Paladares: Recipes Inspired by the Private Restaurants of Cuba

BOCADITOS Y APERITIVOS

Snacks and Appetizers

It’s early evening in Havana, and like the rest of the country, the city is snacking. On the battered pavement along the famed Malecón boulevard by the sea, couples idle with cans of Bucanero beer and slender white paper cones of maní [roasted peanuts] and plantain mariquitas [chips], while Cubaton blasts from passing Soviet-era Ladas and waves hurl spray over the seawall. Inland a few blocks, in Habana Centro where dilapidated colonial houses are fronted by delicate columns, old ladies gossip and laugh and munch chicharrones and batons of fried yuca. Elsewhere lines have formed at takeout windows for chorizo sandwiches and styrofoam boxes full of boniato fries and croquetas. And at hundreds of restaurants and bars all over Cuba, plates of golden crispy tostones, malanga frituras, and smoky garbanzos fly out of kitchens to accompany icy mojitos.

Despite chronic food shortages, despite hardships of everyday life that mean queuing for hours for basic essentials, the islanders remain a breed of gleeful grazers—especially now that economic reforms have returned small private concession stands, carts and windows, and the baskets of itinerant vendors to Cuban streets.

At 5 A.M. in Havana, some enterprising cuentapropistas [self-employed comrades] fire up their home ovens to bake guava or coconut-filled pastelitos to sell to morning commuters. Come lunchtime, government workers who make thirty dollars a month leave their offices to scarf down small doughy circles of pizza Cubana, or a pan con [bread with]—be it jamón; wedges of plantain omelet; fried breaded fish called minuta; or lechon, the juicy roast pork—all tucked into squishy white rolls or buns. After school, gaggles of kids in white and maroon uniforms crowd around hawkers of chiviricos, sugarcoated (and disastrously unhealthy) bits of fried dough. Nearby a tamalera hunches over her steaming pot filled with husk-swaddled corn mush. She won’t be around long—tamales always sell out in a flash. Much later, post-midnight, there might be after-hours pork burgers with a strange but much-loved topping of cream cheese and strawberry jam. And above all, in Havana and elsewhere, the island relishes its never-ending parade of different fritters.

Frying, Dios mío—my God!—it’s our national cooking method! exclaims Acela Matamoros, a scholar and cookbook author. Es una adicción Cubana! The origins of this addiction? Perhaps they lay in the countryside, where rural families would annually slaughter their pig and render masses of lard, which they’d bury underground in clay tubs for the year. Once a tub was unearthed it had to be used. It didn’t hurt that Cuba’s super-starchy root vegetables deliver such excellent crunch. Or that the art of frying was perfected in the early colonial days by Cuba’s Andalusian settlers, who had inherited the taste for fried food from the Moors.

Before the 1959 Revolution, crispy pick-me-ups sustained Havana’s legendary club scene and nightlife. The 1950s were the golden era of fritters, sighs cultural historian Rafael Lam, as he lists the line-up of hits: Battered bacalao, pork chicharrones, and croquetas of béchamel! Frituritas of black-eyed peas, malanga, and boniato! Fried, stuffed mashed-potato balls and tiny fried burgers called fritas! Outside clubs and on crowded street corners, fry shops and puestos [stands], many Chinese-owned, competed for revelers’ stomachs. But then Havana’s nightlife paradise—and its snacking marvels—fell victim to the new regime, Rafael explains. The Revolution brought shortages of crucial ingredients, followed by Fidel’s 1968 ban on all private business activity, down to fry carts and fruit vendors. But Cubans kept on snacking somehow! Lacking beef, the ubiquitous hamburguesas and fritas were reinvented with pork and ironically christened McCastros. The repurposing of leftover food into croquetas and fritters became something of an economic imperative. And in the decades of Soviet patronage, pizza entered the scene—to remain Cuba’s national street snack—thanks to an overabundance of cheap Russian wheat paired with Fidel’s sudden embrace of Italian food.

