No Decent Cubans Up Here?

The photo from Ybor City that started it all.

Current events concerning the recognition of Cuba after 50 years of embargo have encouraged me to break my silence about the harmful effects US policy may have had upon this country. You see, I fancy myself a connoisseur of the Cuban.  As a young man in Panama City I was spoiled by easy access to the 2 for $1 Cubans sold from a small stand on the main drag.  These were wonders to behold. Thin slices of "meat" and cheese surrounded by fresh and thin bread with little or no condiments.  They were lovingly made and sold by a refugee Cuban family and were manna from heaven to a working man with a voracious tapeworm.

This was a decade after the Bay of Pigs fiasco and in at least one northwest Florida city (What? you thought I was talking about Central America?) you could find at least one place that could produce an authentic Cuba sandwich. Alas, when I matriculated to the Gump in the 60s, after an exhaustive search for anything approaching the Cuban sandwich of my past, I gave up and relegated myself to the next best thing: the Combination sandwich from Pasquales, the Sahara and finally Corsinos.

The Grand Opening of the Sahara--forerunner of Corsinos--where you could get a Combo sandwich in lieu of a Cuban.

But fast forward under forty years of embargo.  Our brave secretary of state and Vietnam war hero John Kerry now says the embargo harmed America more than Cuba just like building the Berlin Wall hurt East Germany more than the West. Well, as ridiculous as that may sound, there is at least one instance where the embargo hurt the US more than Cuba: We have no decent Cubans up here in the Gump.  Good maybe.  But all the great ones are in Florida.

My brother--a foppish dandy named Basil--has retired with his wife to an upscale "seniors" community near Tampa.  He knows that every time I visit I have to go to the original Columbia restaurant in Ybor City for my Cuban fix. Of course, there they include salami along with the traditional ham and sliced pork which is sometimes called the Tampa variation.  But the mix of Swiss cheese and pickles on the thinly sliced Cuban bread makes a visit to the Columbia a must for me.

There have been heroic attempts to develop Cuban sandwiches here in the Gump and we thank all of those who tried. We mentioned the decent Cuban sandwich at The Wagon Wheel in our very first post back in 2009. That year we reviewed the better Cuban at The Wishbone Cafe. In 2011 we mentioned the ill-conceived Cuban "pannini" at the now-defunct Alley Deli. We explored the "Torta Cubana" at the Latino Super Market Taqueria y Restaurant but--as should be plain--that is not a Cuban sandwich but a Central American sexist parody of Cuban women. In 2012 we thought we finally had hit it big with the Cuban sandwich from the Cantina in the Alley. Unfortunately, the owner died soon after it opened and they closed down. Even the old Olive Room had a fairly good Cuban on the lunch menu back when it was a going concern. Recently, we noted the Ricky Ricardo Cuban Sandwich at Chappy's as a good effort.

But something, perhaps as says John Kerry (Vietnam war hero), was lacking because of the embargo? Were we too many generations removed from real Cuban sandwiches to replicate the originals here in the Gump?

I, obviously, do not pretend to know or understand how the exercise of presidential fiat resulting in the normalization of relations with Cuba will play out. But now with all the uproar concerning the unilateral executive action taken regarding Cuba without Congressional approval aside, I am somewhat hopeful that the normalization of relations with Cuba will eventually lead to the availability of Cuban cigars and authentic Cuban sandwiches in the Gump that will rival the Columbia or Las Olas Cafe on South Beach.

To land this plane let me tell you that it was ironic that today, the dawning of a new age in U.S./Cuban relations, my brother decided to torture me with a text and picture of his Cuban sandwich and 1905 salad from the original Columbia restaurant.  To which I thoughtlessly replied, "We just don't have any decent Cubans up here."  After sending that text I chuckled to myself that someone might take that the wrong way....

Squeak Peek: InterGumptional Travel to Latino Super Market Taqueria Y Restaurant

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!