The Cuban Sandwich

Earlier this week, my girlfriend and I drove to Little Havana’s Tower Theater to see A Raisin in the Sun. The showtime was 9:30pm, but we got there 30 minutes early and decided to eat a quick dinner. It was drizzling on and off, like someone on a movie set was playing with the switch. We walked into Ball & Chain, but it was packed so we went to El Pub across the street. We walked up to the to-go counter on 8th street (“Calle Ocho”) and ordered one Cuban sandwich, a ham and cheese empanada, a ham croquette and two Coronas which were served in styrofoam cups. The total was $30. There was some space at the counter inside, which surrounded the kitchen in an “L” shape (we sat on the shorter side of the “L”). I looked around and saw an empty bag of sugar, straw hats, Cuban flags and framed stills of movie scenes on the walls. The stills were from HBO’s Ballers, War Dogs and some other movie I can’t remember. We were lucky enough to get a front row seat to the kitchen, where a man with strong arms and a growing belly opened a metal door and pulled out a prepared sandwich. It looked cold. He spread butter on both sides of the hot press and pressed down on the sandwich. He then cut the sandwich in half (per our request from a few feet away) and added a handful of those small “Pik-Nik” style fries on top of each half. But it’s the last move he made that I remember the most. He stabbed the top of the sandwich with a toothpick that had a small Cuban flag. Maybe planted is a better word. His hand went down with gravity, rhythm and pride. I even heard the toothpick slide through the layers of ham, mustard, cheese and pickles. I looked around and saw people laughing and talking, heard cash registers opening and closing with the slam of coins, cars driving fast along the drizzled streets, but above this movement, I heard that flag. Like an arrow through toasted bread.