I blew into South Florida on a late flight, the kind that leaves your back stiff and your stomach…read moregrowling. By the time I checked into the hotel, the kitchen had closed up shop tighter than a bank vault after hours.
A cabbie, the talkative type, said there was a Cuban café that might do the trick the next day. Said it with the kind of confidence that comes from knowing where to find a good plate when the city's asleep. I made a mental note.
Next morning, after a half-hearted attempt at the hotel gym--arm day, always arm day--I followed my gut and my informant's lead straight to San Luis Café. Rolled in around 2 o'clock, give or take. The place was dead quiet, like the calm before a storm.
The cook and the waitress were huddled near the door, deep in conversation. Didn't flinch when I walked in. I took a seat near the window, the kind of spot where a man can keep an eye on both the dining room and the street.
Outside, the sky was turning the color of bruises, lightning slicing it open like a knife. Inside, it was another world--clean, calm, dry. The kind of joint that doesn't try too hard. Cuban flags draped the walls, old travel posters from Havana watching me like ghosts from another time.
I ordered the ropa vieja, figured it was the safe bet. Comes with two sides. I went with black beans, white rice, and threw in some tostones for good measure. What can I say? I like a little crispiness with the storm.
The food came quick. Hot, flavorful, and with enough heart to make you forget you're eating alone. The shredded beef was a touch salty, but nothing a can of Diet Coke couldn't handle. The beans were mild, just like I remembered from my last trip through Little Havana. Cuban comfort food--understated, steady, familiar.
The plantains, though--that's where they got me. Crispy on the outside, soft on the inside, like a dame with a secret. Forget fries. These things could win wars.
The waitress, friendly but not overbearing, checked in just enough to remind me I hadn't disappeared completely. When I was ready to vanish back into the wet streets, I paid at the counter and grabbed a medianoche to go. A little something for later, when the night got quiet and the city got loud.
All in all? A satisfying, no-frills meal that didn't shake me down for more than it was worth.
If you ever find yourself in that part of town with an empty stomach and a need for shelter, San Luis Café's a safe bet. Just make sure you get the plantains.
