Pasty, Paste, or Semicircular Food Item? The Cornish-Mexican Connection

The empanada has many names and variants. It seems like just about every country or culture has its own version of baked or fried dough filled with any number of combinations of proteins and/ or veggies. In fact, Wikipedia list 35 countries under its "Empanada" entry-- from Afghanistan to the Philippines and just about every South and Central American nation as well. But curiously, while Wikipedia describes just about every regional empanada variety in some amount of detail it fails to give much description to the United Kingdom's version, the Pasty. In fact, it links out to a separate entry, where it is not described as an alternate form of empanada (I know they are different, keeping reading to find out how), but rather as a "semicircular food item".

Now I am all for simple and straightforward descriptions of the places I eat and the things I eat in those places, but even to me "semicircular food item" does not sound the least bit appetizing. That being said, baked dough stuffed with meat is very hard to mess up (although if anyone could make it bad it would be the English), and now in Denver there are at least two places where one can sample what is probably the UK's best-known food contribution to the world after Fish and Chips.

Part I
Everything I hate about driving and suburbs and traffic is summed up by the intersection of Parker and I-225, so for this reason it probably took us so long to actually go check out Los Pastes. By the time I did wrestle my way in there at about 6pm on a weekday (and after missing my turn once), my boys had learned two new words that they are not allowed to repeat in public, and I was more than ready to unwind with some hot meat in a steamy bun (somehow that sounds wrong, but it couldn't have been truer).

Los Pastes explains in detail the history of Cornish miners introducing their Mexican compadres of Hidalgo to what the Cornish called a Pasty. Of course, they are pretty much the same thing, and Mexicans just sort of rolled with it as they had been eating empanadas well before those English miners came over-- though there is one important distinction to be made: the ingredients of a pasty are folded into their dough raw, where Mexican empanada fillings are often pre-cooked or at least partially cooked.

Of course, in the end (as foods and cultures all over the world tend to do) the Mexicans changed the spelling to "Paste" (pah-steh) and filled them with more Mexican-born ingredients. And of course at Los Pastes this is what you get (though I pretty sure the ingredients are pre-cooked).

There is a modest selection of pastes to be had at Los Pastes, and most are pretty good. In general they lack the refinement of a place like Maria Empanada, or the flavor and satisfaction of Buenos Aires Grill or Empanada Express. For example, El Norteno (steak, green pepper, onion) was under-seasoned and the meat was chewy (maybe a shout out to the English); and El Hawaiiano was just a little silly. Both, however, were saved by the insanely good and wonderfully spicy red and green table salsas. In fact, these salsas alone would give you faith in the skills of the culinary minds behind Los Pastes, even if all the fillings were not quite there.

On the other hand there are some rather good empanadas-- I mean pastes-- like the dark mole-filled chicken one, the Veggie (potatoes, peas, onions and oregano), and El Minero (potato, beef and onion).  Also the dessert versions were all great, but especially memorable were the guayaba with cheese and the arroz con leche.

Part II
Way across town, a month or so later I stumbled upon The Pasty Republic. Located in the hip-and-getting-hipper Tennyson St in Berkley Park, The Pasty Republic is quite different in more than just location than Los Pastes. The Pasty Republic, as the name implies, slings the British original, though purports a modern twist to these handheld classics.

I think when I went to Pasty Republic it hadn't been open all that long. I know it can take a few weeks --or even months-- for a restaurant to get rolling, but I hate to say that I didn't like any of the savory pies we tried: a Miner, a Shepard's pie and a chicken pot pie. Each was enormous and piping hot. Each seemed like it would be a wonderful hearty meal-- juicy meats and well-seasoned veggies-- like a nice comforting stew in a buttery, fluffy pastry. Unfortunately, it ended up being much more of a "semicircular food item". One was so undercooked I even threw it out.

We didn't leave entirely disappointed as we finished with the Nutella-orange pasty, which in itself is worth making it back for. I don't think you should take my single visit as a reason not to go try The Republic for yourself, but in the end, in this comparison of Denver's Pasty and Paste, there is no question that the Mexican version is better.

