Havana Grill

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I discovered the Florida Cafe not long after I moved here, and as a Florida transplant I loved it immediately. Not because its name reminded me of the Sunshine State — trust me; I was more than happy to say goodbye to 3-inch roaches and clothes that came out of the closet wet — but because it served Cuban food, and great Cuban food at that. And 10 years later here we are, both having maintained in businesses that Wile E. Coyote would find chancy.

But the one problem I’ve always had with the Florida Cafe is that its location inside a motel near the Stratosphere makes getting there a little problematic, because to enter the parking lot, you have to squeeze your car through a passageway that feels like it’s about 3 feet wide and cross your fingers that there will be a parking spot beyond.

So what does that have to do with the Havana Grill? Only that the youngster is a sister restaurant and has a whole huge suburban parking lot — the one that’s home to the Colonnade movie theaters. On the evening of our visit, there was even a truck towing a trailered vintage Porsche parked near the restaurant. Try that at the Florida Cafe.

Why it took me a few years to get to Havana Grill I can’t fathom, except of course that there are so many restaurants, so little time. But I found the same reliable fare as at the Florida Cafe — what Mami used to make and still does in the Havana most of us can’t visit anymore.

Well, with a few tweaks here and there. Tostones — sort of twice-cooked (but not refried) green plantain — are an old standby, and they’re available here in the familiar plain form as a side dish, but as appetizers they’re gussied up with toppings. Mezcla de Tostones ($10.95) is a sampler of all three types — with the ropa vieja (braised, shredded beef that’s said to resemble rags but tastes a whole lot better), piccadillo (seasoned ground beef that in the best renditions contains green olives, as it does here) and shrimp.

Much more classic was the Lechon Asado ($15.95), leg of pork roasted in mojo, which despite what the movies have you think is actually a sort of marinade, in this case with sour orange and garlic and spices. The pork was meltingly tender — think an unsmoked, faintly tropical version of pulled pork.

On the side we had Moros Y Christianos, the standard with the slightly un-PC name that translates to Moors (black beans) and Christians (white rice). There are as many ways to make Moros as there are Mamis in Miami; this one combined the two elements with bits of pork for a smoky kick.

Vaca Frita ($16.95) was another classic. It translates to "fried cow" but it doesn’t resemble that at all, and I’m not just talking about the absence of hide and hoof. I’m not sure where the "fried" comes in, because this is flank steak that’s marinated (there’s that mojo again) and roasted, then sliced and served in the juices. It was delicious, the mojo flavor more prevalent in this one. We neglected to specify a side, and our overworked server neglected to ask, so we ended up getting white rice and red beans, but it was all good, served in a cool, three-sectioned plate formed of overlapping circles with the beef in the center section, rice on one side and beans on the other.

Dessert? How could we pass up the Riquimbin ($8.95)? We love a good rich caramel-crowned flan, and we love a lovely sweet tres leches cake saturated with three types of milk, and in the Riquimbin we could have both, stacked and topped with sweetened coconut. With a cup of coffee Cubano, it was a lovely way to end the meal.

Just as a Mojito was a lovely way to start it, and Havana Grill offers a whole palette of them, including the original ($7.50), a raspberry version ($8.50), and mango, orange and pineapple.

Service throughout was pretty spotty, but that was because our server appeared to be serving the entire restaurant. Other staffers (including the hostess and bartender) pitched in when they could, though. And even though we had to wait awhile initially to get our drinks, the basket of buttered and pressed Cuban bread that a runner had brought smelled so much like fresh-baked that it immediately drew us.

Besides, we were sitting on the patio, taking advantage of a perfect Southern Nevada evening. No wonder things are slower-paced in the tropics.

Las Vegas Review-Journal reviews are done anonymously at Review-Journal expense. Contact Heidi Knapp Rinella at 383-0474 or e-mail her at hrinella@reviewjournal.com.