We all enjoy working our way through our favorite restaurants' menus, or picking off of daily specials, or throwing ourselves on chef's whim... yet the Cubano at Havana Rumba is the only item I ever have (and probably ever will) order there. Let me explain...
When I lived in Florida, I learned how deeply a particular regional food dish could pervade societal identity. This sandwich was everywhere! French bistros, Vietnamese restaurants, hell- they even served them at 7-11's 24 hours a day. This was no fluke of an ethnic trend, mind you, it had obviously been ingrained in the daily lives of the average joe for quite some time! I moved home, fully expecting to see bad examples or no examples of what had become my 'daily bread,' as well. In fact, my last meal in Orlando was a Cuban Sandwich with black beans and rice. Having made hundreds, if not thousands of them myself, I resigned myself to the surety that the only good Cubano here was gonna have to be made by me.
Returning, I would read these pages and have conversations with various people about this subject. I would always be told, with wide-eyes, that this was the real-deal- that this sandwich was as good as any, ever. Like a Philadelphian being told a certain cheesesteak was as good as their hometown, I would smile, nod and use my best placating tones trying not to offend anyone. Finally, I decided to give Havana Rumba's version the whirl... and I'll be damned that it was not only good, it was better than any I have ever had! Seriously!
I could break down into a play-by-play of techniques and ingredients, but let's just rest on the fact that I love this sandwich and had one today. I substituted the sweet potato fries for Bbeans and rice cause that's what reminds me of my Floridian home. I requested the hottest sauce in the house and was given 'Voracious Viper,' or something. This hotsauce was on the caliber of 'PureCap,' in that it had a warning label (which, of course I didn't read) saying you have to use it by the drop, it will cause intestinal discomfort, blah-blah. Now, I'm all about the endorphin rush associated with extreme heat, so I was pleasantly surprised!
(Note to Self:) Be careful the company you keep when you enjoy this stuff! So here I am coughing and laughing and EXHALING all this capsaicin. Then all the sudden they begin complaining about eye discomfort. Whoops! I think I just learned something there...
Nonetheless, hospitality was spot-on. They even gave me the trinket from the bottle of Pyrat Rum. Stamped metal, it shows the Zen god of Bartenders and Tellers, Hoti. I had told them I was a bartender and wondered if I could get it. That act of kindness, alone, merits 'guest for lifetime' devotion!
All things considered, I believe they have me...
P.S> The Hoti trinket is hanging now on the rear-view mirror of my car. Every time I look at it I will be reminded of Havana Rumba and the great experience I had there- the best advertising ever...