I'm pretty sure that mixing any cuisine with English cuisine makes it a little worse--and likewise, adding a little Mexican flavor to anything is sure to make it better. So while I might have been at the Pasty Republic on an off-night or too early on, if I'm in the mood for a Cornish-inspired empanada, I'll probably stick with a Paste.

The Orange Crunch: My Kind of Food Truck

If I had never met my wife and was left to my own derelict, anti-social ways, I would probably be holed up in log cabin somewhere outside of Nederland, CO: sitting on a rocking chair, spitting into a spittoon and grumbling to myself about society's ills. In fact, that sounds like a pretty appealing prospect to me at least once on any given week. However, my latest foray into this quirky mountain township wasn't to scope out my mountain refuge, but rather to give our toddler boys a little taste (and smell) of our favorite mountain freak-fest: Frozen Dead Guy Days.

Most of the morning we spent meandering through the crowds that had swarmed Nederland largely to celebrate death and drinking with such notable events as a hearse parade, coffin races, frozen turkey bowling and of course, jumping in an ice cold lake. It was only on our way out of the festival, alternately trudging through mud and negotiating icy snow pack, that I spotted a beat-up blue truck that seemed to be selling food, but just as easily could have been mistaken for any work-related utility vehicle from a laundry truck to a handyman.

At first glance, this was my kind of food truck.  The words "The Orange Crunch" were scrawled on the side using the fat part of a piece of chalk. The menu was scotch-taped onto the side. That's it. As I have made it known before, I am very much tired of the all-too-common flashy food trucks that have clearly spent more time on their custom paint jobs and LCD displays then on their actual food. One look at the Orange Crunch food truck and you would know that could not possibly be the case. If they spent less time on the menu than the time it took them to scrawl their name on truck, it would be logistically impossible to actually have made any food at all.

Now this could be a turn off for some people, but not those who have been eating at food trucks since before food trucks were hip and cool. No, it is very well-established that food truck flashiness tends to have an inverse relationship with the taste and quality of the actual food. The Orange Crunch was no exception.

I wasn't able to get any details from the Orange Crunch team that day, as they were slammed, but I am going to assume that it was named for the orange-colored empanadas it slings. These empanadas are often considered a regional specialty from Ilocos, Philippines. They are made from rice flour dyed orange and while they can have many fillings, but almost always feature an egg. That is, they are rolled out fresh, an egg is cracked into the center before it is folded up and deep-fried.

There were two kinds of empanadas that day, and I had the bacon and cheese one. It was fantastic. The eggs were cooked to medium-hard and the gooey cheese was rich but balanced well by the thick-sliced bacon. Hard to go wrong with fried dough, cheese, egg yolk and bacon; and though not always the case, this was yet another example of how bacon does indeed make things better.

Though still full from breakfast, I had to try a lumpia. It was a delicious version of this Filipino classic: crispy thin layers of dough packed with fresh veggies and meat.

They also had a take on Turon, or banana lumpia. These caramelized bananas were folded into little squares--fried-- then coated in powdered sugar. There was a chocolate dipping sauce on the side. A worthy turon by any standards and a welcome replacement to my favorite that went missing many years back (RIP Tropical Grill).

They also had a chicken adobo, which is a must on any Filipino menu, but I didn't get to try it. There were also a couple of other cultural-melding menu items that looked interesting. But there wasn't that much on the menu and that's probably another reason why everything was so great. Just a couple people, cooking food they love and spending the time to make it right.

If you don't know Dead Guy Days or haven't been, I highly encourage you to go at some point in your life-- unique only begins to describe it. And if you can ever track down the Orange Crunch, please eat there. It is one of the rare food truck gems that you don't want to miss--and I'm not just saying that because it serves Filipino.

Maria Empanada: Buenos Aires Comes to Lakewood

A couple weeks ago my wife and I (and babies) went to a party hosted by our friend of Cuban descent. We arrived late--extremely so-- as is our custom (or flaw depending on how you look at it), so our ropa vieja and other Cuban delights had to be re-heated in the microwave. While I was waiting for my plate to heat, I espied on other guests' plates the uneaten edges and leftover bits of Argentino-style empanadas withering away in the afternoon sun.

