An Evening in Havana

Our travels this week have taken us to Cuba, and this was a big challenge for Matt and me. After a great deal of recipe searching, we finally settled on the Cuban sandwich.

Matt's a picky eater, and I found that even the Cuban sandwich was a stretch for him. The arguable ingredient? Pickles. I mean, who doesn't like pickles?!

This guy >>

(Don't mind the unkempt, sweaty me next it him...I'd just finished a 10k race and he made me take a picture.)

Pickles aside, he was a trooper, and we went ahead with the Cuban sandwich plan.

The Cuban sandwich, or cubano, is a favorite in Cuba and south Florida alike. The Cuban uses Cuban bread, which is a mythical sweet bread that exists only where the temperature dips no lower than 70 degrees, palm trees wave in the tropical breeze, and bikinis are not only an acceptable type of clothing, but a lifestyle.

In other words, I couldn't find it anywhere in Lincoln, Nebraska, so I ended up using a good old French boule slices. So sue me.

The Cubano
Cuban bread (or French or Italian bread)
Swiss cheese
Ham
Roasted pork
Pickles (I used dill slices)
Mustard or mayonnaise

1. Ingredients, ASSEMBLE!!!
 

The key, though, to a really tasty Cuban sandwich is the press. After they've assembled their sandwiches, Cubans love the good old "smash and eat" technique. Sort of like a panini, but Havana-fied.

This is where I panicked. I don't have a panini press. I don't even have a brick to wrap in foil and place on top the sandwich in a pan. I seriously thought about it.

But then, the clouds parted, the angels sang, and Matt pulled out our George Foreman grill, the "Lean Mean Grilling Machine," which he ironically uses to grill processed mystery meat hot dogs.

It was grilled deliciousness for the Cuban sammy. So, once you've got your sandwich assembled, throw it on your Foreman grill and smash 'er down until you hear the bread and ham crisping up and crackling, or as I like to call it, heaven's music.

When your sandwich is all golden brown, crispy, and sufficiently squished, cut it in half and behold the Cuban perfection.

Three words: OM. NOM. NOM.

To add to the experience, we made daquiris and Matt pulled out some cigars from when we got married. We didn't smoke them, and I don't even think they're Cubans, but it sure was fun to kick up our feet and pretend we were enjoying the sunset at some Cuban restaurant.

Perhaps sometime in the future we'll get to try that, but for now it's Foreman grill-smashed Cubans with French boule from Betsey's kitchen.

Ah. Otra vez.

¡Hasta luego!