I’ve learned something about Cuban sandwiches — they aren’t photogenic. In person, the combo of melted swiss cheese, succulent roast pork, ham, pickles and mustard on crusty golden bread is irresistible. But in pictures, it doesn’t make you wanna mambo.
Went to Versailles in Culver City last night with awesome pal Tom, and my review is mixed. They want you in and outta there faster than you can say platanos maduros. (Sweet plaintains.) The bare-bones, cafeteria-like atmosphere is lively in that the waiters are in a hurry and it’s LOUD. Everything — the food, the plates, your dining companion — is in soft-focus due to an omnipresent film of grease. The aforementioned plantains were mushy and bland.
But oh, the sandwich. Paradise for pork-lovers. Priced at a mere $7.95 and served with a mountain of crisp, perfectly-seasoned fries, it’s a meal fit for the dickiest of dictators. (Fidel joke #2.)
Guess I like my sandwiches like my men, greasy, rich and bad for me! (Okay okay, so I haven’t done so well in the ‘rich’ department. But I’ve more than made up for it in the ‘bad for me’ category!) Why can’t I crave a nice kale sandwich, or a broccoli burger?
I think my next date with the sandwich will be take-out. We want to be alone. Hasta manana, amigos!