This is the latest edition of Who Goes There? a regular feature in which Lost City's Brooks of Sheffield cracks the doors on mysteriously enduring Gotham restaurants—unsung, curious neighborhood mainstays with the dusty, forgotten, determined look—to learn secrets of longevity and find out, who goes there.
[Bess Adler]There aren't many Cuban food choices in New York. So whenever one of the dailies decides to do a piece on the state of Cuban food in the city, you can sure a reporter will take ride on the 7 train to this Woodside outpost under the subway tracks on dirty, dusty Roosevelt Avenue. El Sitio has been here about a half a century. It's founding dates to the 1960s, when there was a great influx of Cubans to America.
It doesn't look like the joint has changed much in that half century. The restaurant is divided into two parts. As you enter, there's a short, six-stool luncheonette counter of orange formica. Regulars tend to stop here, either to order, chat or just linger. Somewhat hilariously, there's a small, sparsely stocked bar behind the counter, in case you want a Johnnie Walker Black with your ropa vieja. If you're interested in a more formal experience, there's a no-frills, dimly lit dining room with small tables and tablecloths under plastic. The expected pictures of Havana are on the walls. And unexpected terrariums filled with sad-looking plants are fitted like windows into the wall dividing the two rooms.
The clientele here is primarily local and largely Latino. The menu is in Spanish and English, but the Spanish comes first. The version of the menu posted above the counter is only in Spanish. Most people come here for the Cubano sandwich, and it is justly famous, made with care and with wonderfully crispy bread. The flavors are fulsome, yet delicate. But I found the ham croquettes and red beans also excellent. The prices are ridiculously cheap. Those sandwiches are under five dollars.
El Sitio does a decent trade in take out. But if a customer is under the impression that he'll be in and out quickly, he's soon put straight. Making the sandwiches is a 10-15-minute process, and the woman monitoring the sandwich press, lovingly basting the bread and meats in butter, isn't going to rush it. That seems to be fine with most of the lunchers, few of whom seem to be in a hurry to get anywhere.
—Brooks of Sheffield
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