My book is entitled Good Food in Mexico City: A Guide to Food Stalls, Fondas and Fine Dining. People often wonder what a ‘fonda’ is . The word, Arabic in origin, is defined by the dictionary as “a tavern, inn or small restaurant.” But like the European concepts bistro and tratttoria, the definition here in Mexico has become blurred, or better said, broadened. There are fancy restaurants like theFonda del Refugio, an elegant townhouse staffed by bow-tied waiters and tables set with white tablecloths and nice china. Or Brooklyn’s Fonda, a small, very New Yorky place offering interesting modern re-workings of classic dishes and good tequila. But ‘real’ fondas, in the old-fashioned sense are small mom-and-pop joints with just a few tables; simple unpretentious eateries serving breakfast, snacks or an inexpensive ‘comida corrida’ - lunch served in three ‘tiempos’ or courses. Mexico is full of fondas. They are in every downtown and market from Tampico to Tonalá. Here in Mexico City, the best are located in our historic center. I love some of these old places, many of which haven’t changed in decades. “Old fashioned things for old fashioned people” repeated a character over and over in J.C. Van Itallie’s play ‘America Hurrah’. That’s me. So I go downtown once and while to Gran Cocina Mi Fonda where time stopped around 1950. This simple but charming archetypal urban fonda serves Mexican food with a Spanish touch. With its multi-layered turquoise walls, yellow wooden tables that you often have to share, and uniformed waitresses, it’s a real hold-over from the centro of yesteryear, and the prices seem unchanged too. Although paella is the specialty of the house, I like the roast chicken and the Madrid-style potaje de lentejas, a lentil soup flavored with chorizo. The milanesa, very Mexican despite its Italianate moniker, is pounded beef perfectly bronzed and crispy on the surface, tender/juicy within. The bolillos (rolls) are crusty and just right for scooping up the picante, tomatoey cilantro-perfumed salsa. And what better to wash it all down with than a Boing!, the campy fruit-based drink whose vintage bottle shows off its pastel colors so well. I go when I feel like a trip back to the Mexico I first knew thirty years ago, a place that resisted the encroaching plasticized fastfood-ification that plague-like, spreads from our northern neighbor.
Out in ‘la provincia’ the old style is easier to find. The beautifully preserved colonial-period town of Malinalco lies in a valley a couple of hours west of the city. Home to an Aztec temple, a very elaborate 16th century cathedral and a community of escapees from the big city who know what they’ve got, the town hosts one of the best fondas of all: Fonda La Esmeralda. Walls painted bright green, tables and chairs are of the rustic ‘Frida’ variety, the place looks like a set for a hypothetical Mexican operetta. On stage, two sisters serve up savory corn-based antojitos like someone’s grandmother used to make--enchiladas, green or with mole, eggs ‘al gusto’, pork in red sauce. Luz Maria, a woman in her ‘50’s, is smiley, gregarious and proud. She is the obvious boss and head chef – her quiet and slow moving sister Elvira is the waitress and helper. She does what several generations of female cooks in her family taught her. “I learned from my mother, my aunt, my grandmother, all of whom lived in town”, she explains, while washing dishes and stirring a huge pot of bubbling, brick-red stew. Her battered pans and smoky black clay cazuelas and ollas attest to her 20 years in the business. She elaborates “I use what is best in the market – for example, the tortillas are hand-made: they are little more expensive, but taste so much better.” Case in point are her chilaquiles, comfort food for many a Mexican. Like my grandmother’s matzoh brei, this dish makes use of yesterday’s dried out tortillas, which are broken up, fried crispy golden, bathed in either red or green salsa, dabbed with sour cream and chopped onion, then strewn with shredded chicken breast. Chilaquiles can be mushy, overly crackly, dry or dull tasting. They are the sum of the quality of their ingredients, which here are top-notch. Luz Maria’s have the ideal texture, that curiously Mexican combination of crunchy and soggy. Her tangy, mildly picante salsa verde is perfectly offset by the coolly smooth crema and the savory bits of onion. Accompanied by a bowl of steaming black beans, locally grown and redolent of the medicinal herb epazote (and of the old clay pot they are slowly cooked in), this is essential Mexican food as it should be. In Mexico “roots cooking” lives. Thank Tlaloc. Luz Maria, of La Esmeralda, Malinalco La Gran Cocina Mi Fonda López 101, Centro, Mexico City Metro: Salto del Agua, Open Tuesday-Saturday Noon-6pm
Fonda La Esmeralda Corner of Galeana and Morelos In the center of Malinalco, State of Mexico Open every day until they feel like going home See: http://www.magic-malinalco.com/ for information on Malinalco