In other eras of my life, half-eaten empanadas would have been a step up from my usual meal, and it did cross my mind to reach over onto my neighbor's plate and sample his cold, already-been-chewed-on pastry. But I didn't really know too many people at this party, and I try not to embarrass my wife in front of her friends when I can help it, so I restrained myself and let it be.

A plateful of Cuban food later I was content and had just about forgotten those empanadas, but as we were leaving I saw a black-white menu on the counter; it read: Maria Empanada. I proceeded to stuff it in my pocket only to get a glare from my wife that read: "We don't take things from other people's homes without asking." Point taken, and since our hostess was busy with goodbyes, and all the hugging and kissing that goes along with that, I made the questionable call to try and remember to check out Maria Empanada as soon as possible.

Luckily my memory for eating potentially great food is better than my memory for the rest of life's more mundane tasks, and a few weeks later we made the trip to Lakewood to check it out.

Maria Empanada is an inviting little building that Buenos Aires native Lorena Cantarovici recently opened on Mississippi just East of Sheridan. Made to look like a rustic log cabin (it used to be a BBQ joint), it practically glows with welcoming warmth on an otherwise grungy street ripe with strip mall storefronts and half-empty parking lots. The inside is cozy and has a simple elegance that will make you want to stay all day, but the small space only has two tables and four chairs so the preferred method of ordering is take-out.

The empanada spread was thin when we entered, but it was an hour from closing and Lorena gladly offered to make us anything we wanted if we were willing to wait about seven minutes. With both babies asleep in their car seats on the floor we couldn't think of anything better than to catch our collective breath and sniff at the aroma of baking dough as it wafted from the kitchen.

In addition to the empanadas, there is also a lovely display of Spanish Tortillas and Argentine Tartas. After about three minutes of staring at these savory cakes, we decided we definitely needed to take home a couple slices.

Soon after the empanadas started to appear, and the very attentive man at the register arranged the dozen in a box, painstakingly labeling each on the lid above.

He then asked us if we would like any dipping sauce. From the four options we picked the chimichurri and the hot red salsa. We loaded it all up in our arms, excited to get home and enjoy our Argentine feast.

As is my wife's custom (a product of being raised in a big city where being cheated is the norm), on the way to the car she scrutinized the receipt and pointed out that we were charged for the sauces. That's like having to pay more for the salsa on your tacos, or for a packet of mustard for your hot dog. Sure it was only 70 cents on top of a 30-some dollar tab, but as they say, it's the principle of the thing.

70 cents worth of chimichurri and a mild hot sauce

Seconds later, however, I forgot all about being nickel-and-dimed for my chimichurri as I was biting into a spicy beef empanada and loving it. Still hot from the oven, the dough was flaky and slightly crisp. It was delicate but just hardy enough that the juicy fillings didn't leak all over my lap. The beef was not spicy in the least when you eat as many tacos as I do, but we are talking Argentina, Che, and if I closed my eyes and concentrated, I think I could taste that Porteño "kick".

Upon arriving home and re-warming our haul in the oven, I dug into a traditional beef, which has raisins on top of the spicy beef ingredients of olives, onions, peppers and eggs. This Argentine classic is what I had been hoping for when I first espied that menu and it did not disappoint. Even reheated it did not lose any of its crisp, flaky allure, and the subtle sweetness of the occasional raisin rounded out the strong, savory olives.

The only one I didn't love was the Blue Cheese that also came stuffed with melted queso fresco, walnuts olives and eggs. All the flavors, even the fresh-baked excellent dough got lost in an abyss of pungent cheese. The earthy Mushroom empanada, however, had just the right amount of cheese, and with plenty of simply seasoned sauteed mushrooms, this was one of my favorites.

The classic Ham and Cheese along with the Tango (ham, cheese, bell peppers, onions) were also excellent as the simple flavors let the dough shine.

