May 9, 2007 at 4.58 pm · Filed under food, Cuba, Havana, Holguin, local fare
After another bite of black beans and a gulp of hot coffee, I thought to myself “Thank God we’re leaving today because I think these people are trying to kill me!” This morning after finishing the cooking, Senora stood directly over my right shoulder, all but counting each time I chewed. I told her husband, conveniently stand post in front of me, that the food, was, without a doubt, the best food in all of Cuba. I was hoping, nay, praying, that he would notice my blinking out “S.O.S.” as I chewed and nod off his lurking wife in a moment of mercy. His only response though, was a sharp smile and a soft “See, dear, I told you they all eat this much.” And plow ahead I did.
Of course, aside from my jokes, I was awfully thankful for the food especially since in the eight hour trek to Havana there would be, aside from the men selling soft guyaba jelly and sweaty farmstead cheese, little else in the way of road food.
The long and relatively uneventful trip ended mercifully at “El Aljibe”, an open aired Paladar serving family sized portions of roasted chicken in mojo, the classic Cuban bitter orange and garlic sauce (the recipe is purported to be a state secret), rice, black, beans, fried plantains & cabbage salad. By the time the rum, coffee and torreja, a syrupy cold French toast, started flowing I was well on my way to being back to normal (read: “full”) and ready for a scalding hot shower back in my palace of a hotel, the Melia Havana Miramar.
That night, with the southerly breezes slipping past the long, gauzy curtains, I drifted off to sleep listening to the tides from the Straights of Florida applauding Havana in all of her efforts.
- Last Meal:: Pupusas and Pickled Cabbage
- Listening to:: Motley Crue, "Kickstart My Heart"
- Location:: Escazu, San Jose, Costa Rica
May 5, 2007 at 2.03 am · Filed under food, travel, Cuba, Holguin
After last night’s occurrences (a train wreck of a pizza, exceptional dance lessons from the exceptional local girls and enough rum to stun a sturdy mule), 10.00a came along pretty early as did Fernando with news of breakfast waiting downstairs.
Apparently, upon learning that I was a cook, the Senora of the house, may God bless her, decided to pull out all the stops, something not easily done in heavily rationed Cuba. Now in my short experience, a local deciding to go whole hog has almost always ended on my near death from obligatory overeating (read “Spanish Fish and Egg Debacle”). This was, in no way, an exception nor was it something I was mentally or physically prepared for. I soon noted a sharp difference though: It was the best food I’d eaten in Cuba. A chopped fruit salad of banana, guava, & pineapple, ham, cheese, green olives, chopped cabbage salad, black beans wtih pork skin, Tortilla Espagnola, fresh orange juice and scalding hot cafe con leche. I was all but weeping as I tried to field good natured inquiries about the quality of the food. As she asked for suggestions, I, in my sleep addled Spanish assured her that she, was in fact, the teacher and I her student and that the only thing that was missing was a ceremonious bibbity-bobbity-boo from her centuries old wooden spoon.
With Fernando off to a “free day” in Holguin, I clambered back upstairs to lazy breezes, warm Cuban sun and a solid dose of Louis L’Amour. After a slow nap, I spent the rest of the now late afternoon talking life and politics in Cuba with Alain over a bottle of rum. If just one thing could be learned from the Cuban people, I feel it would be the preserving power of pride, accepting a poor deal in life and playing it as if it were a flush.
Alain poured me a thumb of Havana Club and I said “I hope one day Cuba gets its freedom.”
“May it never change,” he replied.
We clinked glasses and drank.
- Last Meal:: Breakfast Burrito for dinner
- Listening to:: British Sea Power