I recently had the pleasure of participating in La Ruta de Aromas y Sabores del Bicentenario 2010, a ten day tour of Mexico City, State of Mexico, Queretaro, Guanajuato and Michoacán sponsored by CANIRAC as well as many private concerns. Over a hundred chefs, journalists and sundry food professionals were invited, all expenses paid, by the indefatigable chef and cookbook author Patricia Quintana to tour the country and get to know its gastronomic riches. The goal? To spread the word that Mexico is a good place for ‘culinary tourism’. But we know that already. Most of the group was Mexican, a handful Spanish and South American, only one lone American who turned out to be the amazing Betty Harper Fussell, age 82 and author of innumerable cook and food books. I was not able to stay the entire exhaustive ten days, but hopped the bus at 6:30 AM in front of the formerly bohemian Hotel Géneve in the Zona Rosa where we were shlepped through Estado de México to Santiago Tianguistenco to visit its Tuesday tianguis, to downtown Toluca to see a lovely former market building now housing a rather unimpressive botanic garden, to an amazing charreada at a gorgeous out-of-the-movies rancho, to a comida of regional fare at a huge hacienda and to various ceremonies of ‘bienvenidos’ usually attended to by local mayors whose name tended to be ‘Nieto’. After 3 more hours in the bus we were deposited in a hotel somewhere in Querétaro, sometime after midnight. That was day one. The bus was leaving next morning at 7:30 sharp for more haciendas, tastings, vineyards and charros. And there were eight more days on the road. Best part of it for me as a food writer was making connections. Besides Mme. Fussell, I dined with a fun gaggle of Madrileños (they loved the tacos de nata but hated the café de olla as it was too sweet). I chatted with a couple of Peruvian chefs who were amazed at the variety in the market. I exchanged cards with an ex-Chilanga from L.A. who has published a book of colonial period recipes. A couple of sexy charros took my email in their iphone while their horses patiently stood by, to notify me of future charreadas. The food was good, the Queretano wine was so-so, its cheese great. I ate and ate and ate. And didn't sleep until I got home.
Pictures are better than words so see the photos and videos that follow: The author with Patricia Quintana
La Quintana shops at the San Juan market, Mexico City
San Juan Market, D.F.
The Charreada video; click to watch
At the charreada, Rancho Buena Vista, State of Mexico
At the charreada
The sexy charros
Demonstrating local chorizos, market, Santiago Tianguistenco, State of Mexico
Smoked fish lady, market, Santiago Tianguistenco, State of Mexico
"A week in Paris will ease the bite of it" Billy Strayhorn, Lush Life
What can I add to the rivers of ink that have been spilled in the name of the City of Lights? I pass through Paree from time to time. And I always eat well, but it takes work.Good food in France doesn’t always come easily. So I spent a recent fattening week plowing through markets, bistros, restos and cafés.I avoid the trendy, the chic and the new. If the clientele is over forty, it smells good, and it’s hard to get a table, I march right in. I follow my (ample) nose, use my eyes, and bone up on my French. Here’s what I came up with. Allons-y:
LUNDI: bœuf bourguignon
La Tartine is a nice old café-bistro in Le Marais that everyone needs to know about. The food is serviceable. It’s pretty, homey and always open. The blackboard promised the oldest cliché in the Franco-American greatest hits parade so I ordered it. I was glad I did: textbook rich, red and winey sauce revealed a payload of falling apart beef, and a side of freshly boiled potatoes was waiting to soak it up. It was a good start.
MARDI: Les huitres & l’agneau
Coming from Latin America where we eat no earlier than 2PM, I’m always terrified of missing lunch in France. I do have a way of arriving just when all the coffees are being served; maitre d’s sigh and check their watches then only reluctantly show us to a table. I’d gone straight to the best covered market in the Ile-de-France, the Marché Beauvau at Place d’Aligre, where I picked up a pungent little artisanal Epoisse at Fromagerie Langlet and a half liter of very expensive olive oil from the Provençal stand. Next to the fish stand I sat at a table for one and ordered a dozen Belon oysters on the half shell, which I downed in five minutes flat. But it was 12:15, lunch hour and I was getting nervous. I exited the market and my eye caught Moisan, my favorite boulangerie. I had to have one of their flutes, which I bought and ate while crossing the street. I headed over to a restaurant I had never noticed, La Table d’Aligre. I marched in and ordered the poêlée de d'agneau, crème d'ail, galette de pommes rapées, a no-brainer choice if you ask me. It was beyond fabulous, an answer to anyone’s ovine prayer, succulent, meaty, garlicky, the flavors as balanced as an old market scale. Over a mint tea in front of the Algerian sweet shop on Rue d’Aligre I watched the street market being dismantled. My cheese was stinking, my feet aching. I headed to the rental apartment in Montmartre which we called home.
