Torta Cubana: I have no idea what's in there.
International food snobs often decry the "Americanization" of ethnic fare in the Gump. You will see or hear them bemoaning that "This ________ restaurant or that __________ restaurant doesn't serve 'authentic' ________ food but these poor rubes in the Gump can't tell the difference so we get a bastardized version of ___________food." (fill in the blanks with your favorite international cuisine) These foodies leave the impression that authentic international cuisine cannot survive in the Gump. To that I say: "Not so fast snobasaurus. You can indeed find authentic Latino food in the Gump!" In fact, today we proved that you can engage in international travel without ever leaving the friendly confines of the Gump. We also learned that international travel and authentic Latino cuisine are not all they are tacoed up to be because it is hard to separate the authentic cuisine from the authentic surroundings. Here's the skinny:
Based upon a tip from fans on our Lunch in the Gump Facebook page, we ran a GGP operation at 1550 Mt. Meigs where, since 2007, a "Latino Super Market (Three words)" has been in business with signs literally plastered over all the windows. Most of them seem to be hawking international calling cards. Next door was a "Taqueria Y Restaurant" with a sign on the door that said "Enter through market" in both Spanish and English. Once in the market, which contains products that can only be found in a Latino market such as Clamato flavored Budweiser Chelada, it did not take long to see that everyone was opening the cooler, grabbing a drink (Cokes with real sugar labels for example) and then disappearing off to the right side of the market. After some further investigation we discovered a hole in the wall between the market and the Taqueria and we scampered through what must have been a "worm hole" only to find ourselves in the middle of a Central American taco shop equivalent of a "Hamburger King." Everyone was covered in sweat and dirty work clothes after being outside on a muggy summer morning. The booths were stained with the grease and sawdust of the workers who had lunched there before. There were no napkins on the table, just a salt and pepper shaker and a jar of soon to be needed toothpicks (other tables also had napkins). In the middle of the room was an array of menacing looking salsa's of various colors. On one counter was a large open jar of a clammy looking liquid that patrons ladled out into cups. Of course, there were no labels on anything--not even in Spanish. On the wall were the "Ten Commandments of the Lazy Man" (in English and Spanish), Christmas decorations and a mural of all of the flags of Central America (but also including the USA). No one there spoke English as the sounds and smells of a hot and dirty town in Ecuador filled my keen senses. Despite my usual stealthy ways, I stuck out like a sore little white furry thumb.
Honestly, at this point we almost abandoned the mission. The place was dark (due to all the signs over the windows), the floor needed to be swept, the patrons were all sweaty and everyone was speaking a language we could not understand. We would have left if we had not already gotten beverages from the cooler and popped them open. We stayed although even the Diet Coke tasted funny. It must have been the nerves. But to have left then would not only have shown cowardice, but disrespect. So we stayed...on our toes.
Anxiety increased when the only waitress serving what seemed like 49 starved highway workers (some still wearing their reflective vests due to the dim lighting) finally approached our table with menus. The reason for the "Latino" name was soon clear: The menu started with Salvadoran dishes, then Ecuadorian, then Guatemalan and finally Mexican. I would wager that not one of the persons in the restaurant were natives of Mexico. Occasionally English would be seen but the pictures were helpful. I know enough Spanglish to know carne asada is steak and pollo means yard bird.
While we were sitting pondering the menu, a busboy with a peroxided red mullet and a baseball cap brought by a basket of chips. He did not know a word of English. The chips were cold and stale. There were no cups at the "salsa bar" to get salsa so the chips went uneaten.
The waitress, adorned in a hair net, finally came by to take our orders. Although the others stuck with safe bets like burritos, enchiladas and tamales, I saw an item called a Torta Cubana which I thought would be a Cuban sandwich type thing. El Wrongo! When the baskets came I saw before me a large sandwich cut diagonally and stuffed with all types of meat and cheeses. I have no idea what I was eating but it was really good. Turns out they call them Cubana's, not because they are like Cuban sandwich's as we know them, but because they are stuffed and curvy like Cuban girls are apparently considered to be. In other words, it's sort of sexist sandwich name. But a tasty one, I must say.
For $6.99 plus .60 for the Diet Coke, it was quite a meal. The international travel was no extra charge. However, we were real happy when the check came so we could vamoose back through the worm hole and back into the market. There we quickly paid and high tailed it back into the good ole U.S. of Gumpin' A where we were quarantined for the required period before being allowed to report. All are now present and accounted for. There were no untoward reactions to the meals or beverages.
Having said all this, we can say that the food was as authentic as it gets but we do not recommend it for Anglos unless you have had favorable experiences dining in holes in the wall in Ecuador and also speak Spanish. Otherwise, we recommend you stick with and enjoy your Americanized version of "Mexican" cuisine at local favorites that cater to the non-Latino crowd. But the next time some foodie snob complains about non-authentic "mexican" food send his ass over to 1550 Mt. Meigs and tell him to take his frickin passport.
For now this is Squeak, over and out er...adios!
