Restaurant: Floridita
Location : Soho
By Boeing: 1394 miles
By Boris Bike: 2.2 miles
Of all the destinations on this journey so far Cuba is perhaps the most intriguing. Despite being a mere stones-throw from the USA this island rejected the comforts of capitalism to become a Caribbean cradle of communism. The fusion of a Creole culture, Latin spirit and communist ideology makes Cuba a unique tourist destination. It's mystique comes from the legacy left by the defiant, enigmatic leadership of two of the 20th centuries most revered figures, Che Guevara and Fidel Castro. Were it not for them Cuba may have been yet another a beautiful but bland tropical paradise. Through the strength of their conviction they shaped a country of contrasts, complexity and contradictions.
in Europe and the East communism is associated with suppression of culture: individuality and ideas seen as undermining collective security and efficiency. But Cuban communism had character and colour, its solidarity appearing to enrich rather than enslave its soul. In this context it doesn't seem a paradox that Cuba's most famous exports, cigars, rum and rhythm, are symbols of indulgence and pleasure rather than tokens of self-sacrifice. But political, ideological and economic isolation from the USA, the largest economy in the world, came at a cost to cuisine.
It is popular saying in Cuba that the three successes of the revolution were education, sport and health and the three failures breakfast, lunch and dinner. Cuba remains the only country where food is rationed. With this in mind as I walked into Floridita restaurant in Soho, i was expecting more of a cultural than culinary experience.
The original Floridita in Havana has become something of a tourist trap as it was the favoured eatery of the writer Ernest Hemmingway, who is worshipped as a patron saint of tourists in a gaudy statue/shrine by the bar. This fame has brought fortune and a glamorous, glitzy branch in Soho. Descending the neon-lit stairwell to the shimmering leather couches and mirrored columns of the restaurant it is clear that Floridita is a high-end night-spot rather than a bohemian bistro.
We began the evening with a Daiquiri, the famous rum-based cocktail said to have been invented in Floridita, Havana. My companion, who had just returned from a Cuban honeymoon, remarked that although it felt familiar the absence of a rich, aromatic smog of cigar smoke prevented it from being a truly authentic experience.
In Cuba restaurants are very much a dinner and dance affair, with tables and booths clustered around a dance-floor and all angled towards a stage. Though very different in decor it reminded me of the famous nearby jazz club, Ronnie Scotts, where dinner is a mere appetizer for the musical feast provided.
Amid the by now familiar regional staples of spicy empanadas, steaks and thick bean stews was Lobster, the crowned king of crustacea. The Lobster has become one of the most sought after culinary delicacies in the world and the global industry is thought to be worth over a billion dollars annually. Being a relatively poor country with a permanent trade embargo imposed by the USA Cuba's lobster crop has been a financial godsend. But though plentiful in its waters Lobster very rarely makes its way onto the Cuban dinner table, due to its high costs and strict controls on domestic consumption. It has become identified as a national dish despite the fact it is rarely consumed.
Clearly catering for international, sophisticated palates Floridita overlooked humble home-cooked Cuban foods in favour of exclusive foreign dishes like Lobster Thermidore. The national staple, Ropa Vieja, a dish of shredded beef flank, plantain and rice was conspicuous by its absence. This sloppy stew that looks like 'old clothes' would not fit in with Floriditas exclusive brand or pricing conventions. But sulking in the sundries I found the wholesome Cuban supper Moros y Christianos, meaning Moors and Christians. This intriguing title merely denotes beans and rice, the ubiquitous ingredients of South America. The meal was consumed, the music was enjoyed.
The composition of the band members reflected the cosmopolitan, melting pot of ethnicity and cultures that is, somehow, uniquely Cuban. Black, Hispanic and Creole they all wore the same lurid floral shirts and played to the same irrepressible rhythm. Cuban music gained international renown through the songs of the Buena Vista social club and have a bouncy, hip-shaking sing-along quality. As i listened, an unusual connection struck me. Many of these simple, catchy tunes have become familiar chants on football terraces the length and breadth of Britain. Clearly the silken Spanish has long since given way to estuary English, but nevertheless these songs spring from the same Cuban Cha cha cha.
As the evening lengthened as did the shadows on the dance floor as couples twisted and jived to the tunes of the terraces. The first foray to the floor was by a Septuagenarian in two-tone brogues who claimed a new partner with every song and threw them under arms and into corners with the energy of a man a third of his age. The Cuban rhythms were like an elixir of youth, under their spell he defied age and arthritis. The quest for the mythical fountain of eternal youth is over: It is in Havana, and it flows with rum.
