Sticks of Fire: a Tampa blog

Starting a discussion about what makes a “real” Cuban sandwich can elicit strong opinions and unearth longstanding feuds. There is one ingredient on which all the sandwich sectarians agree. It’s not a Cuban sandwich without authentic Cuban bread. The ingredients are simple enough; flour, water, salt, yeast and lard. But the result cannot be duplicated outside the family owned bakeries of Tampa and Miami; a crusty torpedo that would make any Frenchman envious.

My introduction to the staple came at age six, when I entered the Hillsborough County school system from more Northern climes. I doubt the recipe has changed much in 25 years. The public school version of the Cuban sandwich consists of one or two thin slices of cheap boiled ham and salami, one slice of stinky government cheese, pale neon green pickles and mustard on five to six inches of semi-fresh Cuban bread; a logic defying composition, MUCH GREATER than the sum of it’s parts.

The bread was so hard and chewy that it often led to the lunchtime extraction of the last of my baby teeth. New teeth grew in, almost as fast as I grew an appetite for that most Cuban of confections. At least once a week, and later as a daily option, the Cuban sandwich was the heart of the school lunch menu. As bland and unassuming as it sounds, that simple chewy sandwich was a welcome relief from the reheated Salisbury steak and chicken nuggets. Throughout our school years, my classmates and I consumed millions.

More than just a meal, the Cuban sandwich was my introduction to the history and cultural identity of Tampa Bay. The sandwich was a bridge that connected me to the Teddy Roosevelt and the Rough Riders, the mysterious minarets of the Plant Hotel, cigar factory workers of Ybor and the Diaspora of communist Cuba’s refugees; some of whom were my classmates.

I’d like to think that the Cuban sandwich has given me a certain kind of cultural identity, something that everyone who has grown up in Tampa Bay has in some part shared. As I’ve traveled to and lived in other cities across the country, I’ve sampled many imitation Cubans. Their similarity to and difference from the five inch version that I had in school fondly reminds me of bay area and that culture and history that we’ve all shared.

That’s why it saddens me to read that Pinellas County schools will no longer be serving locally baked Cuban bread in their cafeterias. For the students and staff, who will now dine on soft and starchy instant-bake rolls of the frozen variety, it’s not just a culinary tragedy. It’s a cultural tragedy.

Here’s hoping that Hillsborough schools will not follow suit. For pennies on the dollar, Cuban bread is worth a little extra dough.