I used to eat weekly at a restaurant called “Los Cubanos” in downtown San Jose. I remember ordering picadillo for the Tuesday’s specials and if I felt fancy, I’d order the oxtail stew. This restaurant was my first exposure to Cuban food. Unfortunately the restaurant was forced to move when the area was replaced with high-rise buildings and condos. I looked them up recently and sadly I don’t think they lasted long after their relocation. If they’re not going to reopen, I hope they share their recipes. [1]
One of the restaurant’s most memorable employee was a young waiter named Ernesto. As soon as we arrived at the gates, he would wave at us and ask us where we’d like to sit. If we wanted outside, he’d drag out umbrellas to shield us from the sun. If inside he’d line up tables so we could all sit together.
Once we were all seated, Ernesto with a smile asked how the team was doing. When my turn came up, he spoke to me in rapid-fire Spanish and I’d try to converse with him. Before showing up to the restaurant I’d google a few phrases and cache them in my head so I could have a conversation without swapping in English. We’d chat about the weather, our personal lives, where we’re from, how’s work – all in less than 5 minutes as he was fielding orders from everyone.
Even if we all got the same order every week, he’d listen and offer a few suggestions if he thought a menu item was a miss that day. With another smile he would wave and disappear into the kitchen. And then the food arrived.
He’d carry a large platter overhead with one hand with most of our meals on top. As he carefully set down the wooden table (the collapsable kind) with the other hand, he’d accomplish the feat of placing the platter on top of the table with a flourish. He reminded me of an magician unveiling the final act – a full Cuban meal with picadillo.
I always felt I was treated like I was an important person and he took pride in making sure everyone got what they wanted. He’d say something in Spanish like “para ti” (for you) as he served the bowl of soup, dish of picadillo, cuban rice, and the plantains. When everyone got their meal, he asked if we wanted hot sauce, and we all said yes. I definitely wanted the hot sauce. Tangy with mild heat.
At the end of the meal he’d ask if I wanted a sangria or a margarita, because he could sense the stress on me. Why not unwind a bit? I always politely declined since I was on the job. I couldn’t explain what technical due diligence was in Spanish. I never got a chance to have a drink with him. I would if I run into him again at a different time and place.
When we left the restaurant he would be at the front, polishing glasses, setting the tables and tidying the area. He’d wipe down the glasses with a white cloth, rotating the glass quickly and ensuring every water drop was gone. He then held up the glass to the light for a final check. And he’d smile. For every glass. I was inspired observing his work ethic. He took on waitering with such style.
No matter what I’m doing, if I’m going do a job – I want to execute like Ernesto.
With gusto.
[1] I keep trying to replicate the picadillo. For the longest time I couldn’t replicate the sour bell peppers. I discovered roasted bell peppers from Whole Foods to be a good approximation. The closest recipe for picadillo I could find is from Memories of a Cuban Kitchen
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