MERCREDI: Confit de Canard Chez Gladines, near the non-descript Place d’Italie in the 13th, is the archetypal bistro. Timeless, it is visually retro, but the atmosphere is contemporary by virtue of its relaxed, youngish, black-turtleneck clad clientele. I fully expect to see a 1960 vintage Jean Paul Belmondo accompanied by Juliette Greco and her hip-length ponytail puffing away at Gauloises over a plate of hearty classic sauce-blanketed fare. But it’s 2010 so we’ll just have to pretend. No J.P., non fumer. As the place accepts no reservations and goes from empty to full in the space of 15 minutes, luck, strategic planning and decent French are the only way to get a table here. But it’s worth the effort. For the Gladines put out consistently good food. They specialize in enormous salads, served in a stainless steel mixing bowl. “Salad!” you’re thinking, “how light and lovely, a respite from heavy French food”. Wrong. Every salad on the menu contains lardons, ham, gibiers, cheese, croutons, or foie gras. Oh, there are lovely greens as well. One salad can be shared by 3 or 4, as we did. That was so I could get to my main course, the exquisite, heady, profound and profane: confit de canard aux champignons. Crispy, meaty duck is not at all overwhelmed by its reduced, mushroomy sauce and served with those perfectly browned potatoes that have so much flavor in France. I accompany it with a pichet of nice Bordeaux and nothing else. That’s why I go to Chez Gladines.
JEUDI: A Lyonaisse creamfest Moissonier is an old-time French restaurant. They have attitude. I’d made a reservation in decent French. When we arrived the tightly coiffed and purse-lipped hostess was dealing with a bill and didn’t look up. A couple of minutes passed. “Je suis Nicolás” I tentatively interjected. “Je sais” she snapped, barely looking up. I shut up and waited some more. Just like the good old days. Finally, deciding we had suffered enough, she led us to our table, the last one available. She seemed to warm up a little when we ordered everything on the menu. In Lyon they use a lot of butter, cream, fat and offal. The Lyonaisse salad I ordered turned out to be a cart loaded down with pretty rustic bowls containing enough calories to sink the Lusitania. Our waitress shoved other diners out of the way to roll the cart to the side of our table, and then simply left it there. I ate: creamy celerie remoulade,mustardy potato salad, big fat chunks of bacon, lemony sweet beets, ham, herring…How much was I supposed to take? Is there a protocol? When do you stop? Who knows...I just had to stop because next arrived the famous poulet aux morilles. The succulent and densely flavored bird was served basking in – you guessed it – cream, perfumed with a generous helping of woodsy morels. I ate it all and licked the plate, not caring what Mme. might think. I also finished Muriel’s gigantic quenelle (a fluffy soufflélog of fish, cream covered and spiked with nutmeg). Skipping dessert, we waddled home.Julia Child would have been pleased with the amount of butterfat that flowed out of that kitchen. I, however felt a little nauseous that afternoon and didn’t eat again that day.
VENDREDI: Send in the Clowns I spent Friday evening at the home of the extraordinary Caroline Simonds and husband Patrick Loughran (http://patrickloughran.com/). American-born dancer/street performer Simonds has lived most of her adult life in France. She foundedand heads Le Rire Medecin, (http://www.leriremedecin.asso.fr/) a troup of more than 50 clown-doctors who work to heal sick children through humor. She is a clown and proud of it. Tirelessly promoting her non-profit group, whose existence depends on private donations, traveling to places I’ve never heard of to teach, she doesn’t fail to don a red nose once a week and visit a hospital. I’ve never known anyone who works so hard. Yet she is also a great cook and when work is done she manages to turn out extraordinary dinners for 10 at the drop of a bowler. Friday was Italian-Franco fusion night at their cheery souvenir and art-filled flat in Montreuil. Caroline is proud to admit that her larder receives a little help from Picard, France’s most popular cryogenic supermarket, whose morgue-like freezers have become quite chic to patronize, “as long as your whole meal isn’t from there” Caroline admonishes. So, our sweet roast pepper slices shmeered with warmed chevre and crowned with a beautiful anchovy was house-made and, surprisingly, not Caroline’s idea at all but Sophia Loren’s (“I LOVE her cookbook!”). But the creamy, light crème de potiron was all Picard – the look of dissaproval on my face dissipated when I tasted it.And the piece de resistance was a pasta puttanesca the likes of which no puta I know has ever whipped up in 15 minutes. (“I mash six anchovies with garlic FIRST, then add the Picard frozen peeled tomatoes”). Served on a combination of sculptor Loughlan’s artsy abstract plates and flowery ‘40’s French grandmother dishes from the brocante, we topped everything off with a bottle of Les Hautes de Smith 2006 and the piquant cheeses I had bought in the market. “My house always stinks when you come over”, Caroline scolded, a clownish gleam in her eye.
