what’s a guy got to do to get a #%&*$! cubano these days?

It’s spring in January, and the warm weather puts a man in mind of some pork. Unfortunately, this city is pretty much determined to prevent me from having it. In the last year, we lost Havana Chelsea, which was good, but—not to argue with its old sign or anything—not home of “the best Cuban sandwiches.” That prize, in my estimation, went to Brisas del Caribe. . . which [sigh] closed about one year ago.

And now we have lost the dearly beloved Sucelt.

This leaves La Taza de Oro in Chelsea and. . . well, I pretty much don’t know what. Not in lower Manhattan, anyway. (I’m talking about a good roast pork sandwich—I can list several bad ones.)

The search for information on the Sucelt lead me to what is possibly the most depressing blog in New York. . . not that I didn’t spend hours relishing it, mind you. This guy gets a full hats off, not just a mere hat tip.

The closings of venerated and distinctive little places like the Latin diners, or old bars, butchers, and repair shops—the places that make New York a city of neighborhoods—to make way for drug chains, commercial banks, and big box stores have been accelerating at an alarming rate in recent years. I think that it pre-dates 9/11, and can really be traced to the suburban aesthetic and thinly veiled racism of the Giuliani administration. Mayor Mike Bloomberg has done nothing to reverse the trend—likely because the Boston-born billionaire has a similar white bread worldview.

Though there are plenty of other reasons to never want to see either of these megalomaniacs become president, this is really enough. Any man that keeps me from my pork could never get my vote.