The Cuban Sandwich: A Story of Flavor, Family, and Finding Home
I remember the first time I bit into a Cuban sandwich in Miami. I was ten years old, barely a year into our new life in America. My father had just picked it up from a small ventanita in Little Havana—a pressed sandwich wrapped in wax paper, still warm in his hands. He handed it to me and said, “No es como en Cuba, pero te va a gustar.” It’s not like in Cuba, but you’ll like it.