SAMEDI: Do-it-yourself bouillabaisse for twelve
I’d been looking forward to shopping and cooking for a long time and had planned a dinner party months in advance. Like everybody else, I’d welcomed Julia Child back into my life and planned to make her bouillabaisse, the classic fish soup from Marseilles. What I didn’t anticipate was the fact that the rental apartment’s kitchen was not equipped to my and Julia’s standards. Pots were too small and worse, the only knives available were a steak knife and an enormous cleaver, the kind they used to cut someone’s head off in “Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte”. Tante pis. I made do, shopping for fish, cheese and bread at the spectacular Marché Biologique Batignolles. I always head straight to the good-looking guy who makes the oniony gallettes de pomme de terre, i.e. the best potato pancakes in the world--you can smell them from half a block away, and they are worth the wait which is usually long. When my turn came up at the best fish vendor, I procured a rascasse, the spiny red fish required for a true Marseillaise fish stew. Rougets, merlou, clams, mussels, crabs, kilos of joie de mer and 120 euros later I was all set. I Made the fumet in several small pots, chopped leek, fennel, the white wine, and yes, a bag of frozen, peeled chopped tomatoes from Picard.I think I did OK. The fragrance was maddening. The soup was delicate, perfumy, light. I (the chef) got out of the way and let the ingredients speak for themselves.A dozen happy people showed up, old and new friends and family. A life hurdle: feeding the French. I did it!
DIMANCHE: Chez Josephine Sunday I let the French feed me. We were invited to the home of Josephine and Luc for a family dejeuner. How lucky we were. Josephine is the sister of my good friend Elodie and happens to have a great lofty apartment off of the Place d’Aligre (I always seem to end up there).This Sunday’s menu consisted of her version of Argentine empanadas: flaky, buttery mille-feuille tarts filled with delectable meat stuffings. My favorite was the Moroccan chicken augmented by slivers of preserved lemons. Her trois-legume salad was a revelation: peas, green beans and favas lightly sautéed in butter and delicately seasoned with fresh mint was served room temperature. This dish will become a standard chez moi, seeing as we have a seemingly endless supply of these elements in Mexico. A lot of food and drink was put away by four generations,French, English and Spanish wasfreely intermixed. All with a view of the 12th arrondissmont and beyond.A perfect familiar way to sayau revoir to my friends and to Paris.“The last time I saw Paris…my heart was young and gay”. But my pants didn’t fit me anymore.
Where to go:
La Tartine 24 Rue de Rivoli, 4th arr. Metro St. Paul
Chez Gladines 30 rue des Cinq-Diamants, 13th arr. Metro Place d’Italie Tel. 0145807010
La Table d’Aligre 11 place d'Aligre 75012 Paris Tèl : 01 43 07 84 88
Moissonier 28 , rue des Fossés saint Bernard 75005 Paris Tél. : 01 43 29 87 65
Marché biologique Batignolles Saturdays in the 17th arr. Metro Rome
Marché Aligre every day but Monday Metro Ledru-Rollin Le Pain au Natural Moisan 5 place d’Aligre, across from the covered market
Not mentioned above but equally merveilleusesare:
Chez Dumonet - A beautiful old-time bistro classic in both décor and menu. Traditional dishes like steak tartar, cassoulet and confit de canard are impeccably prepared. A bit on the pricey side; watch the 'small things' like coffee, water, as they are exaggeratedly expensive. But an experience well worth the euros. 117, rue du Cherche-Midi, 6th arrondissement Tel. 01-45-48-52-40
Wally, Le Saharien
A very cozy, romantic placefor North African specialties 36, rue Rodier, 9th arr.
