CUBAN TRANSITIONS

On our second to last night in Cuba, Kelsey, Krystal and I wandered out to try to find a good meal. We were getting a late start and wanted to find something quickly; we were starving and food is known to take a very long time in a lot of Cuban restaurants. First we tried a hotel restaurant nearby but it was expensive and not quite what we were looking for so we thanked the waitress and walked back out to the thoroughfare, still hungry and without a direction. As we walked away from the restaurant, I saw the shadow of two figures behind us and got a little nervous. My paranoid New Yorker instincts kicked in until I heard the man’s voice call out something like “That place is expensive, no?” We agreed and he asked if we were trying to find somewhere cheap to eat. He told us we wanted to find a paladar and we told him he was absolutely right. Paladares are small, supposedly family-owned restaurants that the Cuban government has allowed to exist since early Special Period. Through the paladares, families are able to earn some extra money and they often give them access to the CUC, the valuable, convertible currency used by tourists. Not all paladares are small; we went to a restaurant early in our trip that seemed like it could have been in New York. The only difference was the limited menu.

The man offered to take us to a paladar and we took him up on his offer. Soon we were making pretty standard conversation with him. Do you speak Spanish? Where are you from? Estados Unidos? Wow! We wound down dark side streets in a way I am extremely unaccustomed to. I never go anywhere with strangers, certainly when I don’t know the area and definitely not when I am getting increasingly disoriented as we turned corner after corner. I tamped down my nervousness and soon we were at a packed little restaurant. The proprietor told our new friend that she didn’t have any room (good for her!) and so we kept moving. We turned another corner and he stopped in front of a building that did not appear to house any sort of commercial activity. He rung a bell and a head popped out of an upstairs windows telling him to wait. The door opened and we followed him up an extremely steep set of stairs. At the top of the first flight of stairs, we suddenly realized that this was a real paladar; we were in someone’s living room. We wove our way up two more flights through a kitchen and right past bedrooms. We walked by lounging family members, unmade beds and drying laundry. It was a surreal moment but one I really appreciated it. There was a certain amount of trust that these people were displaying by letting strangers walk into their house. Of course the three of us are not particularly threatening but still, I cannot imagine this kind of a system existing in my neighborhood. I wondered where we were going to finally land, what kind of a dining set up they had. When got to the third floor, we were led onto a sort of outdoor patio. It was absolutely gorgeous, beautifully decorated with mosaic-style, a handful of tables and a little bar.

One of the male residents of the house pay us no mind as we settled in at our table. Here you can see the small bar.

I wondered and still wonder how they managed to set this up, what kind of work must have gone into this venture. Kelsey tipped our jinetero friend and we sat down. The lady of the house came over wearing an apron that said silly something like “Sexy Senior Citizen” (an indicator of family members in the United States, I’m guessing) and showed us the menu. For 15 CUC, we were to get an appetizer, a full plate and a mojito (of course a mojito). My stomach dropped momentarily; the menu was seafood items and cerdo asado or roast pork. I don’t generally like pork but I was too hungry and too aware that it was too late to go elsewhere. All three of us ordered the cerdo asado since we were told it was the specialty of the house.

Soon we were sipping very good mojitos and watching the house cat walk along the wall, irritating some of the dogs next door. He’d come close to us and rub up on our legs which our server/cook/hostess was having none of.

“¡Felipe! ¡No!”

And he’d run off but soon he was back.

Meet Felipe!

In the midst of Felipe’s antics, we were brought a plate of sizzling hot plantain chips, clearly fresh from the frying pan. I cannot explain how tasty they were. They were almost too hot to eat but all three of us could not help ourselves; we absolutely inhaled them. Hungry again, we waited in anticipation for the main course. When it came out, our eyes almost bugged out of our heads. The plates were huge. On them was two good-sized pieces of roast pork, a couple pieces of probably boiled potato (as is most potato in Cuba for some bizarre reason), a small standard Cuban salad (cabbage, cucumber, tomato), and a heaping portion of rice and beans.

When I say I don’t like pork, I don’t like pork. But the cerdo asado from that paladar was so good, I daydream about italmost daily. It was so tender, we could barely spear it with our forks; it just fell apart. The rice and beans were wonderful. It was one of those meals that you finish and even though you’re full, are truly sad it is over. I could honestly burst into tears knowing I will more than likely never eat there again.

After paying our bill and happily overtipping, we made our way back down the stairs and one of the younger female members of the house let us out by pulling a string from the second floor that way tied to the lock down on the front door. We wandered into the night and could not stop talking about how well we’d just eaten. Even though we weren’t 100% where we were, we felt no fear on the dark Havana streets. After all, what did we have to fear? Havana is a city where strangers lead me to the best meal of my trip, and maybe even one of the best meals of my life.

Happy faces