Fast-forward to today. Cuba’s saladitos and aperitivos (the local term for snacks) are entering a second golden age. At Havana’s new-wave, internationally savvy paladares, appetizers are often the most exciting part of the menu—and the cocktail scene rocks. Modern Spanish tapas flourish at restaurants run by Iberian expats; Italian paladar owners bake up authentic pizzas and flatbreads. Undeterred by intermittent supplies, hip young Cuban chefs are reinventing and updating the island’s rich frituras repertoire. In this chapter you’ll find recipes for modern remakes of stuffed potato balls from Ivan Chef Justo and fish croquetas from the hot-spot paladar O’Reilly 304; flaky empanadas from Havana’s best bars and bakeries; and enticing variations on plantains zapped with garlicky mojos. Pass these around at a party or serve as a sit-down first course—and make sure your mojitos are potent.

Fried Plantain Chips

Mariquitas

Cuba’s answer to potato chips, mariquitas (also called chicharritas) are the golden-crisp, faintly fruity plantain crisps that usually vanish the minute they hit the table or bar counter. At the hot-spot paladares O’Reilly 304 and El Del Frente, these are served free instead of bread, spiked with a tangy garlic, parsley, and lime mojo. Who even needs dinner?

Using a mandoline or a similar gizmo, the mariquitas should be sliced very thin into rounds on the diagonal, or lengthwise if you like your chips long and wavy. The trick is to fry the plantains as soon as you slice them—they toughen when exposed to air. Another trick is to peel the plantains under cold running water. Some Cuban chefs also suggest soaking the plantains in very cold salted water before slicing and frying, to render the chips extra-crisp.

Serves 4

FOR THE MOJO

4 cloves garlic, chopped with ½ teaspoon salt

2 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley

¼ cup (60 ml) olive oil

1 tablespoon fresh lime juice

FOR THE MARIQUITAS

2 cups (480 ml) vegetable oil or peanut oil, for frying

2 green plantains, peeled and thinly sliced on a mandoline or with a very sharp knife

Salt

1Make the mojo: Mix together the salted garlic, parsley, olive oil, and lime juice. Set aside.

2Make the mariquitas: In a large, high-sided 10- to 12-inch (25- to 30.5-cm) skillet, heat the vegetable oil over medium-high heat until a drop of water sputters and sizzles when added to the pan. Working in batches if necessary to avoid crowding the pan, add the plantain chips one by one so they don’t stick together, and cook, turning them as they brown, about 2 minutes per side.

3Remove with a slotted spoon to paper towels to drain, and sprinkle with salt while hot. Repeat with the remaining plantains until all have been fried and salted.

4Drizzle the mojo over the chips and serve the rest on the side for dipping.

Plantain Fritters

Tostones

We’re not done with awesome plantain snacks yet! Here are tostones—alias: patacones—which is to say, plantain fritters that are slowly fried once to cook until soft, then smashed to flatten and quickly fried again over higher heat to crisp up. Heftier than mariquitas, tostones are traditionally served on their own or with a mojo of sour orange and cumin. Dunked in the mojo, this version makes a terrific appetizer with cocktails. Or top them with a bit of leftover picadillo, ropa vieja, or guacamole—Cuban nachos, of a sort. Or float them in soup, as Cubans love to do, as a kind of crouton that readily absorbs other flavors. If you live near a Hispanic market and love tostones as much as we do, look for a nifty plantain-smashing tool called a tostonera. Otherwise use a jar as directed here, or place the chip between two pieces of plantain peel and give it a whack with your fist.

Makes 12 tostones

FOR THE MOJO CRIOLLO

⅓ cup (75 ml) olive oil

5 cloves garlic, chopped

½ cup (120 ml) sour orange juice, or an equal mixture of lime and orange juice

¼ teaspoon ground cumin

FOR THE TOSTONES

3 cups (720 ml) vegetable oil, for frying

3 green plantains, peeled and cut into 2-inch (5-cm) pieces

Salt

1Make the mojo: In a bowl, whisk together the olive oil, garlic, sour orange juice, and cumin. Set aside.

