My Fair Lazy - Jen Lancaster [73]
“Number one, opening myself up to new flavors isn’t exactly the same thing as deciding to ‘SuperSize Me,’ and number two, there was a book in between this one and that one, so . . . shut up. Plus, I’m trying to broaden my palate, and maybe other cultures have really delicious foods that are also superhealthy?”
He grudgingly admitted, “I guess it’s possible.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“I’m not.”
I waggled a finger at him. “Listen up, mister. The next time Top Chef is on, watch it with me. You’ll see that almost every single gourmand on that damn show is thin. Plus Padma? The host? Is like one of the hottest women on the planet, and she eats everything!141 Way I see it, there’s got to be a correlation between satisfaction and not overdoing it. If so, I intend to find it.”
“Okay . . . but so you know, I have visions of this turning into some kind of International Donut Taste-Off.”
Oh.
That’s kind of a good point.
I’m already a fan of Cuban sandwiches, Cuban coffee, the smell of smoke from illegal Cuban cigars, and all things Desi Arnaz, so Cuba feels like a fine142place for my maiden solo dive into the ocean of World Cuisine. Plus, there are so many Cuban restaurants by my house, I’m not sure how I’ve avoided them thus far.
I decide to try a restaurant called 90 Miles Cuban Café not because it’s well reviewed or the menu seems appetizing, but because when I looked it up on Google Maps and selected “street view,” I discovered they had a parking lot.
For me, taste and value and service are pretty much always trumped by convenience. One might offer the best product in the universe, but if I have to make a bunch of left-hand turns without benefit of traffic arrows or need to parallel park once I get there, your business may as well not even exist. Offer me a small lot with well-spaced yellow lines or, even better, a valet, and you’ll win my patronage for life.
I decide to brush up on my (essentially nonexistent) knowledge of Cuban food before I go. I pull up Wikipedia143 and read that Cuban food blends African, Caribbean, and Spanish cuisines, which is exactly zero help, as I’m unfamiliar with most of those flavors. I also learn how Cuban food uses some ingredients common in Mexican food, but the spices and cooking methods are different, so again, I have no real map of what’s to come. Basically I want to know if I’m accidentally going to bite into a flaming hot pepper so I can have a ramekin of ranch dressing ready, but my research proves inconclusive. I do find out that the bread in Cuban sandwiches is made with lard, which explains my affinity for it.
I get to the restaurant, park easily,144 and enter. The place is packed, which I take as a good omen, particularly since it’s almost three o’clock on a weekday. The air’s perfumed with the scent of grilled beef and caramelized onions, another excellent sign. The aroma reminds me of the time my mom wanted to make our old house smell nice for a real estate open house, so she cooked a bunch of peppers and onions right before people arrived.145
I take my place in line and try to make sense of the menu board. Everything sounds tasty and uses innocuous ingredients, such as beans, rice, vegetables, and nonoffal cuts of meat, but I’m still perplexed.
There’s an employee standing next to me, wiping the soda cooler. He observes, “You’re confused.”
“You’re right,” I reply. “I need help figuring out what to order. I want the most ‘authentically Cuban’ item on the menu. What do you suggest?”
He places his towel on the counter and takes a step back to scrutinize the menu board with me. “I’d suggest either the bistec—it’s flank steak grilled with Cuban spice—or the ropa vieja—shredded beef slow-cooked in a tomato base. I’d also do one of these.” He opens the cooler and pulls out some kind of Spanish-language soda. “You like pineapple?”
“I adore pineapple.” Not long ago, I bought a gorgeous fresh pineapple and left it sitting on the counter. For some reason,