On a rainy Friday night, Halloween weekend, Caf‚ Habana is virtually empty. As the small Cuban place converts from restaurant to bar, the few customers there trickle out and smoke cigarettes under the awning, flirting with the Venezuelan bouncer. Friday is usually jumping at the Latin-flavored mojito bar, but with Shampoo throwing a blowout around the corner and the weather consistently dismal, it looks like it just might be a slow night.
There's nothing, though, particularly wrong with having the bar to oneself. Getting started on the list of signature tragos ("cocktails"), we talk liquor with owner Juan Carlos Fernandez and senior bartender David.
"Most of our drinks are really sneaky," David explains, mixing me up a Pisco Sour ($7). "We'll have people who come in and just gulp down the drinks like shots. Because they're so easy. By the time they finish one I'm making the second."
David's matter-of-fact explanation is spot on: made of pisco - both a Chilean and Peruvian national liquor - sour mix and sugar, with cinnamon sprinkled on top, the liquor is hardly noticeable. "Normally it's got a raw egg in it too," David says, "but that doesn't seem to go over too well up here."
While I chat with Juan Carlos about the challenges and logistics of the restaurant business ("overhead's a bitch"), my party sweeps its way across the drink menu. We sample the Pecado Margarita (a sweet mix of passion fruit liquor, tequila, sour mix and orange juice rimmed with sugar instead of salt - $7), the Cuban Cosmopolitan (substituting rum for vodka and twisting the flavor with mango - $8), and the Coraz¢n (a champagne cocktail served in a champagne flute - $9), before making our way to the classics.
"You can pretty much get a mojito anywhere now, so what we do is try to keep it to fresh ingredients," David explains, tossing a few mint leaves into the bottom of a rocks glass. Next, he takes a blunted wooden instrument, called a "muddler," and grinds down, explaining, "I don't want to shred the mint. I just want to open it up." Equal parts rum and homemade syrup ("a step away from rock candy, basically") with dashes of sprite and aromatic bitters, the concoction is shaken with ice and returned to the rocks glass, where it's garnished with a wedge of lime. David hands over the drink and doesn't say much more. The mojito ($7) speaks for itself.
And while the Cuban classic outshines its Brazilian counterpart, the caipirinha (due apparently to poor quality cachaca, the caipirinha's principal liquor north of the border), the real gem ends up being the White Wine Sangria ($7), based on, of all things, the recipe of Juan Carlos's mom. A blend of Quarenta y Tres liquor (a Spanish, honey-flavored alcohol), Chamblis white wine and orange, guava, guanabana and passion fruit juices, this is Sangria the way it's supposed to be.
The rain doesn't let up, but folks trickle in as the night goes on. A few couples move to the dance floor and start to salsa. While catering to a largely international clientele, the restaurant/bar, unlike some of its Philadelphia peers, maintains an open atmosphere, and about a third of the bar-goers at least seem American. It might not be able to whisk you entirely to the Caribbean, but Caf‚ Habana at least provides a nice reprieve from mid-Atlantic drear. Don't drink too much too fast though - a lesson our heads had for us in the morning. David, it seems, wasn't lying. Those mojitos really do sneak up on you.