Tel. 01-42-85-51-90
Philou This hip place serves post-modern takes on classic cuisine. Unfortunately, Mark Bittman wrote it up in the NYTimes the day after I ate there - drat! So, there will be more tourists and fewer tables to be had. But I'll still go back. The warm custardy chocolate dessert was superb. 12, Ave. Richerand (10th arr.) Tel. 42-38-00-13 Brasserie L'Europeen 21 Blvd. Diderot, (12th arr.) Right across from the Gare de Lyon, this is a huge, classic brasserie where you can show up any time of day or night for a fabulous, and classic meal. The informality, however is not reflected in the prices which are fairly high.
Le Clown Bar 114 Rue Amelot, (11th arr.) This gorgeous, ancient little bar is covered floor to cieling with turn-of-the-century tiles depicting clowns, as well as circus and clown ephemera and posters. Good for a drink or a light meal. Don't take photos, although you will be tempted - they don't like it.
“Have you been longing for the 'smile'
That you haven't had for quite a while?
If you have, then follow me and I'll show the way
I'm on my way to Cuba, there's where I'm going
Cuba, there's where I'll stay”
- I’ll See You in C.U.B.A. words & music by Irving Berlin
My third visit to La Habana was short, sweet and sleepless. (See my previous post on Havana) My friend (ex-New Yorker Dan) and I spent most of our time walking, talking to passers-by, and training ourselves to stay up in anticipation that our last night would leave no time for sleep--our flight left at 6 AM. But this was easy since the Havana nightlife scene never shuts down and there are endless choices of musical venues. Cuba is a safe place; there are virtually no arms in the hands of the general populace, and no recreational drugs. I cavalierly entered headlight-less taxis, ventured down dark, empty crumbling streets, and was out on the town at 4AM--things I would never do in Mexico, Paris or New York. We were in so many people’s living rooms, drank so many beers and mojitos, danced poorly to salsa and son, and generally had the time of our lives.
“Cuba, where wine is flowing….
And where dark eyed Stellas,
Light their fellas…panatellas…”
The One Eyed Cat and other late night venues
In Havana there’s no dearth of music. One could spend every evening for a lifetime attending live performances of every genre from Yoruban to Reggaeton. Being the old-fashioned type, I search out classic son a la the Buena Vista Social Club – and always find it. During our five day stay I visited five performance venues, and that’s not counting the excellent flamenco guitarist who serenaded the stars at 3 in the morning on the Malecón. We started each evening at the old fashioned Café Montserrate, a cool, turn-of-the-century bar where an Afro-Cuban jazz combo serenades a mojito-sipping mixed crowd of locals and hip foreigners with predictable but beloved classics – Dos Gardenias, Guantanamera, El Manicero.
We could have hung out in this place forever, but we had tickets for the presentation of a new CD, Traigo Para Dar by the popular fusion group Síntesis. Founded in the 1960’s, their music is based on traditional African and Cuban rhythms, jazz, and even rock. This particular performance featured the great bolero singer Omara Portuondo as a guest artist. Held in the handsomely designed(‘50’s style, naturally) Teatro Mella, an integrated crowd of people of every skin color imaginable packed the house and raised the roof when the musicians started to play (about 50 minutes after scheduled starting time). People danced in their seats, in the aisles, and up to the stage. Omara came on to perform her number, at nearly 80 somewhat unsteady on her feet, but in good voice. Dancers in folkloric costume of colorful skirts and headdresses whirled about, and a ballet company of six gorgeous dancers, skimpily clad in sexy black, pranced seductively. The cost of admission was $10 for us, but much less for everyone else, a nice system that makes culture accessible.
We spent another evening at the Jazz Café. It is a large airy, modern space hidden upstairs inside a strange, circular, abandoned looking commercial center just off the Malecón. Although we had to wait what seemed like forever, when the young musicians finally started playing at about 11, they swung like the best beboppers of yore, invoking everyone from Miles to ‘Trane to Diz. The set lasted almost two hours without a break between numbers. The ten dollar admission covered multiple drinks and light food.
