Bon Appetit - October 2017

OCTOBER 2017  61

FALL’S COOLER WEATHER and a packed calendar of events,
like Art Basel, mean the crowds will soon descend on Miami—
and the city’s 4,000-plus restaurants. And while travelers can
now go directly to Cuba to satisfy their curiosity about the island’s
cuisine, Miamians know they lay claim to some of the best
Cuban food in the world. We’re talking crunchy croquetas,
rainbow-bright tropical juices, and classic sandwiches updated
with local ingredients. Like the rest of the city, these restaurants
have gotten a lift in recent years thanks to boundary-pushing
young chefs and passionate veterans alike. So here’s your
map to the best, starting—where else?—in Little Havana.

THE LOCALS’ BURGER

The Cuban hamburger, better
known as a frita (Spanish for
“fried”), is a griddle-smashed
patty seasoned with enough
smoked paprika to color the beef
(and grease) a burnished red.
Topped with diced raw onions
and crunchy shoestring fries and
served on Cuban rolls, fritas have
been a street-food staple since
the first wave of Cuban immigrants
arrived in the 1960s. Two of the
most established frita-slingers on
Calle Ocho (SW Eighth St.)
remain outstanding: El Rey de las
Fritas and El Mago de las Fritas.
Both douse their sizzling patties
with a secret tomato-accented
hot sauce, creating a mess that’s
tough to contain within that
fluffy bun. El Mago’s owner,

Here’s What

Cuban Food

Is Really

All About

Take it from chef Michael

Beltran, who’s lived

in Miami his whole life.

CITY GUIDES
miami

the brother-in-law of El Rey’s

founder, was the first to add a

slice of cheese (yellow American)

to his version, which melts into

the meat like a Philly cheesesteak.

Yes, ordering this frita con queso

is a total gringo move, but damn

if it’s not delicious.

EXOTIC JUICING

You’re going to be overwhelmed

when you pull into any of the

nine El Palacio de los Jugos

around town. There’s the circuslike

red-and-yellow awnings and

the porky aroma of chicharrones

being chopped to order. But

you’re here for the juice. It’s not

fancy or cold-pressed, but it’s

fresh and sweet and wet and

features some of the best tropical

fruit that the United States has to

offer. Which juice? You do you.

I was on a watermelon kick for the

longest time, but right now I can’t

stay away from the cantaloupe.

CROQUETA QUEENS

A partial list of where croquetas

are available in Miami: Publix

supermarkets, gas stations,

baptisms, backyard cookouts,

fancy restaurants (don’t miss José

Andrés’ lobster version at Bazaar

Mar), dive bars, and so on. In a

city that so loves this fried Cuban

finger food—saltine-breaded

and deep-fried little logs of

creamy puréed ham, chicken,

potato, or cheese—we’re willing

to suffer through the mediocre

ones in order to celebrate the

winners. By which we mean

Finka Table & Tap, in far west

Miami, and Dos Croquetas,

a croqueta delivery service (!).

At gastropub Finka, chef-owner

Eileen Andrade serves the

same crispy croquetas as at Islas

Canarias, a chain of restaurants

her grandparents founded in

the ’70s. At the year-old Dos

Croquetas, chef Vicky Carballo

and her nephew, Alec Fernandez,

have figured out a way to keep

their unorthodox croquetas—chili

Frito, Mexican street corn, Angus

cheddar burger—hot yet not

soggy by the time they’re driven

to you. And they deliver past

midnight on weekends, which

means you’re likely to shovel more

than dos into your perhaps-a-bit-

inebriated face. (Just beware of

burning the roof of your mouth.)

TOP TAPS

While rum has long been the

beverage of Cuba, Miami’s

community has ensured that craft

beer is here to stay—and shown

that it pairs excellently with Cuban

food. So it makes sense that two

Clockwise from top left:

Dominoes, mangoes, avocados,

oh my; the coffee station at

Palomilla Grill; La Esquina del

Lechón’s namesake sandwich

“Cuban food in Miami has never been about one restaurant or set

of dishes. It’s about the experience of eating with family. For me,

growing up, that meant Gloria Estefan playing in the background,

the sweet rush of sugar from a scoop of flan, or my grandparents

pulling sour oranges from the backyard tree to make mojo. At Ariete,

I use sour orange to cut through the fat of foie gras. It’s my way of

honoring people who came here from Cuba, using one ingredient

that’s tied to them in my memory. Is that Cuban food? I think so.”