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| RER 4.20.15 |
They
were spontaneous for his
birthday. It was a Monday and they decided they would not be quiet. They
would step out of the box and sit at the bar.
This
time the dark red walls of The Cuban were not suffocating and
the low hanging lights felt brighter. Even the bar felt welcoming and open, not
just high stools and slick counters. It was different. Better. They were
celebrating a birthday.
They
were ready to take on the menu. Both menus.
Their happiest
hour involved a rainbow of mojitos and caipirinhas: blush with guava, golden
with passion fruit, electric with apples and winter white with coconut. Each
was distinct and flavorful, and strong enough to keep her giggling.
But the bites
held an intensity of feelings and flavors, satiating hungry eyes and insides.
Fatty and delightful pork pieces blending with slinky onions and garlic green
mojo were hardly forgotten in the tumult of their mirth.
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| RER 4.20.15 |
Warm moments of
sticky sweet plantains wrapped with thin salty bacon and showered with farmer’s
cheese made them tongue-tied, when their mouths knew no bounds.
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| RER 4.20.15 |
Mussels and
chorizo sinking in wet broth and encaged by soft aioli-drizzled and smoky
paprika-dusted fries made messes like wet kisses.
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| RER 4.20.15 |
They
gulped down the drinks and the atmosphere, laughed too loudly, and showed their
affection, through delicious bites and wide smiles. Of course they did, because
it was his birthday...
RER
4.20.15
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| RER 4.20.15 |