I had the most fun of all, however, at El Gato Tuerto, which translates as ‘the one eyed cat’. This is an intimate boite in the old Latin Quarter style, in business since 1959. They present bolero (ballad) and jazz singers, many veterans. We arrived around 10 to a full house and sat at the bar to the left of the small stage. A hip looking crowd was already installed and having a ball – I found out later, when one of the singers took a ‘poll’ asking where people were from, that there were three Mexicans (if I count myself), two Americans (if I also count myself and my friend, I am a dual national) , a group of Spaniards and the rest Cubans. The first act was a female vocalist of nearly 80, smartly dressed in a tailored black pantsuit and coiffed in a mysteriously elaborate wig.By her world weary but warm smile and rapport with the musicians and crowd it was obvious that she was a seasoned pro, but her voice sounded as if it had seen better days. Turns out she’s quite well known and has recorded many albums under the name Ela Calvo. Accompanied by a guitar and bongos, she wooed the appreciative audience with boleros and oldies but goodies. I kept noticing an elegant woman sporting a chic blond bob who was standing near us at the bar, communing with various insiders. The entire evening she puffed on a huge stogie that Groucho Marx might have liked. Later she danced with various patrons, male and female, trailing smoke behind her like a smelly jet stream. Also in attendance was a mysterious plump lady dressed in a white turban and purple tie-dyed smock who kept rhythm with a pair of maracas. Although she looked more like the owner of a health food store, she seemed to be a professional crowd-livener, cha cha-ing back and forth from the stage to the floor and dancing with anyone who felt the calling. The second set was performed by a younger singer with Cher-like long hair and an impressive voice. She had won a national music contest and with good reason. Everybody got up to dance when she broke into El Manicero (The Peanut Vendor Song). We stayed until closing time, 3 AM.
“Cuba, where all is happy Cuba, where all is gay”
La Pecera There isn’t much open gay life in Havana. The only public meeting place is a café at the corner of 23 and P in Vedado, popularly known as La Peceraor ‘The Fishbowl’ because it’s surrounded on two sides by large windows facing the street. While a cross-section of the capital’s GLBT community gather from early evening on, police patiently patrol the corner to make sure the crowd, which often spills out onto the street, doesn’t get out of hand. Hustler types, known as ‘jineteros’ line up awaiting customers while couples and groups of friends chat, sipping beer, oblivious to any unsavory goings on. Lesbians, transvestites, you-name-it, everyone is here. While officially gay establishments are not tolerated, this one is, the authorities bowing to reality; Mariela Castro, daughter of Raul, happens to be a sexologist and has done much to push tolerance in government circles. I met Carlos there, tall, boyishly handsome, defiantly coiffed in a punk-like peak of hair taller than his head. He is a design student, astoundingly mature for his 19 years. Over mojitos at the Café Jazz the next night, we discussed music – he likes jazz saxophonists and black male singers. The topic then got to politics. When queried, Carlos told me he felt free to talk about any subject, unafraid of censorship of any kind – “you can talk all you want, as long as you don’t do anything about it” he postulated. Does he want to leave Cuba? “No, not really, I’m happy here”, Carlos assured me. “What do you think of Fidel” I finally ventured to ask. “He’s a great man, but like all men he’s made some mistakes” was my friend’s answer. I couldn’t argue with that. Carlos seemed unabashed, unafraid and assured me that he was ‘out’ to his parents, both doctors. On weekend nights, parties are organized, private but open to anyone. Taking place in a house or a public space such as a hotel or club, drinks are sold and there is sometimes a drag show. Just show up around 10 at La Pecera and ask about la fiesta – groups hire collective taxis to take you there.
We even visited an openly gay beach, Playa Mi Cayito, about 20 kilometers from Havana. Hunky boys and even a few topless girls frolicked while police periodically strolled by. "It's Mariela's doing", our friend Yosely explained. "This didn't exist a few years ago". (to get to the beach, hire a taxi, and make sure you specify a time for him to pick you up, or else you will have to walk a grueling km. to the main road and hope for the best - it's about 30 CUC round trip. There is a small store selling drinks but not much else, so bring food).
“Not so far from here
There's a very lively atmosphere
Ev'rybody's going there this year”
The Havana Riviera For aficionados of mid-century design, a visit to the spectacular Hotel Habana Riviera is a must. This high camp Vegas-style high-rise hotel was completed in 1957 and only lived a year-and-a-half of glory before the revolution shut it down. Fortunately for us, it was well preserved and is the most intact ‘50’s modern structure in the world. The story of the Riviera is the stuff of big Hollywood pictures. Las Vegas and Miami boss Meyer Lansky brought in his Jewish mafia buddies (Moe, Morris, Hymie, Eddie, et al), with the blessing and financial backing of the Batista government to create the “Riviera of the Caribbean”. That they did. From the exterior aqua-blue Venetian glass mosaic façade to the elegant interior lobby, swirling with modular furniture, sputnick chandeliers and globular Henry Moore-like sculptures, to the over-the top bar, wig-popping Copa Cabaret, ritzy Bar L’Elegante, sunny Doris Day-esque breakfast room, and jaw-dropping L’Aiglon restaurant, the place dazzles. We had to try L’Aiglon. Even its menu seemed stuck in time, offering such anachronistic classics as Waldorf salad and Chateaubriand. Surprisingly, the salade Nicoise and seafood bisque I ordered were quite good. Served by a balding maître d’ (a dead ringer for Franklin Pangborn) we dined surrounded by flecked smoked mirrors, post-deco patterned carpets, huge crystal light fixtures and the stylized modernist murals of Cuban revelers of Rolando Lopez Dirube.Amazingly, the original china is still in use, its gold Riviera insignias still gleaming after 50 years. I expected a perfectly coiffed Ginger Rogers to waltz in (she apparently opened the Copa room next door and Lansky remarked that “she can wiggle her ass but can’t sing a goddam note”). Esther Williams dove into the pool, Frank Sinatra ordered ‘one more for the road’, and Ava Gardner was reported to have grabbed a bellboy and pull him into her bed. Looking at the bellboys, I don’t blame her. Unfortunately, the rooms are not as well preserved as the lobby and grounds and don’t merit their high prices.