My absolute favorite of the night was the Spinach. In the middle of this sauteed-spinach-and-onion-filled empanada was a hard boiled egg yolk. The meaty yolk and the gooey spinach were perfect together, and once again, the flavors were enhanced by the wonderful dough.

Cantarovici also makes Argentine Tartas, essentially a large pie with a flaky, empanada-like crust. We chose the Vegetable tarta. It was densely packed with finely julienned veggies (carrots, zucchini, bell pepper, onion) and a ton of fresh flavor. It was delicious.

And finally we tried a simple Tortilla Española. The layers of thin potatoes were perfectly cooked, as was the egg holding it all together. Bits of red and green bell peppers rounded out this well-executed, tasty tortilla.

The good of paying money for miniscule amounts of sauce is that it teaches one conservation. Maybe that was the point. In a move true to my Midwestern upbringing that would make my mother (and mother-in-law) proud, instead of throwing out the remains as I might have with free salsa, I put both almost-empty containers back in the fridge. It was only yesterday, almost two weeks after our empanada run that I felt compelled to finally throw them out.

There is still 7 or 8 cents of sauce left in there!

Cantarovici's empanadas have that home-cooked feel, and they should, as each is hand rolled and baked fresh continuously throughout the day. All in all I was impressed. Having spent a bit of time in the Capital Federal de Argentina, I would say it is well worth a trip to visit for a taste of a Porteña-made empanada right here in Denver. I only hope she is able to expand the seating options at some point, as it is such a great space. 

Empanada Express Grill in Denver!

I originally wrote about the Empanada Express Grill in Golden a couple years back and I gave a somewhat sarcastic and Denver-centric view of our far western neighbors that might have given the impression that I don't think much about Golden when it comes to making plans to eat out. Since that time I have had two good friends move their families to Golden, and Empanada Express Grill (which you may also know as Empanada Grill or Empanada Express or Empanada Express at Empanada Grill) has been at the center of some vague plans in my attempts to stay in touch with these friends by making the effort to drive all the way across town and dine with them. Well, those lame attempts at staying connected are about to get lamer, as Empanda Express Grill has opened another location much closer to my home in Denver.

I'm not sure what sign the Golden location has now, but it seems that in moving to Denver, the owner has settled on one of two names: Empanda Grill or Empanada Express Grill.  I found myself there as my wife, twins and I were headed out for another First Friday art walk, although this month instead of the crowded and rowdy Santa Fe we chose the decidedly more family-oriented and mellow Tennyson version.

However, before setting out on another double stroller adventure we needed to fuel up, as negotiating the four-wheeled monstrosity that is a stroller-for-two over rough, broken sidewalks, curbs, stairs, grass and the occasional drunken, over-friendly pedestrian calls for some serious calories. And what better calorie-laden cuisine than house-made empanadas and arepas from Denver's premier Venezuelan eating institution: Empanada Grill. 

The interior of the new Empanada Grill on 44th and Tennyson is as angular and odd-shaped as the far-away Golden hub making one wonder if this is by chance or if there is something in an awkwardly tapering trapezoid that just seems right to the owners. The shape of the restaurant, however visually appealing and culinarily (that may not be a word) inspiring it may be to the ownership, makes it rather challenging to maneuver and park a double stroller, as leaving it near the entrance means obstructing crucial restaurant operations and pushing it to the back causes it to act like a cork, bottling up access to the back tables. In retrospect, as I learn there is proper stroller etiquette in times like these (i.e. leave it outside asshole) I could have, well, left it outside. But being that there was only one other table occupied I didn't think it would matter.

It didn't. At least to the friendly server, who became instantly enamored with our twins as she herself was one. Although I have heard complaints about the service, for us, like in our previous experience it was-- if not fast by any stretch of the imagination-- at least friendly and inviting.

Last time I ate here I was impressed with the quality of everything I ate, from the empanadas and arepas to the myriad Venezuelan specialties like the tequeños y cachapas.