2Make the tostones: In a large, high-sided skillet, heat the vegetable oil until a drop of water sputters and sizzles when added to the pan. Working in batches to avoid crowding the pan, add the plantains to the hot oil and fry, turning once, until golden brown, 2 to 3 minutes per side.

3Remove with a slotted spoon to paper towels to drain. Keep the oil hot.

4Using a flat-bottomed glass jar covered with a piece of brown paper bag, press the plantain slices until flattened. Return the plaintains to the oil, a few slices at a time, and refry until very golden and crispy on both sides, about 2 to 3 minutes more. Drain on paper towels and sprinkle with salt while still hot.

5Serve the tostones immediately with the mojo on the side for dipping.

Curried Chicken Empanadas

Empanadas de Pollo al Curry

In their original Iberian version, empanadas (Spanish for breaded) were mostly large savory pies cut into wedges or squares. As empanadas traveled around the New World with the Spanish colonists, they became daintier, acquiring their signature half-moon shape and a plethora of delectable filling options. In Cuba you might taste empanadas with the classic oozy fillings of ham and cheese, this memorable stuffing of curried chicken, leftover ropa vieja, or picadillo—and sweet versions with pineapple or coconut. Nothing in Havana beats the empanadas baked at PP Boutique de Pan, owned by the charming Evelyn Perez Alonso, who seems heroically undeterred even by chronic butter shortages. In an old house in the leafy Vedado neighborhood, she served us these golden curried chicken empanadas with pride and told us how much her customers love them.

We’ve adapted her dough recipe for the home cook, using cream cheese instead of vegetable shortening, which is easier to handle and puffs beautifully when baked.

Makes 12 empanadas

FOR THE DOUGH

1½ cups (190 g) all-purpose flour, plus more for rolling

½ teaspoon salt

1 tablespoon sugar

1 teaspoon baking powder

1 (8-ounce / 225-g) package cream cheese, chilled

4 tablespoons (55 g) unsalted butter, chilled

2 tablespoons dry white wine

6–8 tablespoons (90–120 ml) ice water

1 egg yolk, for egg wash

FOR THE FILLING

2 tablespoons olive oil

1 cup (125 g) finely chopped onion

2 cups (390 g) shredded cooked chicken breast

4 teaspoons curry powder

Salt and pepper

1Make the dough: In a mixing bowl or the bowl of a food processor, combine the flour, salt, sugar, and baking powder. Cut the cream cheese and butter into cubes and add to the flour mixture. With your fingers, a pastry cutter, a fork, or using the food processor, work the cream cheese and butter into the dry ingredients until only ¼-inch (6-mm) pieces of the butter and cream cheese remain. Pour in the wine and gradually add the ice water, mixing the liquid into the dough until it just comes together. (You may not use all the ice water.) Wrap the dough tightly with plastic and let it rest in the refrigerator for at least 30 minutes.

2Make the filling: In a skillet over medium heat, combine the olive oil and onion and cook for 3 to 4 minutes, or until the onion is soft but not brown. Add the shredded chicken, curry powder, and salt and pepper, to taste, and heat until warmed through. Stir to combine, and adjust seasoning if necessary, then scrape the filling into a bowl and let cool before assembling the empanadas.

3Preheat the oven to 400°F (205°C).

4Roll out the dough on a lightly floured surface until ⅛-inch (3-mm) thick. Using a cookie cutter or a glass, cut out twelve 2½-inch (6-cm) rounds and top each with a packed ¼ cup (35 g) of the filling. In a small bowl, mix the egg yolk with 2 tablespoons water. Lightly brush the circumference of each round of dough with some of the egg wash. Fold the dough over to make half-moons and seal with the tines of a fork. Arrange the empanadas on a baking sheet and brush them with the remaining egg wash. Bake for 20 to 25 minutes, until golden brown.

Ham and Cheese Empanadas

Empanadas de Jamón y Queso

For this ham-and-cheese filling inspired by Evelyn Perez Alonso, we’ve opted for a mixture of smoky ham, mild white cheese, and a dash of crumbled oregano, an herb that flavors so many dishes in Cuba. The result is a delicious take on a classic.