Fresa y Chocolate: Heladería Coppelia On our last day we stopped at Coppelia, an outdoor ice cream complex set in a small park in Vedado, and made semi-famous when the film ‘Fresa y Chocolate’ came out in 1993. At the beginning of the film, a very gay guy ‘picks up’ a very straight guy over a bowl of strawberry and chocolate ice cream here. The circular modernist but rather stark building was inaugurated in 1966 and reminded us ex-New Yorkers of some long gone pavilion at the 1964 World’s Fair, which we’d both seen as children. We sat at an outdoor table, just like in the movie, but no one tried to pick us up. Here, an ice cream costs one dollar. People who have only Cuban pesos pay less but have to line up or sit at the counter inside. In 1966 it was reported that 25 flavors were offered. The day we went there was only one: strawberry with chocolate. I didn’t care. The dish of ‘fresa con bon bon’ was cool and refreshing just the perfect pick me up; it was 5 PM but we still had 12 hours to go…
“Why don't you plan a- wonderful trip
To Havana- Hop on a ship
And I'll see you in C.U.B.A.”
Café Monserrate Calles Monserrate and Obrapía, la Habana Vieja
Open around 12 to 11 PM, daily
Restaurante Los Amigos M & 19, Vedado
tel. 830 0880
The best 'paladar' in town, highly reccomended by locals, serves authentic Cuban fare and although it is within walking distance of the Hotel Nacional it is not touristy.
El Aljibe Av. 7, between Calles 24 and 26, Playa
Tel. 204 1583/4
Open daily noon-midnight
Famous for chicken; see my previous post
Los Nardos Paseo del Prado 563 between Teniente Rey and Dragones, across from El Capitolio, Habana Vieja Tel. 863 2985
Open Daily 11:30am-11:30pm
See my previous post
Asociacion Canaria de Cuba Avenida de las Misiones 258, between Neptuno and Animas, Habana vieja.
Tel. 862 5284
Open daily 12:00 - 20:30
See my previous post
La Torre Restaurante Calle 17 No. 55, Edificio Focsa 36 floor, Vedado
This bar is the highest in the city (or country for that matter) and boasts spectacular views. Drinks and light food are offered
El Gato Tuerto Calle O, between Calles 17 and 19, Vedado
tel. 53 71662 224
shows nightly starting at 10
Jazz Café Galerías Paseo, Calle 1ra, e/ Paseo y A (off of Malecón) It's hard to believe it's in there, but it is. Go on up to the second floor.
Entry fee of 10 cucs (about $11 USD) includes that amount worth of drinks and food, i.e. several drinks and something to nosh.
tel. 53 (7) 55 3170
La Casa de la Música calle Galiano between Concordia y Neptuno. Centro Habana.
Tel. (537) 8624165, 8608296
The best place to salsa to live orchestras, many of them well known
Go by and check the schedule outside, there are shows in the afternoon around 5, and later at night.
Admission varies between $5 and $10...
Heladería Coppelia corner of L & 23, Vedado
Open daily until around 6PM
note: on a recent visit those holding CUCs (i.e. foreigners) were shepherded to an isolated section, away from everyone else. For once it may pay to get some Cuban pesos so as to be able to mix and mingle.
Hotel Habana Riviera Paseo & Malecón, Vedado
Their Restaurante l'Aiglon is really quite good in a '50's sort of way
'La Pecera' Café at the corner of 23rd St and P in Vedado. Always open but gets gay after dark. Be aware that drinks are pricier than they should be here - which is why everybody wants to be treated...
Casa Particular Maria Elena Aguila 309 (between Neptuno y Concordia)
The amiable Maria Elena rents out a nice room in her apartment a few blocks from Habana Vieja with bath and breakfast, only $30.
