If anyone reads my blog, they may think I am some kind of super human who is blessed with a great meal every time I set foot in a restaurant. Maybe I have super powers? Not quite.
This blog is not a restaurant review or critic blog, hence I don’t really say when I have had a bad experience unless it makes a smaller part of a bigger story. I don’t want to slander a restaurant for what might have been a bad day. But, it does happen. And in this case, it was comically bad. So bad I didn’t take any photos of it. In hindsight, I should of.
When I went to Cuba, I went equipped with a printed out spreadsheet I had compiled of all the places I wanted to eat on the island. Names, addresses, and comments about what they are known for. I know, that makes me sound slightly neurotic, but I was determined to discover that the food in Cuba is not bad.
So on a sunny Havana evening, my list was going to lead me to a little paladar in Havana Vieja. Or at least it was, until C came up with a last minute change of plans.
He had read (no doubt in the Lonely Planet, or somewhere equally as hideous) about a “great” Asturian restaurant in the city, so suggested that we head there instead. Now I have been known to be called a control freak, amongst other things, and given that I had indeed engineered all our eating decisions so far, and Asturias is the region in Spain where his family is from, I said “Ok, no worries. We will go there”. I even surprised myself.
We arrive to large building across the road from the Capitol (this is where the first alarm bells should be ringing) and we are met by a line out the front. We join the line and patiently wait half an hour before being let inside. Then, we follow a waiter up a grey concrete staircase and through a heavy, dark brown wooden door. On the other side we are met by a dark, wooden bench seat, which has now become the waiting spot for the people we last saw in the queue in front of us. Another queue.
Tourist central – the Capitol building in Havana
Source
Eventually we are led to our table for the evening. The dark brown walls bear symbols of Asturias – the bright blue flag with its yellow cross, barrels that may or may not have once contained the famous Asturian sidra, and black and white photographs. We are surrounded by dark oak tables and chairs, and waiters who could be dressed in their Sunday best, accessoried with bow ties and neat white cloths draped over their forearms.
The waiter brings over the menus but before he has even handed them to us, he asks us what we would like to drink and suggests to us their “house sangría.” It’s made from Asturian sidra (cider) then mixed with the usual sangría ingredients such as fruit and triple sec. We agree, not knowing that we have just fallen into one of their little money making traps.
I decide I will have the vegetable paella, and Carlos opts for the fabada Asturiana, a bean soup which is a local speciality in, of course, Asturias. Another waiter returns to take our order. I place my order, looking forward to the rice dish that will soon beforth me. “Tonight we don’t have fish and vegetables,” says the waiter. I look at him, my eyes widening and face gaining colour by the minute. “B-b-b-but…I want vegetables.” He shrugs unapologetically and offers to return in a couple of minutes.
Homemade paella in Catalunya. I was hoping for something like this. Not going to happen.
Upon his return I order the seafood casserole. “Sorry, we can’t do this this one either.” I pause for a minute, close the menu, look at C, look at the waiter. Directed at C I say,” Well I am not going to eat anything.” He looks at the waiter, tries to look apologetic without me noticing, and hands back the menu.
Three minutes later the waiter bounces back from the kitchen. He informs me that he has spoken to the chef and they can do me the seafood casserole without vegetable. I eagerly agree and we wait our meal to arrive.
The meal arrives. C has a bowl of bean soup that, whilst looks edible and non poisonous, has almost certainly come out of a can. I have in front of me one large bowl, a whole lot of watery brown liquid, and five floaters which I discover are rubbery prawns. “Oh my gosh,” I say to C, “this is just the seafood soup that was on the menu. Which I purposely didn’t order because I knew it would be horrendous.” Living close to the Basque Country with their fabulous local seafood soup recipe and fresh seafood, has turned me into somewhat of a seafood soup snob.
I tuck into my Maggi stock and rubber prawns, unable to finish it, but try to wash it down with the sangría which tasted more like off apple juice than something I would be voluntarily ingesting.
