Miami 2025 – Lunch in Little Havana

November 2025. I recently had a National Automobile Dealers Association (NADA) meeting in Miami… You might have seen a few pictures on my story.

I always push for Miami when we talk about where to hold our next meeting. But it only seems to happen every five years or so. Two years ago, in a planning meeting, we were kicking around, “Where’s a good spot to go in October?” I don’t remember the other suggestions, but I’m sure Miami was the best choice for the group. We had a consensus.

Knowing me, I was probably hoping to sneak in some beach time for Angela while I sat in meetings. Well… Two years later, my 2025 has been a full docket of trips, meetings, and getaways. That “stretch Miami out for a couple of days with Angela” plan was not in the cards.

But the show must go on…

Like every business trip, you pack everything in a carry-on. You hope for a delay-free departure. You head down the jetway wishing for an open seat beside you while the plane loads. You fantasize about an easy rideshare pickup at the other end… Oh, and you double-check the name of the hotel, just in case. (I did check this. I have ended up at the wrong hotel before!)

Other than some excessive man-spreading from the guy in the center seat (it’s also notable that he was wearing shorts… yuck), the flights were fairly uneventful.

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Sitting in Chicago between flights, I realized my landing time in MIA would give me just enough room for a lunch detour. There’s something I have been wanting to do for a long time…

Eat in Little Havana.

I’m the guy who brags he’s “been everywhere, man”… But there’s a whole section of Miami I have never explored. (Probably more than I even know!)

You may not know this, but I lived in Miami for a short time. Even though the skyline has changed drastically in 30-plus years… It’s nostalgic. Every time I fly in or out of this airport, I hope for a glimpse of the downtown skyscrapers. Sometimes I can pick out my old work haunt on Chopin Plaza. The Hotel Intercontinental. I was a bellman there… Yes, I have stories. Lots of them. This is not that post.

In the early ’90s, I lived downtown, across from the Miami Arena. (It was called the Pink Elephant… It’s gone now.) First, you navigate by paper maps. Then you start to remember exits and roads. I learned US 1 and I-95. Coconut Grove, Key Biscayne, South Beach… Those are easy spots for a newbie to drive around.

Most of my destinations catered to 20-year-old sensibilities. The U of M campus had some great CD stores. There were a few strategically placed Sound Warehouses around town, and of course, the mall. I could always get to the mall. Add a few beaches… What more do you need?

Little Havana was never on the radar. Taco Bell was a gastronomical adventure for me in those days. I might have enjoyed the food if pressed… But the biggest barrier, as a Midwesterner to the core, was the prospect of being face-to-face with Spanish-speaking people. Some parts of Miami had signs in both English and Spanish. How would I ever survive if I got lost in that part of town?

(It all seems so naive looking back.)

I avoided it. And because of that… I don’t know that area at all.

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Thirty years later, sitting in Chicago dreaming of lunch, I mentally committed to going solo to a restaurant in Miami’s storied cultural district.

I looked up several restaurants and pinned them all in Google Maps. Then I scoured photos and menus. My God, the ease of doing this now versus 10 years ago, let alone 30, is amazing. You can plan a grand adventure in minutes.

I did have one “out.” My friend and co-meeting-goer, Tyler, had made sure to let me know he was already looking at the hotel pool. (I saw that one while checking my phone in Chicago.) When I landed, I called him… Would he get me out of my crazy plan?

The phone rang. And rang. Voicemail.

Well, Tyler made my decision for me!

I found my way to the rideshare area (easy enough at MIA) and made the command decision… Uber to Versailles Restaurant on US 41.

My driver, William, pulled up in a very nice Camry that was probably 15 years old. Normally, that car wouldn’t qualify for Uber… But this one did? William had a Spanish station playing, which gave me a smile. I was digging the vibe. Soon enough, though, he switched over to a classic hits channel. I think Queen or the Doobie Brothers came on. I told William he could switch back to his music, but I don’t think he understood me.

This is hitting on innate fears. Am I making a mistake?

We pulled up to Versailles about 15 minutes after leaving the airport. The nice thing about rideshare apps is the quick exit. No waiting on the driver to hand you a card reader, no worrying about the guilt tip. With Uber, I can tip after I’m out of the car. It’s like Secret Santa.

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My carry-on is a decent size… Like a backpack, but slightly bigger. You know I’m traveling and not just some dude with a laptop. So here I am, already worried about appearances as I head for the front door.

It didn’t look terribly busy, but Versailles did have a greeter at the door asking people if they had reservations. And she was doing it in Spanish.

Ugh.

“¿Una mesa, por favor?”