This time around I ordered a platter of Venezuelan specialties first and foremost of which was La Criolla arepa. This traditional circular corn masa delight is stuffed with a mix of shredded beef, black beans, fried plantain and queso blanco. The masa dough was wonderfully crisp on the outside and perfectly done yet pleasingly mushy on the inside. I think I read on the menu that these were baked. If that is the case I wish all my baked goods could taste this fried.

I also had empanada stuffed with carnitas. The Mexican-style carnitas were neither fully Mexican nor Venezuelan, but they were wonderfully tender and full of slow-cooked flavor. My wife ordered one with a fish filling, that was absolutely incredible and maybe my favorite bite of the night. Like the arepa, the empanada masa itself--although certainly fried--was a perfect balance of crisp and soft. And both masas were better than I remember them being before.

Fish

Carnitas

We also tried a few Hallacas, or Venezuelan Tamales.

They were cooked in plantain leaves and filled with things like olives, raisins, capers and a generous helping of ground beef. The slightly sweet and strongly savory was balanced well by the rich masa dough and made for an absolutely delicious tamale.

I also had a few of the aforementioned tequeños y cachapas. The cachapa, or mashed and fried sweet corn cake topped with the ubiquitous "white cheese" was as I remember it. I am not a huge lover of this slightly-too-sweet mash and it was the only thing left on my plate by the end of the meal. The tequeños, on the other hand, like the arepas and empanadas were even better then I remember them. It is hard to go wrong with a fried stick of cheese, but this dough was light, fluffy and slightly sweet--almost like a donut. A donut, that is, stuffed with cheese. Need I say more? 

Tequeño on top, cachapa underneath

While I was pleased with what I ate the first time at Empanada Express Grill this last time--as I've now mentioned several times-- I thought was even better. I'm not sure if they changed their masa recipe or the way they cook it. Maybe I was in Golden on an "off" night (though it was still quite good), or maybe this night was a particularly good night for the kitchen. It could be that just eating empanadas that much closer to my house made them taste that much better. Whatever the case, if there is any chance of you getting a traditional Venezuelan meal like we had that night, you should make your way on over to the Empanada Express Grill as soon as you can.

A Colorful Colorado Christmas with Denveater: Red Tango and a Holiday Light Show

This past weekend, my wife and I spent a colorful evening with Denveater and her significant other, the Director. We met in the parking lot of the restaurant Red Tango where they hopped in our car (nights that start out in a dark parking lots are often the best) and we took them to bear witness to what is becoming our favorite holiday tradition. We then returned to Red Tango and ate and drank until we had more than our fill. What follows is a series of questions I asked to her the next morning about how our night went down; in turn you can visit her site and get my side of the story.

So what did you think of the pre-dinner light show in Arvada?

Freaking fantastic! But what really made the experience complete was the four-pack of Sofia blanc de blanc you brought. Especially for a Jew, could there be anything better than drinking bubbly from a can in the backseat of a car parked before such a blazing display of Yuletide chaos? 

Christmas burns bright at 12177 E 58th Pl in Arvada

So I heard the Director got sick. Too many tacky holiday lights? Or bad arepas?

Nah—I think it was just the sheer amount of heavy food & red wine. I eat & drink to grotesque excess so often my stomach’s like my own inner abuse victim; it whimpers now and then, but its way too afraid to turn on me. 

The appetizers were probably the best part of the meal. Which was your favorite?

The arepas were excellent—at once fluffy & almost creamy, filled with a queso fresco that had a nice, slightly salty character. And though the chips it came with were stale, the simple, citrusy ceviche was well executed too, containing just red pepper, red onion & cilantro to highlight the firm chunks of orange roughy, topped with avocado pico de gallo. It was a falsely promising start...

The wine was maybe the next best thing. Thoughts from a wine expert in training?

Concha y Toro is Chile’s largest winery, & I think there's a widespread assumption is that the wines are just cheap, easy drinkers, but the Casillera del Diablo Carménère is really pretty decent. On the nose, Carménère ranges from startlingly strong bell pepper or jalapeno notes to those of chocolate & spices; this is one of the latter, very plummy on the palate. Not super-complex, but fun.

Describe your dish again. How exactly was that cream sauce? 

