This past week – and I mean FULL week of seven days, we have had weather to rival any Caribbean country – say, like… Cuba! I’m talking a most disgusting average of 35°C (95°F) with that humidex factor making it feel like 45°C (115°F). What’s a girl to do? Continue on her search for that perfect Montreal version of the Cubano sandwich, of course. Her partner in crime, Julie, ever the willing participant, agreed to meet me today, Friday, on my day off. So what was today’s temp? 22°C (72°F) and it felt downright chilly! Now for us Quebecers, who start wearing shorts when it hits 15-16°C (60°F), – sooner for some locos – this may seem silly. But it has been hotter and muggier than the inside of Hades mouth so, this cool-down was quite the shocker. And me, wearing a sundress…
Now I know Linds B. and Marc, over at Sorryless are done with the whole Cubano Sammy thing but they did encourage me to keep on it. They apparently like when other peeps crash their party…
On my way to destination number two, I was struck by the sheer amount of garbage everywhere. You see, here in Quebec, the official moving day is July 1st. That means peeps are moving from one apartment to another and leaving shitloads of stuff behind. I’m thinking garbage day in the area I was driving through still had not come…
Destination number two was suggested to me by a friend whose boyfriend just so happens to be Cuban. He says other Cubans go there: Café Cubano, still on the outskirts of Little Italy but now, on Beaubien East Street. Traffic for Jules was horrendous, so I sat outside on a park bench in the sunshine (it was still warm, then). Then I took a few pics in preparation. Cute little brother and big sister skipped by. I was amused as it seemed everyone who passed by sounded French from France. Had me wondering what area I was in after all. Very residential with little business like this one on the ground floor and apartments above.
Julie arrives and we pick a table. Always a good sign when the other patrons speak the lingo. We get the menus and I see that the Cuban Sandwich is NOT there. And yet, when I Googled it, it was. Hmmm…. I ask the waiter if they do do Cubanos and he says, get this: “Not today”. What? “I am sorry, tomorrow you can have some. Today we cook the pork and it takes hours. There are none today.”
Looked at Julie and said, “What to do now? I am on a Cubano Sammy search.” She agrees we need to find another place so here we are sitting in this restaurant, with our glasses of water we dare not touch, Googling for other restaurants in the vicinity.
We come upon La Bodeguita de Montréal on St. Laurent Street, a 7-minute drive away. We decide to go with just my car – why look for two parking spots? While I’m driving, Jules says.. “Hmmm.. their Facebook page says it’s closed.” Dammit. On the Google page, it says Fridays it is open from noon. We keep going, not knowing who to trust. We get there. Door is locked.
More Googling, and by now, our stomachs are starting to auto-digest and we need us some grub. We do NOT want to drive to downtown as that will take us a good 23-40 minutes. Julie finds one on Park Avenue – but it’s a Mexican joint! BUT the comments on whatever site she is looking at says you MUST try the Cuban Sandwich.
We need no further reason. What a fabulous find! Lemme tell you, Linds and Marc, if I decide to crash your taco party, Imma go back to this spot called Ta Chido on Park Avenue.
Colourful, joyful, smell of fresh bread cooking, kitschy as all get-out, we are charmed immediately. Screw the Cubano, if we must. By now it is quite cool and we choose to sit inside. Then move to outside. I did NOT know there exists some Mexican Heavy Metal… Thankfully it was playing pretty low (so wish I had Shazamed it 😉 )
I have to share some of the decor with you…
Outside Ta Chido
Where the bread magic happens
A Little Day of the Dead
Kitsch to a whole ‘nother level
Partners in Crime
Okay, I’ve made you wait enough, haven’t I? Let’s get to serious bidness. As we were starving, we ordered a bowl of guacamole with the usual chips and chicháronnes. We stuck with water for today.
I explain to our waitress – sweetest gal ever – that I am on a Cubano mission and though I realise that this is a Mexican place, they do have what they call a Cubano… She says: “Well that is what WE call it too. But.. I am so sorry to tell you, we are out of jamón.”
Julie suggests we get two different sandwiches and share. And frankly, that is a great idea. So, Jules gets the “Tinga de pollo” – pulled chicken sautéed with onions and chipotle peppers, mayo, black bean spread, avocado, tomatoes, sour cream and feta cheese.
And I had the “Cubana” – breaded beef cutlet, pulled pork and ham (though there was none), mayo, cheese, black bean spread, avocado, tomatoes and caramelized onions.
Julie found the chicken needed some oomph and was glad to pour on the jalapeño sauce that was brought to the table. I agree.
The “Cubano” had nary a Cubano element… but was very tasty for me.
We are 0 for 2 in the authentic Cubano search.
However. After some discussion, and poor Julie still has no idea what a real Cubano is…I give it a solid 6/10. Why so high when there were only two elements in the sammy?
That bread. That bread was so bloody divine, I cared not one whit that it had never seen the inside of a press. So good, in fact, that Imma go aaaaalllll the way there to buy some to make MY OWN Cubanos… And for my celiac friends, they also make gluten free… though I would check out the facilities to make sure there is no cross-contamination. I didn’t go look, to tell the truth.
The pulled pork was tasty, as was that piece of beef and caramelized onion. Avocados are a favourite ingredient of mine and pretty much end up in all of my sandwiches.
The chicháronnes were light and crunchy and addictive. the guacamole was delicious with just the right amount of smooth and chunk.
We felt we had made quite the discovery after all the shenanigans of finding a bloody place to eat. Plus, Julie still wants to be my cohort for the next run. Win-Win-Win.
As a result…
A little extra “blah-blah-blah” as our day was not done…
Traffic was gonna be crap for both of us, so we decided to go to the Marché Jean Talon to browse all the wonderful produce, get inspired for supper – right, like I was gonna eat supper – and maybe flirt with Frank from Birri Farms. (What? He’s gorgeous, Italian, single and such a flirt…)
On our way there, as we were approaching a stop light, I was pointing out a restaurant we had talked about when BANG! I got hit from behind. WTF? Both of us were stunned. I got out of the car and the guy behind got out of his apologising profusely. First thing he asked was if were we hurt, then we checked our cars. Mine had nothing, his, a cracked bumper. I asked him if he wanted to fill out papers and he declined (I might add his car was a clunker). Asked again if we were okay, apologised again and we were on our way. We turned at the next street and pulled over to really check. Nothing. We both felt it in our necks – a light case of whiplash. I know we are going to feel it tomorrow or the next day.