilled over coals, they're tender and flavorful. At S/5 for two skewers, they're a bargain dinner.

Throughout the Sacred Valley, look for ladies selling tamales from baskets in the morning. Wrapped in banana leaves and steamed, these corn masa parcels stuffed with chicken or pork are breakfast of champions before a day of exploring. Just be sure to unwrap rather than eat the leaf—made that mistake once in Ollantaytambo to the great amusement of locals.

For the sweet-toothed traveler, the picarones vendors are your new best friends. These Peruvian donuts made from sweet potato and squash batter are crispy outside, fluffy inside, and drizzled with a syrup that's somewhere between honey and molasses. I've followed the same vendor around Cusco's Plaza San Francisco for three trips now—she recognizes me as 'the gringo who eats too many.'

A word of caution from someone who's learned the hard way: ease into street food gradually. Start with cooked items and fruits you can peel yourself. I always carry digestive aids in my day pack—they've saved more than one adventure from being derailed by an overenthusiastic stomach.