I had the ravioli de frijoles con pollo, which was interesting, if not entirely successful. The theoretically bold flavor combination—black beans & roasted onion inside the ravioli, blackened chicken & gorgonzola sauce on top—was undermined by clumsiness: the pasta dough was too thick & chewy, and the cheese sauce had the color & consistency of Liquid Paper—weirdly sticky. It would also have been strangely bland without the juices from the chicken mixing into it—although how they got there is a bit of mystery; you wouldn’t think a blackened chicken breast would release that much liquid onto the plate.

And the Director's arepas de carne mechada?  

Again, the arepas themselves were great, & their presentation was delightful, sandwiched between a mound of beef tinga & another of avocado pico de gallo & lettuce, drizzled with crema fresca. But the beef was just awful—rather than gaining from a smoky, tangy, & oniony simmer, it seemed to have just been tossed in sugary canned tomato sauce. Such a bummer.

What was up with my salad?

I think they forgot the oil in the dressing on the baby spinach! It just tasted like vinegar, salt, & red pepper flakes.

Did you really get up and go work out at 7am the next morning?

Um, almost. Skipped my yoga class but made it to step aerobics at 8. If I weren’t fairly disciplined about exercise, I’d be a butterball. As it is I’m an I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butterball—still plenty soft & greasy.

The meal was entirely mediocre and questionably poisonous, but somehow we had a great time. We also talked a lot about Don DeLillo, what is your favorite line from White Noise again?

“Do not advance the action according to a plan.” Which is exactly what we did (not do)! Though it has far more complex, both melancholy & sinister connotations in the novel, out of context it could easily accord with the Italian concept of dolce far niente (sweet doing nothing): just go with the flow alongside people whose company you value; eat, drink, be merry.

Would I go back? Visit Denveater's site for my take on Red Tango or travel to Wheat Ridge and go see for yourself.

Buchi, and the Denver Cuban

I don't know many people from Florida, but I am learning that anybody who lives, or has lived at some point in his life, anywhere South, of say, Tampa, is an expert on Cuban food. In fact, if you were actually born and raised in South Florida, you might as well just be Cuban; even if your ancestors trace their roots back six generations to decidedly non-exotic New Jersey, or some other Eastern state that has invaded Florida over the past several decades.

When my wife and I sat down at the bar of the Buchi Cafe Cubano on a lonely and snowy evening a few weeks ago, I thought to myself, "This is a nice Cuban cafe". It was simple but pleasant. There were fun pictures of smiling Cubans on the wall along with Cuban landscapes, dominoes stacked behind the bar, a Cuban flag or two and, of course, a Florida license plate. We struck up a conversation with our somewhat apathetic yet nice enough young server; I wondered to myself, "is this a Cuban family-owned and run place?"

"Is this a family-owned place?" I asked our server.

"Yeah," she said, and with no hint of sarcasm added, "This family from Florida owns it."

OK, I deserve that. "Cuban family?" I asked, hopefully.

"No," she said, and she thought for a moment, as if sensing my disappointment, "But I think the husband-- I think his best friend growing up was Cuban. Or something like that."

See what I mean? This guy is more Cuban than Castro himself. His best-friend is Cuban and he grew up in Florida. I'm not making fun, I just think it's really funny. I actually think there's nothing wrong with that at all, and I laughed to myself for secretly hoping our server was part of a large Cuban family come to Denver to rescue it from it's Cuban-less-ness by opening a cafe in Sunnyside. Anyway, I love the idea of cultures mixing so closely, and it is likely the single greatest thing our country has to offer. And in Denver, a Cuban best friend is certainly Cuban enough to open a Cuban restaurant. And if they make a good Cuban sandwich, all the better.

Cuba. Florida. Nuff said.

I've been wanting to go to this place for a while because I love Cuban sandwiches. Despite what may have come across earlier in this post as skepticism, if you make a good Cuban I will go to your place over and over again until you're sick of me, no matter where you hail from. In fact, my favorite Cuban in Denver has always been at Buenos Aires Pizzeria, and that is an Argentinean restaurant (but more on that later). So give me good sandwich made with pork and ham, press it on a grill, and I'll give you my unbiased yet highly opinionated opinion.