Makes 12 empanadas

FOR THE DOUGH

See recipe on this page

FOR THE FILLING

1 cup (125 g) diced smoked ham or Canadian bacon

2 cups (230 g) shredded mild white cheese, such as cheddar, Monterey Jack, or mozzarella

1 teaspoon dried oregano

Salt and pepper

1Make the dough: Follow the instructions on this page , allowing the dough to rest in the refrigerator for at least 30 minutes.

2Preheat the oven to 400°F (205°C).

3Make the filling: In a mixing bowl, toss together the ham, cheese, oregano, salt and pepper, to taste.

4Roll out the dough on a lightly floured surface until ⅛-inch (3-mm) thick. Using a cookie cutter or a glass, cut out twelve 2½-inch (6-cm) rounds and top each with a packed ¼ cup (85 g) of the filling. In a small bowl, mix together the egg yolk from the dough recipe ( this page ) with 2 tablespoons water. Lightly brush the circumference of each round of dough with some of the egg wash. Fold the dough over to make half-moons and seal with the tines of a fork. Arrange the empanadas on a baking sheet and brush them with the remaining egg wash. Bake for 20 to 25 minutes, until golden brown.

PALADAR

IVAN CHEF JUSTO

AN INSTANT CLASSIC

Ivan Chef Justo and Al Carbon, its new grill-centric sibling, occupy a stately little eighteenth-century colonial building across from the grandeur of the Museum of Revolution. Opened fairly recently, both restaurants have the soulful well-worn feel of classics: always packed, incredibly fun, fueled by stiff drinks. The bluesy baritone of Benny Moré, Cuba’s beloved musical son, wafts from the sound system. There are potted tropical plants, old vinyl records serving as place mats, walls festooned with film-festival posters, sepia images of Old Havana, and color photos of visiting dignitaries. The decor reflects the worldly taste of Ivan Rodríguez and Justo Perez, the poised, well-traveled chef-owners who met years ago when they both cooked for the government. Between us we fed every visiting dignitary, says the fiftyish Ivan with a calm grin. The Creole-Mediterranean fare coming out of his kitchen is both classic and fresh, Cuban and cosmopolitan, powered by stellar ingredients from the chefs’ favorite farmers and fishermen. Here one tastes refreshing ceviches, tacos rolled around shreds of fall-apart pork, and folksy arroz con pollo dramatically served in a hollowed-out bamboo log. Ivan’s lechoncito, crispy-skinned suckling pig, might well be the most sought-after dish in Havana. We forgive Ivan for not showing up for our first interview: I had to run like mad to the port to greet a shipment of food supplies from Cancún, he apologized. In Cuba, man proposes, and the Gods of Customs dispose. But at least now I have fresh rosemary and Spanish paprika.

Ivan’s Story

Everyone asks me, What was it like to cook for Fidel?

Not so nerve-racking, actually. Fidel had a reassuringly simple manner: friendly and chatty. All the cooks in Havana know that he appreciated good honest food. Pasta, fried rice, good Cuban fish like pez perro [hogfish] and cherna [grouper]. And Fidel knew his wines. I got to cook for him several times, usually at Casas de Protocolo, guesthouses where the ministry of foreign affairs hosted visiting dignitaries. For state occasions, we tried to put on authentic Cuban spreads—lots of tropical juices, sustainable root vegetables, roasted meats—especially featuring our Cuban pride, the lechon asado, a whole roasted pig. We Cuban chefs whine a lot about the ingredient situation, but I’ll tell you: Our white, juicy pork makes up for a lot. Cuban pigs roam everywhere. They eat palmiche [the seed-like fruit of the palm tree] and the same viandas [tubers] that the guajiros [peasants] eat. For a hog it’s a good, healthy life!

