This is all taken to even further extremes with the Croqueta Preparada, a sandwich that piles several of these already-rich little guys onto two slices of Pan Cubano, along with the usual condiments. The version I had also included swiss cheese and ham, which seemed a tad perverse, although I appreciated how the usual logs had been reimagined as flattened fritters to prevent them from sliding off the sandwich. The sandwich proves an interesting mutation of the Cuban, even if its essential heaviness seems ill-suited to the Miami heat. Returning to the land of finger foods, my trip to Naples also unveiled another croquette variant in the Crab Roll (aka Croqueta de Jaiba), which has apparent roots in a Tampa specialty. I don't think that the version I had was filled with that city’s famous deviled crab, instead using a rather ordinary paste, the claw merely there for appearances.
Fritas - More properly known as the Frita Cubana, this re-imported burger tradition strikes me as part of a larger Caribbean constellation of burger-ry, in which rough-chopped beef (often padded out with chorizo or other sausage) stands in for the finer American grind. Other non-traditional bonus ingredients, from mayo to potato sticks, often make an appearance. Non-Cuban versions include the Dominican Chimi and the Puerto Rican Tripleta, not to mention the Chopped Cheese, a product of Upper Manhattan / Bronx bodegas that I’m convinced has some heritage from this part of the world.
To return to the Frita, I actually ended up eating this in Key West, where it proved the perfect ending to an evening, following closely after a few beers. This seems like an appropriate place to note that while I Intended to eat many sandwiches during my week in Florida (the Medianoche, which I’ve thankfully eaten before, Spanish Subs at Sarussi, the Elena Ruz, the Pan con Lechon, and the the Pan Con Bistec (aka a Palomillo Sandwich), I fell far short of this goal. It’s important to remain humble, as the world of sandwiches remains vast, and ultimately unconquerable.
Nactamal - This Nicaraguan standby, the country’s version of the tamal, also pops up in Costa Rican and Honduran cuisine. Prepared, in the style of most sub-tropical tamales, in plantain or banana leaves, it’s generally filled with pork and a smattering of other support ingredients. I need to unfortunately couch all this description in hypotheticals, since for whatever reason, the version I purchased was little more than a solid brick of masa, livened up only by some diced leaves (Moringa, I assume, considering its prominence in Nicaraguan cuisine). The emptiness of my potential lunch might be due to possible cross-breeding with the Cuban tamal, which I also saw in a few instances with nothing inside, acting as a steamed corn accompaniment to heavier plato fuerte fare. Whatever the case, I was annoyed that my one attempt to try Nicaraguan, a food largely unavailable in New York, was foiled by forces (mostly) beyond my control. In a further instance of over-eager idiocy netting me a dense snack with nothing inside, I blindly ordered an invisible item labelled on the wall as “tortas,” which turned out to be a slightly larger spin on the native tortillas.
Papas Rellenas - A ball of fried mashed potatoes with a ground beef center. These show up all over Latin America, but the Cuban version seems to favor a thick potato base with a small heart of picadillo at the core.
Pastellitos (Cuban & Nicaraguan) - Cuban ones for breakfast, also with picadillo. Nicaraguan ones with cheese and pineapple. The latter has origins in a larger pie.
Seco Norteno - Nicknamed the “Capital of Latin America”, Miami has an immigrant culture often portrayed only through the lens of countries with which it shares an aquatic border, from Cuba to Colombia. It shouldn’t be forgotten that there’s also healthy Peruvian, Ecuadorian and Argentine communities in the city. I ended up opting for Peruvian on one of the few nights I strayed from the usual Floribbean fare, with an interesting stew that, as its name indicates, hails from the northern part of the country. Traditionally done with goat, it was prepared here with beef, steeped in an intense cilantro sauce and accompanied by Mayacoba (aka Canary) beans, which I’d not seen before and am eager to try again.
Sopa de Cherna - One more rendition of grouper, this time in liquid form. Hearty and a bit gelatinous, the soup bears the trademark of real fish scraps in its preparation, the probable clue to which lies elsewhere on the menu at La Camaronera. These are the grouper cheeks, an item that I skipped due to expediency (also missing out on an enticing special of fried roe, and which I assume leaves behind enough spare fish heads to spawn this velvety stock.