The autumn equinox
is but two days old when I find myself in a short-sleeve top cycling along the
Regent’s Canal west London-bound. My destination? Acklam Village, on Portobello
Road. More than my two feet pedalling me forward, what drives me towards this
street food heaven is a Proustian madeleine: a long-held desire to sink my
teeth into a well-cooked Cuban sandwich again.
The waterway is
teeming with sun-seekers, willing to soak up the last drop of warmth this
surprising, still-lingering summer has gifted us. It is like watching bees and
butterflies feasting on late flowers in back gardens.
I arrive at Acklam
Village desperate for some heart-filling nosh and Leximan, le chef at Taste of Cuba*
is happy to oblige. Here is a man who not so long ago was trying to build his
own musical career only to realise that his future lay in the kitchen. Good for
him, we need more cooks like Leximan. His signature dish is the Cuban sandwich,
Santiago-style, and he certainly brings a personal touch to it. Roasted for
approximately seven hours, the meat looks soft and tender. I go for the whole
gallimaufry: the meat, diced finely and de-boned, a few pieces of skin, two
slices of ham and cheese, plenty of salad, a dollop of chilli sauce and a bit
of ketchup and mustard. The latter two are not really necessary and too much of
the red and yellow stuff can mar a tasty dish.
I would describe
myself as a “first bite/last bite” type of eater. This is easy to explain. The first
mouthful sets the mood, tests the taste buds and asks questions. The last
morsel on the plate is the one you want to savour slowly and take home with you.
That last spoonful or forkful guarantees the return ticket to the restaurant or
café.
Leximan does not disappoint
at all. The only comparison I can draw is to the final scene of Ratatouille when the food critic Anton
Ego eats the eponymous dish prepared by Remy the rat. Just like Anton and the childhood
memories the rodent’s recipe triggers in him, Leximan’s Cuban sandwich reminds
me of my much-loved, much-missed, late grandmother. She was the one in charge
of cooking the pork in my house.
The first bite I take
leaves me licking my lips. The meat is well pulled, tasty, tender, juicy and it has a kick
to it. The skin is crackly, just the way I like. Neither the cheese nor the ham
interferes with the flavour. I notice that I am scarfing down the food and
force myself to slow down. I look around. Leximan’s stall is flanked by two
Latin American joints: a Venezuelan and a Peruvian. A woman is singing a The Cranberries song in the indoor bar. Couples
wander around feeding each other. Wherever you turn there is the unmistakable
sign of activity. A couple of Far Eastern-looking women stop and check the menu
at Leximan’s stall. As I take the last bite of my Cuban sandwich I am reminded
once more of the bees and butterflies gorging on late flowers in back gardens
in this still-lingering summer. I wave goodbye and saddle up. Still in short sleeves,
down the Regent’s Canal.
* Although I have known Leximan for a few years now I paid for my food and this review is completely independent.
© 2017