It is no secret what I order and out it comes. Before I get into the details, I would like to wander off on a tangent to clarify something: I could care less about luxuries such as "plates" and "utensils". At Buchi, this, apparently, is a good thing. Our server strolled over with our sandwiches wrapped in paper (like they should be) and sort of slid them down the bar in her (nice yet) apathetic way. This is totally good with me. I really don't need a plate. It just seemed out of place in a restaurant with table service and pretty nice wooden furniture. It is also funny (although the better word is ironic) as they have quite a few nice looking plates behind the bar, stacked on the shelves. (Maybe it's just for the atmosphere, like the dominoes.)

Looks... can be deceiving

So back to the sandwich. I unwrapped it and was surprised to see shredded roast pork, or lechón. Now at this point I was rather emotional and nostalgic, as lechón is like a brother to me. I calmed my excitement and took a bite. Salty. Really salty. And not that good. I tried to like it, bite after odd-tasting bite, but I didn't. A strange and offensive salty aftertaste stayed with me the rest of the night. A Cuban sandwich that I didn't like-- a first for me.

A couple of weeks later I was home and procranstinating some work-related activity; hungry, I started daydreaming of Cubans. I was on-line so started looking up more about Buchi. This place has more hype than the recent Pacquiao-Cotto fight (Pilipino!). And while I am certainly skeptical about hype and popularity, there were way too many ex-Floridians (AKA Cuban experts) who loved this sandwich. Now I'm not Floridian, but I have had my share of Cubans in other parts of the world that Cubans populate, and I like to think that I know what a good Cuban is. The one I had at Buchi the first time around was not one of them, but I caved to popular opinion and went back to give it another try.

I went back on another lonely and snowy weekend evening. I ordered the Cuban and got in the car. My wife was not willing to give them another try, so we were off to get some tacos (and eat them from a plate). I skeptically unwrapped and took a bite, ready to confirm my dislike in the face of all the Floridian fawning this sandwich receives. Surprise. It was much better. It was actually really good. The lechón was soft and tender as before, but was decidedly less odd-tasting. It was mustardy, full of pickles and a little drippy with tender pork juices. Gone was the acrid aftertaste. I liked it. To me it is still not Denver's Cuban savior, but it was a very good sandwich. I still prefer the straight sliced pork, or maybe it is just the way they prepare this shredded pork that doesn't quite do it for me.

And that brings me back to Buenos Aires Pizzeria. I still like their Cuban better, and over the years it has stayed consistent, albeit simple when compared to Buchi. I wrote about the Buenos Aires Cuban a few months ago, and have since been enlightened as to how the sandwich made it on to their menu: before moving to Denver the Buenos Aires family lived in--wait, you guessed it--Florida! Of course. But there's more. The wife of the owner's family is Cuban. According to her, after their time in Miami, "Being a true sandwich lover", her Argentine husband, "immediately appreciated the greatness of the Cuban." So it only makes sense that a Cuban sandwich made by a man who not only lived in Florida, but fell in love with a woman of Cuban descent, would make a truly inspired Cuban sandwich.

Since then I have also had the Cuban at Samba Room, and while I won't say much about it, just know that it too, is at least as good as Buchi's. I should probably go back to Buchi's again to try another appetizer, as the one we had the first night was pretty crappy-- but no one is paying me to do this, so I probably won't. I am talking about the empanadas. They were OK, I guess, but the dipping sauce tasted like putrid curry and I think it was supposed to be a chimichurri-type thing. And this came by recommendation of the server, as "the best thing on the menu." The saving grace was that the coffee was excellent-- the café con leche to be exact. I would like to like this place, so we will probably go back and check out the brunch at some point. And if I'm in the neighborhood and not looking for tacos, I'll try that Cuban again.

You should go and see for yourself, I don't not recommend it, but I can't stand inconsistency. That being said, the coffee was great-- and the second time around, so was the sandwich. 2651 West 38th.