WORDS David Mowery
2013 marks the 50th anniversary of the Kennedy Assassination, an event in our recent past that will always be intertwined with the fate of our island neighbor. Most people understand that travel between the US and Cuba is not exactly a free flowing shipping lane from Key West to Havana. What you may not know is that we still maintain an embargo - or as the Cubanos call it - El Blockado - meaning no trade or travel between the nations. (Though Alabama has a special trade agreement to provide certain ag products including chicken and wood, that is of a more humanitarian nature than it is commercial.)
Let’s get this out of the way up front: Communism sucks, and the best way to end Communist rule in Cuba, and bring freedom and opportunity to our nearest Caribbean neighbor, is to End The Embargo.
But since the focus of “Off The Beaten Path” is food, I decided to focus this month’s entry on the culinary aspects of my recent trip to America’s Cold War bête noir.
The obvious question then is - “How did you get to go?” The second question everyone asks me is “How was the food?” I got to go because a friend of mine invited me, and he was able to get our group past customs via a license from the US government.
Unfortunately, the food was not what you might expect for such an exotic locale. The best meal we ate the entire time was at The Columbia Restaurant in Tampa the night before we left.
The one thing that seemed omni-present at every place or meal was a Cuban style antipasti with a passable prosciutto, something like bologna, and a cold cut that resembled mortadella - bologna with the white blotches. None of this was bad, per se, but it wasn’t like getting the antipasti plate at an Italian restaurant either. The cheeses were ok, but all were presented in a shape akin to a combination triangle/crinkle cut fry, and most appeared to be leaking oils due to the heat. Some of these plates featured small, mealy shrimp and olives.
The best meals we ate were at the Hotel Nacional, where upon arrival we got several sandwich plates, including, yes, a cuban sandwich. For some reason the meats were more appetizing in sandwich form.
Though not on an official delegation trip, on our second night, we did meet with several officers of the Cuban government, including The Minister of The Interior. We had what passes for a dinner party at The Hotel Nacional. The choices were fish or steak, and being that we were on an island, I opted for the fish. It wasn’t bad or inedible, but if you were served this as a hotel’s example of an entree they would serve at your wedding, you would quickly decide on another venue.
It was interesting to interact with government types in a casual environment. To a man they were exceedingly polite, and happy and interested to speak to Americanos. I did refrain from telling them that El Jefe Castro is a Puto Communisto, just for decorum’s sake, though.
The next day we were treated to a 200km bus ride to Xanadu - The DuPont Mansion. When you hear that Cuba is 90 miles from Key West, that’s the measurement from the end of the old pier at Xanadu to the shore at Key West. Nothing like cramming 10 hungover gringos into a Chinese-made bus for 3 hours to see a renovated old house and have lunch.
On the way we stopped at a Cuban rest stop, which is not to be confused with something you’d encounter on The New Jersey Turnpike - nary a Sbarro or Starbucks in sight. They did have what seemed to be an ever present bar. For the equivalent of $3 you could get a fresh pina colada to which you add your own rum. Needless to say “some” in our group would gulp down half the frothy coconut concoction while it was virgin, and then fill the glass back to the top with Havana Club.
Side Note Here: The Rum is Awesome. Havana Club, which Bacardi sells a Z Grade knock-off of here in the states, is truly a drink of champions. It comes in several varietals, of which we found the 7 year to be the mid-point between taste and price, and the 1 or 3 year great for dumping into a glass with any mixer available. It was readily available everywhere we went.
The meal at Xanadu, named for a Samuel Taylor Coleridge poem about Kubla Khan, may have been the worst of the entire trip. Our fish, billed as Red Snapper, tasted like a cross between old dried out tilapia and shoe leather. What they lacked in culinary skill, they made up for in stout and sugary mojitos which readily fortified us for the ride back to Havana.
While traversing the countryside, we saw a few emaciated cows grazing on farms situated by the road side. It was explained to us that before La Revolucion, one of Cuba’s main agricultural products was beef. They once had grand ranches that were appropriated in post-revolution land reforms. The result is a once proud industry brought low, and it is now illegal to kill a cow in Cuba. The Government controls the supply and much of it is set aside for tourists - which explains carpaccio being on every palladar menu.
