I was warned to brace myself.<\/p>\n
\u201cCool city \u2026 food sucks.\u201d<\/p>\n
This is the summary offered by every single person I told about my first foray to the timeworn city of Havana, Cuba.<\/p>\n
First I remind them that I care, and write, about plenty more than just food \u2014 cooking, eating, exploring markets, perusing menus, reading cookbooks, editing recipes, and meeting badass chefs just happen to represent a substantial area of personal obsession. Travel is next on the list, followed by art, culture, and history. Which is why I could not pass up an opportunity to jet to Havana two weeks ago with a photographer friend, who spends time there every spring and waxes poetic about the capital\u2019s faded, crumbling beauty and perseverant people.<\/p>\n
Besides, how could the cuisine of an entire island nation really be \u201cno bueno\u201d across the board? \u201cA lot of beans and rice,\u201d was another common refrain. This blanket statement drew my suspicion; when seasoned properly, simple food is good food. I planned to maintain an open mind.<\/p>\n
I set off on the 45-minute flight from Miami with a hearty mission: Find out what Cuban food is all about.<\/p>\n
Culture shock was immediate \u2014 and intense. As widely reported, hitting the dusty streets of La Isla Grande is to step back in time. Imagine entering a country to realize that there are essentially no stores from which visitors might buy snacks or supplies. You might discover an old lady selling random sundries such as plastic combs and lighters from a tiny folding table on a street corner, but a hunt for sunscreen could span days. Some public restrooms \u2014 say, in a dilapidated midrange hotel, one of few Wi-Fi hotspots in the area since internet access is under strict government control, along with food\u2014lack soap and toilet paper.<\/p>\n
Hungry in La Habana? Better seek out a restaurant or paladare \u2014 a privately owned eatery, which operates without typical government restrictions and often located within a home; these sprouted up during Ra\u00fal Castro\u2019s decade of unsuccessful economic reforms \u2014 because convenience stores and food vending machines don\u2019t exist here.<\/p>\n
What folks who\u2019ve visited Cuba never seem to mention is WHY the food \u201csucks.\u201d The answer is obvious: Resources are in short supply. Food production is low and unstable; a 2017 report from a Spain agency indicated that Cuban agriculture is among the lowest performing of all Latin American countries. As much as 30 percent of food is lost during harvest and collection, plus another 27 percent forfeited during shoddy distribution. Cuban farming \u2014 on degraded soils with pest and disease problems, with little technology advancement for storage systems and supply chain management \u2014 is estimated to cover only 20 percent of the population\u2019s need. Recently, Cuba Commerce Minister Betsy D\u00edaz announced that supermarkets will restrict goods even further, offering certain items only on the ration card (launched post-revolution in 1959).<\/p>\n
One man, who led us through a labyrinthine complex of unlit tunnels to arrive at his two-room abode, mentioned lining up at the mercado for rations of milk and chicken. He goes first thing in the morning, in the hopes of avoiding the long line \u2014 a growing issue in recent weeks since the Venezuela crisis. That translates to less aid for communist-run Cuba, which relies on imports for some 70 percent of goods.<\/p>\n
The situation is grim. So when I was invited to dine in the home of an economist who works in publishing, I leapt at the chance.<\/p>\n
With longtime friend and historian\/writer L\u00e1zaro acting as translator, Manuela explained that she would be preparing \u201ca very old, traditional Cuban food \u2026 to give a deeper view of the real Cuba.\u201d<\/p>\n
After covering her dining room table with plasticized cloth \u2014 her tidy kitchen much too small for us three \u2014 she set down a bowl of whole vegetables (starchy yucca, malanga root, and plantains to make appetizers, plus sweet potato, squash, red pepper, onion, shucked corn), a plate of chicken and pork, and spices, vinegar, and cooking wine. Through broken translation I understood that she didn\u2019t own many kitchen tools nor preferred big knives, thus she began to peel the vegetables by hand with a serrated steak knife.<\/p>\n
While cutting corn kernels from cobs \u2014 easier to eat, she said, than keeping chunks of cob whole \u2014 Man\u00fa explained why she wanted to share her recipe for ajiaco, known as \u201cThe Great Cuban Soup.\u201d (Variations are also popular in Colombia and Peru.)<\/p>\n
\u201cWe are living here in Cuba without many contacts with the exterior world,\u201d she said, sighing in the way I had come to expect after talking with weary Cubans for a few days. \u201cThis allows us to share the culture with the outside, and people of different countries. To get closer to the culture.\u201d<\/p>\n
A brothy stew made with whatever vegetables and meats are available plus plenty of white pepper, cumin, and garlic (\u201cthe king of Cuban cuisine\u201d), ajiaco represents the mixing pot of Cuban culture, heavy on African and colonial Spanish influence. \u201cYou can go through the streets and smell this dish (from home kitchens),\u201d Man\u00fa said. \u201cIt requires a balance of ingredients \u2014 and time \u2014 so it\u2019s unusual to find this dish in a restaurant.\u201d<\/p>\n
Though she looked the part of a telenova star, dressed elegantly in a sleek black skirt, billowy white blouse, black flats, and hair coiffed into voluminous waves, Man\u00fa took her role as culinary instructor seriously. I sat transfixed as she peeled that entire bowl of vegetables with a single steak knife, dumped a spoonful here, or a coffee scoop there, of supporting staple ingredients, and even cracked an egg for malanga fritters over the back of a fork. My attempts to help were shrugged off. In fact, I was urged to relax.<\/p>\n
As the ajiaco simmered on the stovetop for close to an hour, Man\u00fa and L\u00e1zaro shared their frustrations and hopes for the future. \u201cCubans began to dream of business, travel, but everything changed,\u201d L\u00e1zaro said, a sentiment I heard often. \u201cCuba is a very strange place because of political systems, because of history. We have many troubles in the economy. We have a great problem with agriculture. Farmers are not producing enough. But Cuba is changing.\u201d<\/p>\n
Despite rain outside open windows, the kitchen was insufferably hot. When Man\u00fa returned to the table to set down a multicolored tablecloth, I noticed her makeup was melting under beads of sweat. My brow was damp, too.<\/p>\n
Man\u00fa, naturally, remained unruffled. \u201cTo know Cuba, you have to suffer in this hot weather,\u201d she quipped. \u201cTo know that Cubans are suffering all the year.\u201d<\/p>\n
One taste of the complex, savory stew \u2014 the very definition of a whole far richer than the sum of its parts\u2014offered a revelation. Ajiaco isn\u2019t just a national dish. It is a symbol, Man\u00fa said, \u201cof possibility, that allows us to open our eyes.\u201d<\/p>\n