I Heart Cuba

One of the questions I would ask Mr. Gold if he were before me is this: what do you have against Cuba? Now don’t get me wrong, I’m no friend of Castro and please spare me any talk about the wonders of Cuban medicine. And yet as I scan the “99 Essentials” list there isn’t a Cuban restaurant in sight. This is news to me in that there are few greater pleasures in life than discovering a new Cuban place. Surely you’ve been to Porto’s in Glendale and sampled their “Tres Leches” cake with a jolt of café con leche. Porto’s is on Brand Boulevard near the Brand bookstore and you may as well pick up a paperback on your way in because a Porto’s line is like a line for a new Harry Potter film, a long and winding road. The Porto’s Cuban and Medianoche sandwiches are good but the king of the hill is Café Tropical in Silverlake by Dodger Stadium. The Cuban sandwich here is a masterpiece of construction: ham, roast beef, cheese, pickles, and painted with a coat of garlic. I have a friend, Nathan, who picks two up each time he drives into Dodger Stadium for a game. I imagine Nathan munching this perfect sandwich while getting envious looks from Dodger Dog fans. He must leave with a contingent of armed security because, as we all know, food envy can get violent.
El Cochinito on Sunset serves a beast of a lechon asado. This dish is basically a gutted pig that’s been marinated for hours, maybe days, in garlic, juice, and spices until it absorbs the salt and flavor with more complex notes than a Berlioz composition. Over on the Westside, there’s Versailles, and though I’ve heard some derogatory comments about it, I haven’t had a bad experience there. The garlic roast chicken is a treat and like all Cuban restaurants, they feed you. You get it? They’re not trying to impress you (though you will be impressed) by dainty dishes with flourishes. The goal is that you leave with a smile and a gut-full of food. Havana Café in Downey does a good steak and my friend Grace finds it physically impossible to leave the place without a pastry in hand. She practically lives at Havana Café until I introduced her just the other day to “Miami Restaurant” in the city of Bell. Their lechon asado, as inconceivable as it sounds, may even better than El Cochinito. Grace gratefully tore into her steak bistec, a kind of breaded thing, when she suddenly wished aloud for “some tortillas.” I instantly rebuked her. Note to all Mexican-Americans reading this: do not ask for tortillas or Tapatio when you are at a Cuban restaurant. Now I’m as big a fan of heat as anyone but there’s no need to add heat to Cuban food. It’s already packed with flavor. And it’s insulting. I nearly wept the day I saw a server scrambling for a bottle of Tapatio for a completely misguided couple eating lunch at El Cochinito. The food can stand on its own, people. Well, all I can do is get the word out. “Miami,” “El Cochinito,” “Porto’s,” “Café Tropical,” any of these would make my list if I had one. I really do heart Cuba. Oh, by the way, there’s a Cuban woman I’m fond of, too, but that is for another day…