“If there's no rice, there's no meal,” says my suegra, as we sit at her kitchen table in Havana, sorting through her arroz grain by grain, separating small stones and todo lo malo from the starchy, broken granos that are typical of Cuba.
If there is one thing I cannot abide when I'm traveling, it's bad coffee. And sadly, there's so much of it. Airplane coffee is tasteless. Hotel coffee is weak. And who knows if those carafes are ever really cleaned?