That was all I could string together. The young lady looked me up and down and said, “Sí.” She let me in, and I was led to a small table right in the middle of the floor. A nice, obvious spot for me and my luggage to sit alone… Where my language and cultural flailing could be observed by all.

My waiter, a skinny young man, was very nice to me. He asked me a few questions… I muddled through. He was quick to hand me a menu and point out that the descriptions were also in English.

Gracias.

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My main reason for coming to Little Havana was coffee.

When Summer and I were in Memphis, we would go to a place called Ramblin’ Joe’s. They had a café con leche. It’s Cuban coffee with lots of cream and sugar. For me, it’s intoxicating… And I haven’t had one since Memphis. The drink has been perverted by the American coffee shop, but the ingredients are similar if you go authentic. I ordered one first, and I felt a little silent approval from my waiter.

Look at those appetizers!!! I want them all! Stuffed plantains?!? I have never had those! The menu is large and heavy, with lots to choose from. (I grabbed a couple of small screenshots so you get a taste of what else was available.)

Regret instantly filled my heart. I am never going to have the time or the stomach to eat everything I want to try on this menu. I’m heading home in a few days… And I may never get a chance to be here again. What a drag.

Fortunately (or unfortunately), I had already studied this menu back in Chicago. I knew I was getting Summer’s favorite item on any menu…

Empanadas.

They didn’t say what the shell was made of, but I didn’t care. One appetizer, then on to the main course.

The Cuban sandwich.

Honestly, if you look at the rest of that sandwich menu, there are plenty of great options. If I’d had a table for four and we all swapped bites, it would have been a smorgasbord of Cuban delights. Instead, I ordered the one basic Cuban and chilled out.

I had to look like some weird solo foodie. I worked on my coffee and read my phone for lack of conversation at the table. The room wasn’t crowded, but there was a steady flow of regulars being greeted at the front door. You could tell this place sees a lot of the same faces.

Soon enough, I had my appetizer and an awesome-looking sandwich in front of me.

I could tell instantly… I had way too much food.

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Let’s start with the coffee. Café con leche at Versailles comes in two parts: a cup of steamed milk and a little steel pitcher of Cuban coffee. You pour in as much as you want.

Remember, the coffee was one of the main reasons I was there. And it was dreamy.

I can’t tell you it’s super complicated, either. So any excuse I have for not making this at home is beyond me. It’s certainly a lack of effort.

Then the empanadas. Three of them: beef, chicken and ham. The crust wasn’t as crispy as I’d hoped… But the filling inside was delicious. I was glad I had the chance to try all three. It was a ton of food.

And the Cuban. This is the one I had the highest hopes for. The bread was delicious. The cheese, the pickles, the mustard, the heat of the bread from being smashed… All perfect.

But in some way, all that food was… I hate to say this word… Generic.

It was exactly what it should be for that restaurant. When you get a Cuban at a hipster restaurant in Chicago, they’re going all out. It’s almost like Italian food in America. An Italian walking into an Italian restaurant here would probably say, “What the hell is this?”

So I have to wonder… The dreamy empanadas and Cuban sandwiches I idolize whenever I find them at a brewery that serves great food… Are they a real representation of where that sandwich started?

I think the sandwich I had at Versailles is what the Cuban sandwich should be. Same with the empanadas. Real food for real people who live in that area. This is not a big tourist spot.

And I love this whole experience for that very reason.

If coffee isn’t your thing, the menu also has batidos (Cuban milkshakes) in flavors like mamey, guanábana, papaya, malted and wheat. I didn’t have room for one… Next time.

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So, was it worth the detour?

When I was done, my waiter was just as pleasant and gracious as he had been the whole time. I paid my check… Gracias, again.

Stepping outside, I was reminded right away that I was in Miami. Middle of the day. Not a single cloud to protect me from the sun. My winter body from Central Illinois started to produce a cold sweat the moment it met the sunlight. I was feeling the heat.

I pulled out my Uber app and walked across the street to the rideshare pickup area. While I waited, I noticed a sign on the side of the road covered in stickers. I always have a pile of Sweet Dreams of Summer stickers in my bag… So I busted one out and added it to the collection.

My next driver was even less talkative than the first one. I asked, “¿Habla inglés?”

No reply. Not even a grunt.

Off to South Beach.

I knew that even telling this story to the friends I was meeting up with would seem a little off. There was no epic party. No day drinking. It was just a sandwich, some empanadas, and a coffee I had been craving for a long time.

It’s still curious to me why it was so hard to build up the gumption to do this. Even now, a year later, heading into uncomfortable territory for a minor exploration like this still seems like a difficult thing to do.

I’m glad I did it. I feel better for it. But it still makes me nervous… And that worries me a little.

Thirty years late… But I finally ate in Little Havana.