Our search for the “Perfect Cuban Sandwich” is the perfect blog choice.
Blogging allows for us to share our latest adventure with you, the reader. The appeal of a sexy, sultry piece of something good is worth boasting about, for more reasons than the one. As you’ll notice in our Cuban sammy posts, we include the links to the joints we patronize because we want the peeps we dine with to get their propers. The restaurant biz is a shit for proposition- fraught with thankless hours, big overhead and myriad personnel decisions that oftentimes make or break a successful operation. So it only stands to reason that anyone who throws themselves into that kind of fire must really love what they do. And we LOVE that. So that’s what the links are for, It’s our small and earnest way of saying Muchas gracias.
Please understand that we are NOT a food blog. We are a passion blog, whose endless pursuit of romance in the simple things will catapult us into the people, places and things of a small world whose boundless mysteries are always going to be worth the journey. And I will never use the term “foodie”, because I believe it undermines the very essence of our love affair with food. It mitigates the religious experience of a righteous bite, it dismisses the longhand description of tasty love, it scraps the synonyms of sate. So nah . . . no “foodie” talk at our place. That is all.
Reading, Pennsylvania is a town whose face has more miles on it than the Marlboro Man. Born in 1748,- a progeny of the brothers Penn- Reading is the county seat of Berks. Way back in the day, Reading was home to a military base whose location served as a conduit for a chain of forts strategically placed along the Blue Mountain during the French/Indian War. Later, during the Revolutionary War, the town became a military depot that supplied George Washington’s Army with cannons, rifles and ammunition thanks to an iron industry whose production exceeded that of England’s.
Nowadays, the shock and awe comes courtesy of the restaurants that call Reading home. Because this place has some major league food going on. So when me and Linds started talking about localities in the general vicinity, I got to thinking about this town. Sho ’nuff, we hit the jackpot with the Sofrito Gastro Pub– a delightful corner joint with a soulful vibe.
The blueprint for the Sofrito Cuban sandwich rhymes with smoove. The star of the show is the slow roasted pork that melts in your mouth like buttah under the Caribbean sun. You got your ham, which serves as the getaway driver for this big job. Swiss cheese provides the creamy union with pickles serving as the stern yet savory babysitter to this splendidly bad ass cast of characters. The finishing touch? A garlic aoli that breaks all the rules of the traditional in a deliciously rebellious sway that brings this whole dance together. And to the press- that time honored hug that melds all these independent minded flavors into one succulent bite, Sofrito abides.
We scored this sexy sammy a 7.5 out of 10. We’re tough graders, yes, but that doesn’t mean we didn’t fall in deep love with this rendition. It’s just that, we must oblige by the sacrosanct tenets of the traditional Cuban sammy or mi abuelita is gonna start throwing her high heels shoes at me again . . . from the hereafter. She believed in sexy heels, strong drinks and Cuban sandwiches dressed up in the traditional manner.
I ain’t messing with that kind of love.