Jeff Houck

The Tampa Tribune’s food writer since 2005, Jeff Houck covers the way people live through their food. He also hosts the Table Conversations food podcast and believes that everything crunchy is good.

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[Reinventing The Cuban] Richard Gonzmart Wants To Put You In A New Sandwich For $7.95

Posted Sep 3, 2009 by Jeff Houck

Updated Sep 3, 2009 at 08:53 AM

I grew up in St. Petersburg. I lived, for all practical purposes, only a half-hour car ride from Ybor City, yet I never ate a Cuban sandwich until I moved to Florida’s east coast about 15 years ago.

When I finally did, I couldn’t get enough of them.

It helped that the first Cuban I devoured was made during a lunch break at the Havana Restaurant on Dixie Highway in West Palm Beach. They stacked the sandwiches in the window like cords of firewood, waiting for the inevitable lunch and dinner rushes.

There was a military precision to the sandwich counter’s operation: Order, press to a crisp, wrap, bag, pay ... NEXT! Served with a side of buttery white rice and a cup of black beans with chopped onions, I was deliriously happy by the time I got back to work

I’ve spent the years since in search of the perfect Cuban. Restaurants, food carts, airport kiosks. You name it. I’ve eaten everything from miniature Cuban sliders to the aircraft carrier-sized sandwich served at Brocato’s off I-4 in Tampa.

I’m not a purist. One of the best ones I ever had was served at a gas station. But it always irks me when people get the sandwich wrong. Smothering the bread with honey before pressing it is messy and unnecessary. Throwing a pile of vegetables on it doesn’t make it better.

A grocery counter clerk once asked me what kind of bread I wanted my Cuban sandwich made with.

“Uh… Cuban bread?”

So I understand the near-maniacal passion fourth-generation restaurateur Richard Gonzmart has for getting the sandwich right.

Gonzmart realized two years ago that the Cuban sandwich served at his family’s Columbia Restaurant was a good value at $7.50, but he craved the version he remembered eating as a boy. Through the years, the sandwich just tasted … different.

So Gonzmart began a quest two years ago to remake the sandwich using the recipe his grandfather, Casimiro Hernandez Jr., served to customers in Ybor City.

Now president of the Columbia, he had no idea how difficult and expensive it would be to recapture a taste of history.

“When I was a little boy, I remember how people made Cuban sandwiches … the marinating of the roast pork, the glazing of the ham, the caramelizing and slicing,” he told me. “I remember the Genoa salami that had the peppercorn in it. Everything was done fresh daily.”

The Cuban sandwich started in Tampa. It’s like a history lesson on bread, reflecting the the Cubans, the Spanish, the Italians and the Germans who moved to the area in the early 20th century.

“That’s why it’s different from the ones in Miami,” Gonzmart says. “A Tampa Cuban sandwich has better bread than Miami. It’s better than it is in Cuba.”

Before the modern-day drive-through window at fast-food restaurants, the Columbia had a window in front on Seventh Avenue where motorists could pull up and have a sandwich handed to them through a window. Just driving past was a temptation. Through the window, pedestrians and drivers could see the ham, pork, salami and cheese through the glass-front refrigerators.

Over the years everyone in Ybor City took shortcuts, even the Columbia. It was cheaper to use pre-prepared ham and pork. Salami producers cut costs by eliminating the peppercorns that gave the sandwich its bite.

He also realized they were building the sandwich incorrectly.

“There’s a certain order when you build the sandwich, and I’m real, real particular about how we make our Cuban,” says Gonzmart. (above, left) “I went to one of our restaurants the other day and ate it and I told the general manager, ‘You made the sandwich upside down.’ He looks at me and says, ‘What do you mean?’ I could taste the difference. “You made it wrong.”

On top of the bottom half of the bread comes the ham. The Columbia went back to getting fresh ham and marinating it with garlic and sour orange.

On top of the ham is the marinated roast pork, sliced thin.

Gonzmart even bought a new $30,000 combination steam and heat oven to cook it correctly.

“You know what the amazing thing is? We went to making the pork ourselves and ended up saving money on the pork. I saved enough money putting more pork than what the salami and everything costs. I think with everything, my sandwich costs 8 cents more, and it’s SO much better. The price didn’t matter.”

Then comes the Genoa salami imported from Italy. It took him two years to find a style that includes the peppercorns

After that comes Swiss cheese, dill sandwich pickles and mustard. Gonzmart’s blind tastings showed that regular French’s tart, yellow mustard tasted better than gourmet versions.

Lettuce and tomato were out. The moisture from those ingredients adds too much moisture to the bread, which is brushed with butter before being put into the sandwich press for a crisp toast.

The key to the Cuban: bread from La Segunda Central. The same family has supplied the Columbia for 93 years.

“That’s one reason why the Miami sandwiches don’t taste like the ones in Tampa,” Gonzmart says.

Since the sandwich debuted in January, sales of Cubans at the Columbia improved about 40 percent. Customers are asking for it at dinner.

One day a waiter, before we changed the sandwich, three men came in wanting a Cuban sandwich at nighttime. He gets all mad. “We shouldn’t serve them a Cuban sandwich. It’s not on the menu.” I said, “Serve them the Cuban sandwich. You don’t know who these people are.”

About 10 minutes later, the waiter comes up to Gonzmart and says, “They ordered a bottle of Dom Perignon!” The guys had been on their yacht and they wanted a Cuban.

The bottom line, Gonzmart says: “You have to serve what you’re famous for.”

You keep making them, Richard. I’ll keep eating.