I come from Galician-Asturian stock—northern Spanish. My mom cooked during the week; like many Cuban guys, my dad was a great weekend cook. I decided to become a chef right after doing my military service. I cooked for the government, then worked at some Cuban restaurants abroad in places like Portugal. The Período Especial (see this page) was the low point for any cook here: almost a decade of rice, beans, boniatos, and a tiny bread roll a day. That’s when Cuban national cuisine completely deteriorated. Until the 1959 Revolution, our cooking was robust and filling, with big meals based on Spanish-style guisos [stews] and much meat. But that cuisine is now gone; there’s no reviving it. Perdído are common ingredients like tasajo [dried beef] and bacalao [salt cod] that were once abundant and cheap enough to feed Cuba’s African slaves. We were a nation of fish-lovers, too, but we’ve lost the wealth of our old seafood recipes. On the other hand, pre-Revolutionary cuisine didn’t have the special measures ingredients like rabbits and ducks that we started breeding during the Período Especial. Now they’re part of all menus. Ropa vieja, picadillo . . . these are the few Cuban national dishes that transcended our difficult history and survived. As chefs we have a responsibility to cook these with special attention.

For as long as we cooked professionally, my partner Justo and I wanted a place of our own. In 2012 we opened Ivan Chef Justo. We were totally unprepared to be such a hit—to host the likes of Naomi Campbell, Geraldine Chaplin, and all these famous American diplomats. We decorated the place with posters and mementos from here and from our travels. Why old records as place mats? Because vintage vinyl is a million times easier to find in Havana than doilies! We went out of our way to hunt up agros [organic markets] and farmers to supply our kitchen with stuff like the fantastic wild mushrooms nobody else has in Havana. We tweaked and perfected old Cuban recipes such as arroz con pollo a la chorrera, which must be authentically soupy. Mexico inspires our tacos; the Mediterranean gave us our respect for ingredient-driven simplicity. Yes, we struggle to find those ingredients, but you know what keeps saving us? Our pizarra. The chalkboard! We just wipe off anything that’s suddenly vanished and replace it with whatever the farmer delivers. To accommodate demand we just opened Al Carbon, where the grill is king. And so we keep on: working like crazy, helping Cuban cuisine evolve into something new and exciting. But without losing our roots.

Pork Empanadas with Chimichurri

Empanadas de Cerdo con Chimichurri

At his paladar Al Carbon, chef Ivan Rodríguez often fills these empanadas with juicy leftover roast pork and serves them with a zesty sauce he calls chimichurri that, unlike the classic Argentinean version, is whisked from oil, vinegar, garlic, and minced cachucha peppers. We’ve adapted the recipe slightly with sabroso [tasty] results.

Note: The colorful cap-shaped cachucha pepper (sometimes called aji dulce) is a mild, fragrant chile used with abandon in Cuba. Look for them at your favorite Latin market, but do not confuse them with the almost identical-looking and diabolically hot habaneros.

Makes 12 empanadas

FOR THE DOUGH

See recipe on this page

FOR THE FILLING

1 tablespoon olive oil

½ cup (55 g) thinly sliced onion

½ cup (45 g) thinly sliced green bell pepper

3 cups (585 g) shredded cooked pork (Crispy Pork Shoulder, this page)

¼ cup (60 ml) dry white wine

1 teaspoon tomato paste

FOR THE CHIMICHURRI

2 tablespoons minced onion

1 clove garlic, minced or pressed

3 cachucha peppers (see Note) or 1 jalapeño pepper, seeded and minced

2 tablespoons white wine vinegar

3 tablespoons olive oil

Salt and pepper

1Make the dough: Follow the instructions on this page , allowing the dough to rest for at least 30 minutes in the refrigerator.

2Make the filling: In a large skillet over medium heat, combine the olive oil, onion, and bell pepper and cook for 3 to 4 minutes, stirring frequently, until the vegetables are starting to soften. Stir in the pork, white wine, and tomato paste and cook for another 5 minutes to cook off the alcohol and combine the flavors. Scrape into a bowl and cool for at least 30 minutes before assembling the empanadas.

3Preheat the oven to 400°F (205°C).

4Roll out the dough on a lightly floured surface until