Lunch TIme

Lunch Time

We all have asked for a doggie bag when we can’t finish a good restaurant meal. Sometimes I wonder if the waiter thinks, “That’s for him, not the dogs.” Well, he is justified in thinking so, as many little bags and boxes of leftovers have waited in my refrigerator for my appetite to return. In our house, the dogs eat well, usually without leftovers, and some of them need special food anyway.

In Cuba, few people fail to take home the leftovers, and they often eat them themselves, like I do. We were at a large lunch gathering in a restaurant near Havana’s harbor when my friend, Nora Garcia, spoke up for all the leftovers. I knew these would go to the dogs as she has more than a dozen at home, and 8 more living at Aniplant’s headquarters. She always comes prepared with plastic bags. Food doesn’t go to waste in Cuba whether for dogs or people.

Nora and I had a plastic bag of beef chunks with us as we walked away from the restaurant, and we didn’t go half a block through the Plaza de las Armas, when we found a cute black dog wagging his tail and hoping for a treat.

It was as though he knew what was in Nora’s purse, and, of course, we stopped to feed him. He could have been a stray or he might have belonged to one of the booksellers in the Plaza. (Collars and tags are rare in Cuba.) Either way, his slender build suggested he could use some extra calories.

Well, you know the rest of the story—he got the leftover beef, and he will probably remember that meal for the rest of his life. Another time we were at the same restaurant at a table on the sidewalk, and I saw another dog out near the street hoping for a handout. I had some leftovers, so I took them out front and left them on the sidewalk for the dog, who happily attacked the food. The restaurant manager looked like he didn’t want the mess right in front of his place. I told him not to worry; it would all be cleaned up.

Sure enough, the dog “licked the platter clean,” meaning the sidewalk. The manager was satisfied, I felt really good at making that dog’s day, and nothing went to waste.

We usually visit Havana’s Bario Chino for a Chinese meal on each trip. I always order moros y cristianos, that is rice and beans, and the serving is unusually large, so I leave with leftovers. A couple of blocks away is a square block that has been torn down and made into a not-very-busy parking lot. It is fenced and the operator has three dogs. I ask permission to feed them, he gives it, and I parcel it out in three portions to the delight of the dogs. The man says he remembers me from year to year, but I’m not so sure.

Still, I know the dogs remember.

Les Inglis