Cuban Revolution

The political concept that started Cuban Revolution may no longer be so relevant, but their updated space and authentic Central American comfort food certainly is.

Cuban Revolution

60 Valley Street, Providence, 632-0649, thecubanrevolution.com. Open daily 11 a.m. to midnight. Reservations accepted. Wheelchair accessible. Parking lot and street parking. Cuisine An oxymoronic Cuban American menu. Emphasis is on the former with some veggie burgers to boot. Capacity A hundred comfortably. Vibe Industrial chic, including a big, broad bar and leather lounge area. Prices Appetizers $4–$8, entrees $6.25–$17.25, desserts $4.50–$5.50. Karen’s picks Tapas: albondigas, empanadas, okra and tomatoes, tostones and maduros. Sandwiches are appropriate anytime.

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Is it possible that—so far removed from the frontlines—we have begun to romanticize ideological discord? What was once a grassroots revolt against capitalism seems to have embraced the treasures of free enterprise. No longer a dark and somewhat seedy counter-cultural gathering place (as at their original location on Washington Street), Cuban Revolution’s latest outpost is an urbane, bar-centric space that asserts its allegiance to the rebels with Warhol-inspired prints. The aesthetic is similar (and menu identical) to the branch that opened on Aborn last year, though the surroundings are more dramatic. So where do you dig up a clientele that’s dedicated to the revolution but likes the struggle to be wrapped in mood lighting and twenty-foot ceilings? There’s really only one place to go: Olneyville. There’s no other area of Rhode Island that embraces the raw materials of industrialization and the grace of contemporary design with such aplomb. 

The space itself speaks to the dichotomy of the American—er, communist—Dream: lush and abundant on occasion but always with the threat of something darker. Two large plasma TVs displaying football and baseball hang perpendicular to nine small screens that document Che Guevara’s exile from Cuba and his eventual—and rather graphic—death at the hands of United States-trained Bolivian soldiers. Decor is equally disparate: The heavy whitewashed brick of old-world Providence mixes comfortably with industrial tubing; potted palms with a brushed stainless bar. Even the music alternately supports and defies the revolution, showcasing Dylan’s “Masters of War” and then Marilyn Monroe’s breathy rendition of “Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend.”

The menu has gone through some marked modifications in the last several months, including the addition of two dozen tapas-style dishes. This we know: Dissenters are a busy bunch and have little time for the tediousness of an entree. On the other hand, for those who merely bask in the sweat of the insurgents, there are several main courses that elevate the restaurant to rendezvous status (be that political or romantic). But, while the modern cocktail list (full of berries, fizz and froth) connotes revelry, abandon and escapism, the food does just the opposite. The reason I love smaller, ethnic-bound restaurants so much—and Cuban Revolution is a prime example—is that the food is not an escape from anything: not from technique, not from trends, and not from style. It’s a return to home. A home that, perhaps, you knew nothing about until your first bite.

CR’s sandwiches have long had a cult following in Providence, but the tapas dishes are often a far better gauge of Cuban tradition. There are some anomalies (when’s the last time Fidel ate feta with piquillo peppers?) but far more culinary and cultural coups. A small crock of albondigas (Spanish for meatballs) came to the table in a thick tomato sauce characterized by a tangy sweet flavor one night and dominated by a hearty dice of garlic on another (both delicious). While European kitchens subscribe to steadfast consistency, it’s the freedom to improvise just slightly that defines homestyle cooking. Make no mistake: Things don’t always look pretty, but they taste pretty darn good.

Several slices of thick, fried, green plantains (tostones) are served with a subtle garlic dip, while wedges of the sweet, ripened variety (maduros) are sauteed and served alongside sour cream. The former works well with a squiggle of hot sauce, but the latter’s too good to cover with anything: a simple brittle crust encapsulating viscous sugar.
The real voice of Cuban Revolution, however, belongs to the fist-sized empanadas. My camouflage- and black-clad server asserted that the portabella and
asiago version was “awe-some!” though my choice would still be for the seasoned beef or slightly spicy chicken, which offer authenticity and garner hyperbolic praise. In fact, the empanada dough represents the quintessential CR experience. It’s dense and chewy, and though a French-man might turn up his nose and declare
the dough overworked, you can taste the rhythm of the knead and the care in the crimp. Someone’s Cuban mama is looking down with pride.

Entrees follow suit, offering traditional items such as roasted pork, black beans and yellow rice. Seared ahi tuna with pine-apple made its way onto the menu, though it has the strange scent of assimilation and is bland to boot. The best options are often beef: ropa vieja, a stew of flank steak and tomatoes, and a homestyle steak chimi-churri. The skirt steak is disconcertingly chewy, but the herb sauce more than makes up for it, and the side dishes are better than mom’s mashed potatoes and gravy. A myriad of comfort foods grace the plate, including a simple puree of sweet potatoes, wedges of adobo-sprinkled Cuban toast and the only vegetable more maligned than lima beans: okra. Okra came to Cuba through African tradition (both by way of the Caribbean and the presence of African slaves) but bears the mark of Spanish influence as well. Mixed with tomato and sauteed in butter, you can glimpse the effects of these diverse ethnicities on our own Southern cuisine.

Most desserts are made elsewhere and are decidedly more—no surprise—American. Chunky brownies drizzled in chocolate sauce, cheesecake packed with dulce de leche, and tres leches cake (sounds Cuban, still tastes like birthday cake) are all good if you like drastically refined (that is, swe-e-e-et) desserts. The flan, however, gets points for being subtle and homemade, so go that route if you’re putting on international airs.

So what is the effect of sensationalizing the truly difficult (and ongoing) political discord between America and Cuba? What sense of awareness can we really get from pop art and a slightly subversive waitstaff? Perhaps nothing. Americans are not, dare I say, a terribly active group of radicals these days, and—who knows?—Cuba may start to look a bit more like her capitalist cousins under new leadership. Regardless, diners will still take a lot from Cuban Revolution, not the least of which is the opportunity to let political tensions simmer for a couple of hours while they enjoy a meal and a little culture. Viva la revolucione? Viva las empanadas!

Karen Deutsch is a graduate of the French Culinary Institute in New York.