Cuban Coffee: The Taste of Time
I just returned from spring break in Miami, and if you know me, that destination might surprise you. At a glance, I can see how it may not seem Slow-Weekender-compatible, conjuring images of partying college kids sunburned and drunk by noon. That is certainly one way to visit Miami, but with a selective and off-the-beaten path itinerary, my days unfurled slowly, leisurely. For the most part, I spent time thoughtfully appreciating the tropical landscape, eating delicious, authentic Cuban food, and drinking strong, rich Cuban coffee for hours upon hours. The days felt long in the best possible way.
You know what I mean when I say “a good long day,” right?
The good long days seem to go on forever. From the vantage point of the evening, the morning feels lightyears away, but in a calm and satisfying way. The hours stretch without hurry or urgency, in favor of leisure or joyful puttering. These days hold expansive swaths of time, suspended and protected from the anxiety gremlins who try to hijack our elusive, contented hours. In his book Slowing Down to the Speed of Joy, author Matthew Kelly coined the term carefree timelessness, defined as "time together without an agenda." Carefree timelessness captures the essence of the Cuban and Latino cultures that permeate this region. When was the last time you hung out with someone without an agenda? If you are not of Latin American heritage, you might find the question hard to answer.
For many of us, the only time we can reach a state of carefree timelessness is on vacation or during the weekend. The concept of “the weekend" has always fascinated me. Back in the 1920s, Henry Ford introduced a five-day work week, hoping to encourage his workers to pursue leisurely activities on the weekend and boost the economy in the process. Leisure was not such a dirty word during Ford's era, but only a handful of decades later in the 1970s and 80s, American leisure time took a downward turn as women entered the workforce and consumerism spiked to all-time highs. Did you catch the irony of that? More money, more high-end consumption, but less time to enjoy any of it. Today, the busyness of the workweek and the weekend is hardly discernible. Modern weekends no longer offer a slower pace; stores are open seven days a week, we shop, run errands, and sit at kids' sports games. The keeping of Sabbath or Shabbat has all but disappeared. Americans find a multitude of ways to fritter away the weekend being "productive." While immersed in the Cuban American culture of Miami, I was reminded just how backward the rest of America's relationship with leisure is: joining friends for a cup of coffee and lively conversation is likely the most productive weekend activity many of us could choose—that is, of course, if you measure productivity by the amount of soul-nourishment it offers.
During our vacation, my husband and I had several structured days where we got up well before sunrise to meet outdoor guides for stunning adventures in nature. These were off-grid days: one spent snorkeling six miles off shore, and the other kayaking through the fascinating ecosystems of the Everglades and barrier islands of southern Florida. But for a couple of days, we intentionally had no plan. No agenda. We ate lunches on outdoor patios at a meandering pace. Then, like the locals, we ordered coffee when our meal was done. While sipping our tiny mid-day coffee called cortaditos, the Cuban version of espresso, time hung suspended. We noticed there weren't many phones out on tables, and our neighbors were chatting at lightning speed with hands flying in expressive and intense conversations. Everyone was immersed in dialog, and connection was the only thing on the "agenda." My next thought was that this simply does not happen in non-Latin American culture.
Sitting in that cafe surrounded by the rhythmic chatter of conversation in Spanish, I thought about the last time I had a midday coffee with friends back home in Boulder. I had called a few girlfriends and invited them to meet at a coffee shop on a Saturday afternoon. The first thing one of my friends exclaimed upon greeting me was, "What a luxury this afternoon coffee date is!" Luxury? What would my fellow Cuban American cafe-goers think about a Saturday coffee being referred to as a luxury? Loco—they would think we are loco!
My friend's comment was harmless but also an example of American cultural views that critically judge leisure. Her comment was, in fact, this statement: Non-productive time on a weekend is a luxury. Or, if I take it a step further, leisure and relaxation of any kind are a luxury. Really? If we can't linger in connection with friends on the weekend, when in the heck are most of us going to do it? Americans just don't operate with the value of carefree time in mind unless they are on vacation. Even then, many Americans don't sit without an agenda; they pack it all in, not wanting to "waste" time during their travels.
And herein lies my protest: I don't want to order the proverbial cortado only when I am on vacation. Leisure can't be reserved for just a few weeks of the year. I want to sit and savor my cortado on the regular; I want carefree living woven into my day-to-day rhythms. That is the only way to truly flourish—to live with a balance of love, work, and play—every week.
While doing a little research on the topic of coffee and Cuban culture, I stumbled across an interview with a woman who lives in Cuba talking about the coffee culture that is present there today: "Cubans are very serious about their coffee and taking a small cup of the sweet, dark, strong stuff while having a 'visita' (dropping in on neighbors, loved ones, friends) to gossip, catch up, and vent is a tradition that is very much still alive in Cuba." This is a quintessential example of carefree timelessness, and the concept of dropping in on a neighbor is about as un-American as it gets.
One of the most striking examples of the cultural difference in the Latin-influenced neighborhoods of Miami was our 10 pm arrival at a legendary diner called Versailles. (Yes, I know, a French-named Cuban restaurant—I don't have answers for you on that part of the story.) My husband and I arrived hungry after an evening flight from Colorado, and I thought there was no way we would find decent food this late at night. But Versailles was hoppin'—loud and bustling, traditional Cuban food flowing from the kitchen, and table after table crowded with yammering Spanish speakers of all ages. It was heartwarming to see so many people out of their homes and in their community, enjoying conversation and gathering over a shared meal in the way humans have since time began. When we left the restaurant, the doors were still opening, with new groups coming in to be seated. It was a Sunday night, getting close to midnight, and I was taking in what it really means to live with carefree timelessness.
The worldwide Slow Movement is not focused on being slow all the time. It's about knowing when to speed up and when to slow down, and understanding that the choice is a daily one. This skill of learning how to speed up and slow down is at the very heart of my message at The Slow Weekender. I was reminded once again while in Miami of just how against the grain it is to make slowing down a priority in the average American life. As for my own slowing down, I may not be able to incorporate a gossip session and espresso on my short lunch breaks between client sessions, but I can certainly linger with my family sometimes after dinner or meet up at a local coffee shop for a social visit—without an agenda—on many weekends of the year.
On our last day in Miami, I bought some authentic Cuban espresso to make cortado and café con leche at home. I intend to mix in some carefree timelessness with my family and friends, and though we don't talk as fast or with as many hand gestures, I learned a thing or two I want to hold on to from our Cuban American friends to the South. Slow down—way down—to enjoy the simple pleasures of food, coffee, and friends.
Lessons in Cuban Coffee
Cortado (the most prevalent drink in Cuba, essentially a Cuban espresso): An espresso double shot served in a petite coffee cup, sweetened with sugar but no milk, served in a 2–3 ounce espresso cup.
Cortadito: A small, 1–2 shot strong espresso drink "cut" with a small amount of steamed milk or sweetened with condensed milk, served in a 2–3 ounce espresso cup.
Café Con Leche: Meaning "coffee with milk" in Spanish, this is a popular way to drink coffee in Cuba and other Latin American countries, consisting of a double shot strong espresso mixed with scalded milk in approximately equal amounts, often served pre-sweetened and in a 6 ounce clear glass cup.
Enjoy the slow- Heather