I think a follow-up is necessary to my last post. I now know that the best way to go camping involves two vital steps: one, packing a fat box of snacks, and two, planning to stop for food on the way home. Food that someone else makes for you. Food that you're so excited about that you don't care about your slept-in-for-two-nights-camping-braids. That experience, for me, was found in Louisville, about halfway between Mammoth Cave and Cincinnati.
I had never been to Louisville before, and only got acquainted with one street. I was awoken from my final car nap on East Market Street as my friend Jonathan parked across the road from a place called NoraeBar that was crawling with people at 4:30 in the afternoon. I looked up the word "noraebang" that was written on windows in neon light strips, and found that this was a South Korean version of the Japanese karaoke. Already, this was not the Kentucky city I had expected! My camping crew and I watched in amazement for a moment, taking in the boisterous laughter coming from the deck and the muffled bass echoing from inside the building, before continuing down the block.
Our destination was a bright yellow house turned into a Cuban restaurant, called La Bodeguita De Mima. Wide stone steps framed by two stately columns led to a large porch that spanned the width of this 1950's time-machine, adorned with crisp white accents. Inside, it was hard to walk in a straight line, for several reasons. One, the hallway was jam-packed with people of all ages, not a crushing mob but certainly an energetic horde of hungry guests. Two, the rum bar, of course. And three, I was tripping over my own feet, as were many other first-timers, not from the rum bar but from staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the dark red walls decorated with framed photographs and dark, glossy furniture. I was obsessed.
The four of us - Sam, Jonathan, Anna, and I - were seated immediately on the back patio, at a square table engulfed by leafy plants and mouthwatering aromas of the plates being delivered next to us. A waiter dressed in emerald green arrived with warm bread and small dishes of flavored whipped butter as we scanned the menu. After ordering a few chicken and rice dishes to share and, of course, a Cubano sandwich, we dug into the history of Cuban culture in Louisville and found that this upper-Southern city has the 12th highest Cuban population in the country. It's home to the lifestyle magazine El Kentubano and more than enough food destinations to satisfy anyone missing their home country.
I have to admit that I was surprised to learn of any Cuban population here, not to mention a lively community of 30,000. Kentucky to me has always just been Kentucky, the funny cross between the American Midwest and the American South. Just very, very American in my mind. But now, I see it as an unexpected gateway to exploring other cultures, and will certainly be back!
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