Call her (no email) for a reservation - Tel. 53-7 663 0119
Her brother Rafa has more rooms upstairs for $25 (without breakfast but coffee is offered) catering to the gay set, these without private bath but with over the top kitchy grandma décor; both have fans and a/c.
Tel. 53-7-863-5107
Other tips: The ladies at the tourist stand, on a corner of Obispo, a couple of blocks from the Plaza de Armas, are helpful and speak English. To see what's going on at the Teatro Nacional, walk along under the arcade and check out the groovy posters painted on glass of coming events.
I live in Mexico City but do a lot of traveling beyond its borders. My blog Good Food in Mexico City has been a satisfying adjunct to my eponymous book. But to keep it on a purely Mexico D.F. track I decided to fashion this new forum for my international culinary discoveries. Welcome...
There are fancy restaurants like the Fonda del Refugio, an elegant townhouse staffed by bow-tied waiters and tables set with white tablecloths and nice china. Or Brooklyn’s Fonda, a small, very New Yorky place offering interesting modern re-workings of classic dishes and good tequila. But ‘real’ fondas, in the old-fashioned sense are small mom-and-pop joints with just a few tables; simple unpretentious eateries serving breakfast, snacks or an inexpensive ‘comida corrida’ - lunch served in three ‘tiempos’ or courses. Mexico is full of fondas. They are in every downtown and market from Tampico to Tonalá. Here in Mexico City, the best are located in our historic center. I love some of these old places, many of which haven’t changed in decades. “Old fashioned things for old fashioned people” repeated a character over and over in J.C. Van Itallie’s play ‘America Hurrah’. That’s me. So I go downtown once and while to Gran Cocina Mi Fonda where time stopped around 1950. This simple but charming archetypal urban fonda serves Mexican food with a Spanish touch. With its multi-layered turquoise walls, yellow wooden tables that you often have to share, and uniformed waitresses, it’s a real hold-over from the centro of yesteryear, and the prices seem unchanged too. Although paella is the specialty of the house, I like the roast chicken and the Madrid-style potaje de lentejas, a lentil soup flavored with chorizo. The milanesa, very Mexican despite its Italianate moniker, is pounded beef perfectly bronzed and crispy on the surface, tender/juicy within. The bolillos (rolls) are crusty and just right for scooping up the picante, tomatoey cilantro-perfumed salsa. And what better to wash it all down with than a Boing!, the campy fruit-based drink whose vintage bottle shows off its pastel colors so well. I go when I feel like a trip back to the Mexico I first knew thirty years ago, a place that resisted the encroaching plasticized fastfood-ification that plague-like, spreads from our northern neighbor.
t, the town hosts one of the best fondas of all: Fonda La Esmeralda. Walls painted bright green, tables and chairs are of the rustic ‘Frida’ variety, the place looks like a set for a hypothetical Mexican operetta. On stage, two sisters serve up savory corn-based antojitos like someone’s grandmother used to make--enchiladas, green or with mole, eggs ‘al gusto’, pork in red sauce. Luz Maria, a woman in her ‘50’s, is smiley, gregarious and proud. She is the obvious boss and head chef – her quiet and slow moving sister Elvira is the waitress and helper. She does what several generations of female cooks in her family taught her. “I learned from my mother, my aunt, my grandmother, all of whom lived in town”, she explains, while washing dishes and stirring a huge pot of bubbling, brick-red stew. Her battered pans and smoky black clay cazuelas and ollas attest to her 20 years in the business. She elaborates “I use what is best in the market – for example, the tortillas are hand-made: they are little more expensive, but taste so much better.” Case in point are her 
chilaquiles, comfort food for many a Mexican. Like my grandmother’s matzoh brei, this dish makes use of yesterday’s dried out tortillas, which are broken up, fried crispy golden, bathed in either red or green salsa, dabbed with sour cream and chopped onion, then strewn with shredded chicken breast. Chilaquiles can be mushy, overly crackly, dry or dull tasting. They are the sum of the quality of their ingredients, which here are top-notch. Luz Maria’s have the ideal texture, that c
uriously Mexican combination of crunchy and soggy. Her tangy, mildly picante salsa verde is perfectly offset by the coolly smooth crema and the savory bits of onion. Accompanied by a bowl of steaming black beans, locally grown and redolent of the medicinal herb epazote (and of the old clay pot they are slowly cooked in), this is essential Mexican food as it should be.
Luz Maria, of La Esmeralda, Malinalco
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