Despite being over 1,400 miles from the last believably authentic Cuban cuisine I enjoyed, Miramar fits the bill.

I don't know why it's so hard to do a decent Cuban sandwich. Some places use Ciabatta bread, some places use dill pickles, and others serve a bizarre ham-free version that would confuse even perpetually-lost Castro.

So, how's the Cuban sandwich here? It's pretty good. Admittedly not a traditional Cuban as it omits pork, but it was tasty. The bread was good and not overly browned. The ham was flavorful (though another slice or two wouldn't have hurt the sandwich) and the cheese pretty good.

The shoestring-style frites were really tasty, much to the dismay of my waistline. Don't sully them with ketchup.

Service here is spectacular. I was greeted with a smile and...a handshake? Who does that anymore? My jacket was taken and...hung up elsewhere, not just thrown on the back of my chair. When I went to retrieve it later, staff instantly intervened and helped it on. Thanks for a healthy dose of class to start the day! Even small stuff, like refilling water, is done with a folded napkin (and not of the paper variety) held strategically to absorb errant splashes. Nice touch -- I'm fairly sure last week I had a water refill where more water ended up on the table than in the glass.

The decor is pretty awesome. I've always wanted to go to Cuba (and the DPRK) because it's the easiest way to step back into the mid-fifties without Doc Brown's Libyan friends getting upset about that little Plutonium gag.

Everything here is engineered to have period appearance, from the never-cleaned candlesticks to the communal sink area between the gender-specific restrooms. Maybe I pay too much attention, but I also had an "ah!" moment when I noticed the full-size, er, standing porcelain receptacle in the guys room. Intentional or not, you sure don't see those too often.

I'm looking forward to coming here for dinner and trying the onion soup that seems to garner universal praise from the regulars.