That evening we enjoyed the first of two meals at a Palladar, which are “the Cubans’ attempt at private restaurants.” These are usually in private homes and reminded me of the Gasthouses we used to eat at when I lived in Germany as a kid. You’re basically in a restaurant set up in someone’s home, usually on the bottom floor, and the residence is on the upper floors.
This one was called La Havaina. We ate in a side room near the kitchen, which looked like a professional kitchen you would see here in the states in a smaller restaurant. The food choices included a special of tres de mare - pescado, camarones, and langosta - fish, shrimp and lobster. The appetizer special was carpaccio de pulpo, which Javier the proprietor told me he caught and prepped himself that morning. This may have been the best thing I ate on island.
There was also an option of rabbit in gravy over rice. While most of our party opted for the tres de mare, I got the rabbit. I enjoy rabbit, and this was good, though it could have been deboned a bit better. Nothing like reaching in your mouth at the table to pull out shards of bone from between your molars. It was also bland to my pallet. Like Chicken Ala King or something your grandparents served at dinner parties when everyone was too drunk to care about the “flavor components” of their meal.
I did however bring home a menu signed by the owner, chef and staff. As I told him: “Some of my friends have a Mario Batali from Babbo, or a John Besh from August. I have a Frank Stitt from Highlands and from Bottega - but so do a lot of people I know. Don’t nobody got a Javier from La Havaina, and they’re not likely to anytime soon” (Mas Hipster Cred, Amigo!)
That night we stayed out until the sun came up at a Cuban disco-cum-nightclub. Imagine Bud’s if Bud put in Christmas lights, white banquets, and a DJ. It was an interesting time spent interacting with the locals and other foreign visitors. And in case you are wondering, youth culture world wide is rap culture. They played, and the crowd all knew, Macklemore, TI, L’il Wayne and others. They were impressed when I told them about meeting Weezy in ATL and Wacka Flocka “A la playa.” The biggest hit of the night, though, was Icona Pop and Charlie XCX’s “I Don’t Care (I Love It)” which pretty much brought the house down. During the evening, I bought a round of shots, and I asked one of our new friends “Can I yell ‘Viva La Revolucion!’ as our toast?” She said “No - I understand you like the iconography, but La Revolucion means nothing to us.”
The next morning came early, but with a great adventure - we went to Finca Vigia - Ernest Hemingway’s house. And thankfully they were grinding out sugar cane juice for strong rum drinks. My constitution was weak at this point, and the rum was much needed - and the sugar more so. After belting a few of those back, I loaded up on cheap souvenirs and we went back to La Floridita - The Home Of The Daquiri - and featuring a bronze statue of Papa himself leaning against the bar.
On our last night, we went to another Palladar, billed as the top one in Havana. The neighborhood, architecture and clientele all indicated a higher class neighborhood - pretty interesting for a classless worker’s paradise. The food was on par with what we had at La Havaina, though the service was a little slower and the portions a little smaller. Carpaccio must be the new thing down there, as it was a choice for appetizer at this place as well. Here I decided to go with the special of langosta. They were caught that day. And while the lobster was fresh, it was not as meaty or succulent as the type of tail you would get in the US. It was saved by squirting lime over it, as the butter wasn’t drawn, and it tasted more like lard anyway.
We spent the remainder of that evening with our friends from the night before at a club featuring some traditional Cuban singers - and where they proceeded to drink sweet vermouth on ice. If you’ve never tasted it, it’s like a cross between red wine and vinegar, and there’s a reason it’s best known as an ingredient in a drink and not a drink in and of itself.
We asked them about the reason the food was generally bland, or not that great, and it makes sense - they can’t get too much in the way of ingredients. The main spices they have to work with are salt, pepper, garlic and lime. And thinking back over the meals we had, that is exactly what most of them were flavored with. It explains why the carpaccio were so prevalent, and why some of the things that sounded good came out with the taste and texture of wet cardboard.
So while I can (and in a later expanded story, will) tell you more about how the embargo affects the lives of the Cuban people, let’s focus on what’s important here: if we lifted the embargo not only would we free 12 million people from under a Communist dictator’s boot heel, tourists would be able to get better food.