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Night 28: Cubano's
I'm down to the last three restaurants on my list. After
the Americana of Clyde's, I'm thinking Cuba si! Yanqui
no! The next evening my friend Tom and I head out
to Silver Spring for some island life at Cubano's.
Patrons at Cuban restaurants seem to be divided into
two camps: those who yearn for their native country
and long to see Fidel's cigar finally extinguished;
and those who glamorize Che but have never had to live
under the strictures of the revolution. Tonight we are
united and agree on one thing: let the mojitos
flow! All politics is cast aside as we sit at the bar
and watch the barman make this Cuban specialty. Like
all great countermen, be they egg-makers, burger-flippers
or drink-mixers, this guy is an artist. He deftly mixes
the sugar (it looks like a half-cup per drink), rum,
lime juice and club soda. He then tops each glass with
mint leaves and julienne of sugar cane, 10 glasses at
a time.
Adolfo and Rocio Mendez are our hosts, and they couldn't
be nicer. While Tom and I wait for paella, we are presented
with a generous platter of hot appetizers. The tostones,
fried green plantain; beef empanadas; chicharrones
de pollo, hunks of fried marinated chicken; ham
croquettes and fried yucca soon fill us up. Even though
everything seems to be fried, the combination of sweet
and pungent flavors goes down nicely with our mojitos.
Like so many ethnic restaurants all over the country,
Cubano's is family-run. The Mendez family left Cuba
for Venezuela in 1961. Cubano's is also, like so many
of its immigrant cousins, run by non-restaurateurs.
Adolfo, for example, was trained as a pharmacist and
Rocio had been in advertising. But they dreamed of opening
a restaurant and serving Cuban food, so, with no experience
but lots of family, they decided to take a risk. Adolfo's
sister Millie helps to run things, as does her son.
Her nephew Umberto is the chef. Lucky for us. The paella
for two is a seafood and sausage feast. Waiters swing
by with armfuls of plates, like buttons sewn on a sleeve,
eight at a time. Everything that passes by looks and
smells delicious and the rooms, soothed by the voice
of Ibrahim Ferrer, are lively and full.
My only regret is that we have absolutely no room left
for flan. So Rocio makes us a grandma's package of leftovers
for tomorrow. Besides, she explains, that's when paella
is really the best. I'll be at another restaurant tomorrow,
so the last I see of Tom is as he is disappearing down
my street with parcels under both arms.
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