The Cuban Sandwich

This is me airing my dirty laundry. Well, not the dirtiest laundry. Not my unmentionables.  Just the stuff that needs a quick rinse.  And I’m doing it anonymously for the sake of non-innocent parties.

Dear Anonymous,

I am very, very, very, mad at you.

Maybe I shouldn’t use the word “mad”.  My mother says “mad” is for dogs. And I’m not the dog in this scenario. Not that I’m saying there is a dog in this scenario. But if there were, it wouldn’t be me.

So, I’ll just say I’m hurt.  My feelings have been badly bruised.

I’m quite used to you being overly anxious about my every move, so the mere thought that you were less than concerned with helping me find a certain place last night, and refused to help me print out directions on our broke down printer is bad enough.  But then you watched me walk out of the house like it was no big deal that I was going into oblivion with NO FREAKIN’ idea of where I was going.

Fine. I get it. You believe in me. So I’m looking on the bright side thinking you’re probably just optimistic in assuming that I have navigated around this town enough (which I have not) to be able to figure out where I’m going and you’re not worried. So I went.

But when I get there, I think.  Oooooooh, better call that certain person and tell them I’m here, cause they’ll be all worried and checking their watch every five minutes if they don’t know I’ve arrived safely.

So I call.  Like the considerate person that I am. Ring, ring, ring. No answer.

That’s very interesting that there’s no answer considering this is the same person who is always riding my jock when I don’t answer the phone when they call.  And I know this person is home because they are “watching” 4 young kids.  But, I think, this person is probably super busy with those 4 youngins and that he/she/it will call me back and let me know that they got my message, AND ARE EXTREMELY PLEASED that I have navigated the dark treacherous highways on my own.  You know.  Give me a little pat on the back, because that’s what insecure people need. And YOU know it. But you didn’t do it.  And you should have.  But oh freakin’ well.

I’m over it.

Until . . . . .

I’m on my way home, and of course I’m blind as a bat at night and I’m all “Am I in a lane? Is that the exit ramp? What are those bright lights flashing? What does that sign say? Where are my glasses? Am I getting old? What’s that funny smell?”. . . .and then, I missed the ever beloved exit.

So what do I do?

What the he** I am supposed to do. I call YOU. Because YOU have lived in this blasted city for most of your life, not to mention YOU are my FREAKIN LIFE.  And that is what you do when you are lost and you don’t know what to do, you call an informed person who is the most important to you and you tell them, “I’M LOST!!! HOW THE HECK DO I GET HOME??????”

And then that person tells them. And then the other person gets home. End of story.

But that’s not the end of our story.

Instead, YOU, acting all high and mighty want to know how in the heck I could have missed the exit. Like you want details.  This is not the time for details.  I can write you a book later. So  I keep saying, “I don’t know. I don’t know. I’m driving downtown. I’m on Polk street, how do I get home. North? South? East? West? Just tell me please.”

But you don’t. You just speak in this really annoying “blah, blah, blah mean voice, like your so disappointed that my eyes are sh** at night.” Whatever.  So I hang up the phone cause I’m really thinking you are not the person I’m going to call in a crisis next time.  Cause you really suck at talking a person off a cliff.

And had I known that you had throw-up on the carpet, on your hands, on the baby, and probably on your face at the very time you were being so completely inconsiderate,  I might have cared.  But I didn’t. So I don’t.

You’re wrong. I’m right.



– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

I’m still mad.

I thought writing it out would make me feel better.

It did.  But the fury still lingers. 

So I’ll still be expecting an apology. Hope I won’t be waiting to long.  I really need to talk to that person. And tell them some random stuff. And I hate this chip on my shoulder.  It does nothing for my complexion.

So, I’m gonna have to pull out the big dogs.


Yeh.  That’ll tame even the most ferocious beast.

The Cuban

*FYI – I did not name this sandwich. Some other random person did.  I do not think Cubans are ferocious beasts. I think they are very lovely people, who have a very lovely sandwich named after them.


Your favorite bread (I used bolillos but ciabatta would also be very nice)
Ham, sliced
Pork, sliced
Swiss or Monterrey Jack Cheese
Butter or Oil


1. Slice bread in half. Spread mustard and mayo on the inside slices of bread.
2. On the bottom half layer your ingredients. First cheese, pork, ham, pickles, cheese and top with your slice of bread.
3. Heat a heavy skillet on  medium high, coat with butter or olive oil. Place sandwich(es) in skillet, top with another heavy skillet and press down hard.

 Allow sandwich to cook until cheese melts and the bottom crust begins to brown.  Remove top skillet, turn over sandwich, replace skillet, press down and cook until the other side is light brown and crispy. Let cool slightly, and EAT!

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