When The Smoke Clears-The Cigar and the Cuban Sandwich
“It’s settled! Miami still is the Cuban sandwich capital of the world!” touts an editorial from the Miami Herald. Anyone from Tampa would argue the veracity of that statement, and if you were to stop and ask anyone in either city what makes an authentic Cuban sandwich, you would get a different answer. The Tampa version must include salami, while you will only find mayo or tomatoes on a Miami Cuban. While rivalries are often over sports, these two cities clash on bread: namely, which city can call the Cuban sandwich, or cubano, their own?
Today is National Cuban Sandwich Day, and it’s hard to imagine there is anyone who hasn’t sampled some variation of the classic. Found on menus all over the country, there are two places on the map that claim to be the home of the most “authentic” sandwich. Both Miami and Tampa are peppered with the flavors of Cuba from waves of immigration from the nearby island. While they both have the same influence, they have given birth to two unique cultures. One thing that both proudly stand behind is their version of the sandwich that made its way from immigrant fare to the bright lights of fast food chains. If you are going to find the true origin of this contested food, you will need a light. For your cigar, that is. This story of a sandwich of dubious origins can only be understood by the glow of a cigar and the industry that grew out of the Cuban exile.
The Cuban, as the name suggests, traces its origin to, you guessed it-Cuba. As the movement for independence from Spain gained traction, many Cubans found their way to the United States, and New York and the Key West soon had burgeoning Cuban populations. They brought along with them not just their savory spices and cooking style but their skill in the tobacco trade. Cigar factories utilized the expertise of these political exiles, and Florida, Key West, New Orleans, and New York soon became centers of production for American cigars.
The desire for Cuban independence was percolating, and more and more Cubans turned to America to escape the violence and struggling economy. Key West became a popular destination for Cuban workers, and many traveled back and forth between Havana and Florida. As the fight for Cuban independence drug on, many exiles spread their way to New York, New Jersey, and eventually, Tampa.
In Tampa, the neighborhood of Ybor was founded in 1886 by a Spanish-born Cuban entrepreneur, Vicente Ybor. Ybor fled Cuba to escape political persecution and built cigar factories in Key West. Labor unrest made Key West less than ideal; however, Ybor was searching for a new location for his factories, preferably one with better access to transportation. The location outside of Tampa that was pitched to him had it all: access to rail, port, and road and plenty of room to house the workers needed.
What does any of that have to do with the popularization of a sandwich? Well, this wave of Cuban migration brought with it the mixto, a sandwich made with Cuban bread that held an assortment of meats. While this was typically a food enjoyed by the wealthy in Cuba, it became popular with the factory workers in Tampa. As the cigar industry boomed, the factories appealed to immigrants from Spain and Italy, as well as Cubans who were already firmly planted in the city. Social clubs and cafes sprung up to offer food and entertainment as the community grew.
It was in this environment that the traditional Tampa Cuban was born. Cuban immigrants, looking for a way to stretch their resources, started baking long, narrow loaves of bread. The trademark was a palmetto leaf that was put on top of the loaf as it was baking and removed after it cooled, giving the bread its signature crease. Early inhabitants of Ybor had a daily “bread man” who would come and slap a loaf onto a waiting nail by the front door. It is that bread that has been made the same way for over a hundred years (the first bakery to produce this type of Cuban bread was built in 1896) that makes the Tampa version of the sandwich stand out. On that bread, Spanish ham is married to a slow-cooked Cuban mojo pork, and the salami (only found on a Tampa Cuban) and its final component: the press. The use of the plancha, a hot, smooth iron, gives the sandwich its satisfying crunch.
It is said the Columbia Restaurant has had a variation of the Cuban on the menu since it opened in 1905, but what that entailed back then, no one knows. What is known is that they have used the same bakery, La Segunda, for the bread the sandwich sits on since 1915. While Tampa might be able to take credit for the earlier version of the modern Cuban sandwich, Miami brought it to the public consciousness. A new surge of Cuban immigration following Castro’s rise to power inundated Miami and made it the new epicenter of Cuban-American culture.
I’m not a purist, but growing up just outside of Tampa and having lived and worked there, my allegiance definitely lies with the Tampanian argument. While I would never ever put a tomato on my Cuban, I appreciate the folks who have the flexibility to bend with tradition. If it weren’t for them, we wouldn’t have the Cuban at all. In Ybor, you can celebrate the sandwich at the annual Cuban Sandwich Festival, which currently holds the Guinness Book of Records for the longest Cuban ever made.
Whatever you put on your Cuban, consider pairing it with a cigar and washing it down with a cuba libre made with rum and coke. If you would like to know more about the history of the Cuban Sandwich, check out The Cuban Sandwich: A History in Layers by Andrew T. Huse, Dr. Bárbara Cruz, and Jeff Houck
