Pirate of the Caribbean

The languid afternoon atmosphere was decidedly different from the charged hubbub of our night visit. We lingered over the dish and ordered off La Cubanita's extensive and fun drink menu. Our friendly, handsome waiter was patient as we waved him off and buried our noses in books. We ordered fried plantains and crema fresca and idly nibbled the bananas' caramelized edges.

We finally ordered sandwiches. Again, a mixed bag, but as with the ribs, when La Cubanita hits, it's a home run. Ironically, the Cuban sandwich needed a lot of work. It was basically a glorified ham and cheese, as the signature pulled pork was so dry it made my tongue swell. The bistec sandwich, however, boasted the best carne asada this side of Havana. This time, the sharp lime marinade made itself known, and the beef was flawlessly tender. We caught ourselves grinning as we gobbled yucca fries, piping hot and crisp. It was at lunch where La Cubanita's concept started to match its execution.

I use that word "concept" intentionally. Lombardi himself calls his restaurants "concepts," a word you usually hear applied to arty rock albums and theoretical ideas rather than, say, burgers and fries. You'd be hard-pressed to hear such an abstraction refer to something as visceral and organic as food unless you were in Dallas. There's something Orwellian—or at least clinical—about using it to describe the places where we go to celebrate birthdays; to grab a quick, gossipy nosh with friends; or to merely sustain ourselves.

The thing is, Lombardi's got something right. At least, I figured so after that late lunch, as I picked up the reasonable bill and sucked down the last of my bright-orange virgin guava cocktail. The air was still and sultry, and as I ambled out in my flip-flops, past the good-looking Uptown couples on their way in for an early cocktail, for the briefest second I felt like I was on vacation. Only I wasn't—but I sure enjoyed the concept.