Every Cuban Place in this City is called Cafe Habana or Some Variation Thereof

Location: Elizabeth and Prince St.

I have some preconceptions about what summer in New York is supposed to be like. It should be open to the randomest strings of events that will together compose something resembling a movie montage about New York, from which people get the idea that New York is constantly vibrant, and, despite the fact that it has a reputation for being cynical, somehow romantic. The weather should be borderline Vietnam-like, there should be outdoor cafes all over the place, free events. and going out on random nights of the week to find the streets are filled with people, all figuring out where to go, and winding up at a small, crowded restaurant, where you feel like you have done something to deserve the break that a beer with your dinner affords. Such is Habana.

This place is literally on the corner. We had to wait around 20 minutes to get in, but the wait flew by in the company of (wait for the links. also you're the only people who read this) Valerie, Jim, and Amanda. Soon we were seated, but now before witnessing what looked like the beginning of a fight. Of course, I started a chant, and suddenly a crowd of high schoolers were teeming around me, joining me in my cause. By Jove, I was a leader! Sadly, this was when the hostess called our name, so...I made them disperse.

The place is really cozy, and almost all available floor space is dedicated to tables. Of course, the French windows really opened up the place. The waitress was really friendly: she called us "honey," unlike the owner of this bar we went to for Jim's birthday, who, upon seeing Amanda's full shot glass, said, "Good job," upon seeing Jim's empty one, called him a stud, and upon seeing Mone's empty one, called him a "person." Things really went downhill for him. Anyway, this waitress joked around, and basically was the waitress I could never hope to be. Needless to say, I began planning my revenge immediately. Actually the ordering process began really awkwardly because it was really loud and we kept having the following interaction:

Waitress: Are you guys ready...
Valerie: For drinks?
Awkward silence
Everyone: Uh....
Waitress: So?
Me: I think we're ready to order
Waitress: I'll just come back then.

Anyway, finally, we got our order in. (Also they didn't card. Also, ever since I've gotten an ID, this has become less and less of a concern because now that I have that safety net, I don't get that deer in headlights look every time a waiter asks if we want something to drink.) The waitress recommended some sort of corn thing that everyone was getting, and we are not ones to protest, so we got it. It was corn on the cob with butter galore and some shredded cheese. It was delicious. As we waited, we watched a customer grope one of the waitresses as she sat on his ass. I'm sure the interaction was designed to give us a window into Cuban restaurant culture. Habana's waitresses double as cultural ambassadors.

The food was delicious, and not too filling. The prices were in the 10-20 dollar range. The music was AWESOME. I almost felt like I was in "Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights," arguably the best dance movie ever made, and most likely the best movie ever made. I'm no professional but I know what I like.

They didn't rush the bill, so I could practice my European dinner length regimen. By the end of summer, it will hopefully reach three hours. A girl can dream...