We decide after that in fact, I better eat something else, given my meal was not fit for human consumption. My options are limited given this no vegetable shenanigans, so for my next dish I opt for pineapple prawns with rice. They have fruit, right? I hope that the juice from pineapple will give some tenderness and flavour to the rubbery prawns.
After ten minutes of debating what the outcome of this dish would be, my grand plate arrives. I am presented half a pineapple with the flesh scooped out and the crater now home to a pile of rubbery prawns (hello my dear friends). The pineapple remains have been chopped up and put back on top of the prawns, then completed with a creamy sauce.
I really could have done without the sauce, and was expecting in fact my dish was going to be prawns and pineapples, not prawns and pineapples mixed with a canned sauce off the supermarket shelf in Mexico. Next to the pineapple I have two mounds of dry rice. One that comes with the dish, and one to make up for the missing vegetables.
I prodded and poked at the prawns and pineapples and even managed to stomach a few, then gobbled the rice by washing it down with gulps of water. My meal wasn’t finished, but I graciously skipped out on dessert.
I didn’t know whether to be happy or sad, when the following day we eat at the place we were supposed to go to and I see how good the food was.
When the bill arrived, we got our first surprise. Our two glasses of sangría that arrived as a jug, have in fact been charged as a jug for four people, bringing that part of the bill to 14 CUC ($14 US). I bring up this issue with the waiter. The young waiter, his fringe revealing his eyes just enough to show us the apologetic look in them, shrugged his shoulders and didn’t really offer too much of an explanation except for that is the size jug we had. I looked at him, then looked back at the half drunk jug of sangría still sitting on the table. “We didn’t even want it, or drink it!” I blurted out. It was no use.
Another waiter then comes over and personally hands me a business card with their restaurant’s details. He smiles, one side of his mouth rising slightly higher than the other, and his eyes narrowing. Is he purposely trying to upset me?
We leave the money on the table without a tip, and then I lift both arms in the air and ceremoniously rip apart the business card, throwing both pieces down on the table. “Are you serious?” C is left less impressed with my ceremonious act of disgust, and scoops up the pieces of business card and put them in his pocket. “Hey, at least I didn’t throw them in his face!” I reply.
Upon leaving C looks at his phone. “It’s 11.15,” he tells me,”You are allowed to give me shit about this until midnight, and then we never speak of this meal again.”
It’s a boyfriends lot, I say…
Have you had any comically bad experiences when eating out before?
Ming says
I’ve had meals where one dish was bad and the evening didn’t get progressively worse. You were very patient to sit through all that! Enjoyed this post.
Cyra says
Haha thanks! It’s happened to me too where there has been one off dish but the others have saved it. Not this time! Thanks for reading, glad you enjoyed it 🙂
Tamara says
Oh, my! While I feel terrible you had such an awful meal, the story does make for a good read! “Maggi stock and rubber prawns…” That’s just classic. I can imagine (unfortunately) just what that looked and tasted like. Ugh! Cuban food can be amazing though, as I’m sure you discovered elsewhere. Thanks for sharing your story.
Cyra says
Haha, well you have to have the bad meals to know how good the good ones are, right? It was pretty funny – maybe not immediately at the time, but I definitely see the humour in it now! It is true that it can be amazing. Glad you enjoyed it 🙂
Ayla says
Which paladar is this? I’m going to Cuba in a couple of weeks and have a whole list of places to eat so I’ll have to make sure I avoid this one!
Cyra says
Haha it’s called Los Nardos and it’s part of three restaurants all in the same building, the Asturian Society building, (and all pretty much serving the same thing!) across the road from the Capitol building.
Rachel says
This was hilarious! Nothing makes me madder than having a bad meal, especially when I’m paying for it. And especially when your original choice had great food. That’d be so hard not to rub in! I too am very neurotic about restaurant decision-making.