Sugarcane is rampant in Cuba. The primary agricultural commodity in that country has, over the years, pushed other vegetation out of existence. Land once covered with palm and banana trees is devoted to the succulent grass. Sugarcane is the basis of that most Caribbean of spirits, rum, which in turn is a primary ingredient, along with cola, in the libation known as a Cuba libre. Like its namesake country and beverage, the Henderson Street restaurant Cuba Librealso depends heavily on sugarcane; it's not a place for the diabetic.
Kristen Karlisch
For a seat-yourself, late-night, stylish bar-restaurant, the food's pretty good.
Kristen Karlisch
Tall, frozen drinks are the sustenance of choice for the pretty people at Cafe Libre.
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(214) 827-2820 Open 11 a.m.-2 a.m. daily
Plantain chips with three dipping sauces: $3.99
Yuca nachos: $6.99
Tortilla salad with blackened shrimp: $7.99
Jerk chicken tacos: $7.99
Black pepper-molasses grilled tenderloin: $13.99
Coconut chicken tenders: $5.99
Banana-nut bread pudding: $3.99
Mahi sandwich: $7.99
2822 North Henderson
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Cuba Libre has a young, bar-like atmosphere, especially upstairs, where we seemed to be the only people eating full-blown meals. The youthful, thin, slightly too pretty crowd gets its primary sustenance from tall, frozen drinks and big appetizers, both of which are heavily sweetened. In this room--with its bright colors, dim lighting, and blaring music--fancy bar food with tropical touches is appropriate refreshment.
On our first visit, I was sure our appetizer, seemingly meant to feed a mob, was going to spoil our dinner. As it turned out, though, the yuca nachos with jerk turkey and napolitano queso was not as massive a dish as it appeared. The turkey, little pieces of springy ground meat, was plentiful, with a sweetness that was complemented nicely by the mellow, creamy white cheese and the fresh, flavorful pico de gallo. There just wasn't enough of this topping to sufficiently cover the huge mound of yuca chips. And covered is the only way I'd want to eat these chips, as they were hard, kind of like stale potato (though this is a fault of nature and the yuca plant, not of Cuba Libre), and lacking in salt. We didn't feel slighted, though; rather than being short on toppings, the nachos were just long on chips.
The blackened shrimp tortilla salad was big too, a hemisphere of lettuce, diced tomatoes, corn, black beans, and slivers of tortilla chips (some of which were stale) glued together with just the right amount of tangy avocado ranch dressing. The shrimp perched on the side of the plate tasted fresh and not overly blackened, but were a teensy bit on the dry side. Overall, though, the dish was satisfying, and the shrimp added enough gustatory heft to make the salad a meal.
The coconut chicken tenders were tasty enough to make them a full meal. Their dark-colored, coconut-predominant batter was slightly sweet and wonderfully crisp. Most of the chicken was plump and juicy, though the scrawnier pieces tended to be overcooked. The creamy mustard served on the side, mild and a little tangy, provided a nice counterbalance.
A starter of plantain chips was served with that same mustard, along with avocado ranch dressing and salsa mayonnaise. Though the dipping sauces were fine (despite a mayo that was a little short on salsa flavor) and nicely complemented the slightly sweet (surprise!) chips, they were incidental to the success of this appetizer. Unlike the yuca chips, these plantain slivers were delicious on their own--uniformly crisp and dusted lightly with cinnamon sugar.
All these small plates are perfectly appropriate upstairs; however, if you're eating a full dinner, downstairs is the place for it. This is the more grown-up, bona fide restaurant space. Like the upstairs bar, it has bright colors on its booths and its murals, which look a bit as if they were painted by an undiscovered artist named Enrique de la Matisse. And while the music still had plentiful elements of the youngish and loudish, we found it easier to talk here.
Plus, with the improved lighting downstairs we were able to verify that we actually received our black pepper-molasses grilled tenderloin; furthermore, we could see that its mahogany-colored shellac gave way to a silky, dark pink inside. I was glad this cut wasn't any thinner, lest its grainy, caramel-like glaze overpower its properly grilled flesh. And while many would be pining for a taste of a nice, unfettered root vegetable after this sugary meat, I suppose some may be pleased by the mashed plantains. This pale yellow mixture was thick, a little sticky, and, yes, fairly sweet. I found myself eating it for a (slight) change of flavor rather than for its own sake. (Like many of God's foods, plantains, it seems, are better fried than mashed.) And I found no bitter relief when I moved on to the jerk vegetables. This pile of grilled squash, zucchini, and peppers was covered in a sweet, clovey sauce, the flavor of which stayed with you even when you moved on to something else. The entire plate was too sweet; if only there were a saltier element to serve as a foil.
There was a little more positive savory foiling to be found with the jerk turkey meatloaf with mushroom gravy. The ground jerk turkey was related to the meat on the yuca nachos. The moist, mild flesh revealed a tidbit of heat and was covered with a beautifully creamy, buttery sauce with thick, firm slices of mushroom. And while this gravy was delicious, there was perhaps a tad too much of it. Unlike many loaves of meat, which too often tend to need moistening and/or covering up, this one was plentiful enough in flavor and juiciness. The side dishes served with this entrée were no surprise: The "red pepper-smashed" boniatos (Cuban sweet potatoes), while better than the plantains, were thick and, of course, sweet; the vegetables were like those served with the tenderloin, only a smidgen lighter and less obtrusive. This dish had been taken off the menu on our second trip. This is unfortunate, because it was probably the best entrée tried.
