Chinatown 

On my first trip to Cuba I was surprised to learn Havana has a Chinatown.  I wanted to see it, but why the surprise?  After all, the Chinese, as the most populous country in the world, for centuries had sent its people to the far corners of the world.  Thus we have Chinatowns in New York, Chicago, and San Francisco—why not Havana? 

To find Havana's Chinatown you only need to walk around to the back side of the Capitolio, Havana's most famous building.  Then take a few steps past the Cuban Telephone tower where my friend, Dulce, worked many years ago.  (The Cuban Telephone company was the first US owned business to be nationalized after the 1959 Revolution.)  Now you can see a large oriental arch with a pagoda roof at the entrance to Barrio Chino, Cuba's Chinatown.

Once through the arch you see Zanja Street is closed to autos.  It's a narrow pedestrian street stuffed with Chinese restaurants, each with a young man or woman out front trying to show you a menu.  In truth, after several visits, I've never passed completely through the street.  I always got waylaid by the menu hawkers and guided in to a table for lunch.

Of course they all have the traditional Chinese dishes—chop suey, Bhudda's delight, lo mein —but these restaurants also offer rice and bean dishes like my favorite, Moros y Cristianos, which is black beans and white rice.  I'll admit I could probably find something more exotic, but I happen to love beans and rice.  I think after years of practicing vegetarianism, my tastes have become simpler.  Anyway the many types of beans and of rice and the many ways of cooking them offer vegetarians a large variety of dishes.

You can sense that life in Cuba isn't easy for most people, including Chinese restaurateurs.  Coping with shortages is a constant problem.  On one of my Chinatown visits I was given a paper napkin.  As I opened it, I discovered the napkin was actually half a napkin neatly torn into two rectangles along a fold line.  Other periodic shortages force waiters to explain that not every menu item is available every day. 

Service is good or bad depending on your luck in choosing a restaurant.  Most dining is on the second floor so you can't see how crowded the place is while out on the street dealing with the menu hawkers.  One time we were we were worried to see our little table for three was right next to a party of twelve at a long line of tables pushed together.  I knew we were in for slow service, and I was right.

The servings always seem large to me, but in Cuba everyone has a plastic bag to take home leftovers.  Nora calls the plastic bags the Cuban's second stomach.  Not having a bag was no problem for me—for a few coins the restaurant offered styrofaom boxes for leftovers. 

My leftovers were for a couple of dogs I'd seen in a fenced vacant lot used as a parking lot.  These dogs obviously belonged to the lot attendants and ran to me when I stopped by the fence.  A few words is Spanish got me permission to feed them.  I knew they would love even beans as you could see traces of their ribs under their fur.  It turned out there were three dogs, and I divided the food into three portions.  The dogs politely each ate his own portion and didn't bother his canine friends.  How like my own dogs, I thought.  They never bother their housemates when they are eating. 

I made the parking lot stop to feed dogs two times on different trips a year apart.  The lot attendant said he remembered me, but he my just have been being polite. 

I know the dogs remembered me, though. 

Les Inglis