Dining at La Guarida
A Night to Savor in Havana
The best meals aren’t just about food—they linger in your mind long after the plates are cleared. That’s exactly what happened at La Guarida in Havana.
We were given a night alone from the tour on my trip to Cuba. Knowing this in advance, I wanted to find something lovely for the evening. But where to look? To answer this question I usually start by looking at the travel folders I have on my computer for nearly every country in the world.
I had over 20 articles in my Cuba folder, where I started looking for a restaurant recommendation. It didn’t take long before I landed on Paladar La Guarida, a name that resonates far beyond the waters surrounding Cuba.
This private restaurant was founded in the summer of 1996, during a transition period in Cuba when private restaurants were first allowed to take root. Its historical charm and gourmet cuisine promised a magical evening in what would undoubtedly be one of the more unusual cities we had ever spent a Christmas holiday in. Our reservation was for 7:30 PM on December 25th.
When confirming our reservation, La Guarida said we might want to know about their hotel, Ánimas y Virtudes, on Paseo del Prado, in Old Havana. They also told me the hotel’s new gourmet restaurant was presenting 7- and 9-course tasting menus options. For an additional cost, we could enjoy wine pairings with each course.
We passed on the tasting menu, having learned our lesson in Sicily. There, we had an impromptu multi-course feast in Sferracavallo, which stretched until we were waving our hands in surrender, unable to eat another bite. Lacking Sicilian language skills, we didn’t know how to stop it. We figured sticking to the menu would be the safer bet this time. Thankfully, I learned some Spanish.
I had packed light but put together a dressy outfit for the occasion. Phil had brought a tie and jacket, and soon, we were on our way. The hotel kindly called us a cab. The evening was calm, the streets with just a few people milling around, as if it were not a holiday.
As we drove, I peered out the window and saw the sadness of the decaying and wounded buildings. And then, out of nowhere—because I had no idea where we were going—we were there. The cab stopped before a grand 20th-century mansion in faded glory. It was worn but still stately, with tall wooden doors flung wide open. Inside, people beckoned us forward.
“The restaurant must be upstairs,” I said.
Phil looked up at the elegant marble staircase. “That looks like quite a climb.”
“You can make it. Don’t get old on me.”
That has become one of my anthems. We’re both getting older, but I refuse to yield directly to age. I instead try to maneuver around it as best as possible, even as it breathes down my neck. Because quite frankly, that’s what it’s doing to all of us, whether we acknowledge it or not. Time marches on, silent but steady. Your best defense is taking care of yourself—eat well! That becomes even more important as you age.
“I get it,” Phil said. “As long as we take it slow, we’ll be fine.”
“There’s a good railing,” I said.
We climbed the first flight to a landing with a massive chandelier. The space was empty.
“This can’t be the restaurant,” I said.
“We must have to go up another flight.”
And so, up we went. The restaurant was on the third floor.
“At least it won’t be as much work going down,” I said.
Phil just smiled.
The hostess greeted us cheerfully, pointing to our reservation. Even from where we were standing, it felt like we were backstage at a theater. There was so much to see on the walls, but it was all essentially paraphernalia, not shining diamonds. There was a large, framed display detailing the place's history. In a glass case with blue lights, slabs of meat hung on hooks, waiting to be cooked and admired. Oddly this was followed by architectural drawings that completed the eclectic montage that was the hallway.
I walked past pictures of famous guests to our table. Every table in the restaurant was taken, except for ours in the corner. The room was decorated with a potpourri of framed artwork, cherubic putti, a lantern, and even a bird cage on the wall. Much of the décor, we later learned, was from the set of Fresa y Chocolate, a 1993 Cuban film—the country’s first and only Oscar-nominated movie to date. La Guarida had been the primary filming location.
The low lighting, the nostalgia of the film set, and being in the company of someone I had been with for nearly 22 years, set the tone for the evening.
We scanned the menu and ordered a little of everything—a refreshing salad, fish, light as a feather, a luscious chicken curry, and a decadent chocolate dessert (which usually I don’t and won’t eat). The chef and team at Paladar La Guarida were culinary experts. They were every bit as good as a high end meal in New York City or any other major city.
I excused myself to make a trip to the ladies’ room. The marble communal sink made a statement to all those who entered. (I’m sharing a picture of it here.)
On my way back, I stepped out onto the terrace. It was eerily empty, offering a quiet view of Havana at night. Dotted across the darkness, small lights flickered—each a beacon of hope and better days ahead. It was Christmas. I hoped this night was full of love for each person we had met and spoken to on our Cuban journey.
I returned to the table just in time for dessert—one bite for me, the rest for Phil. But on a night like this, a little indulgence seemed fitting. After all, if you’ve had your vegetables, protein, fats, and carbs, a little something sweet won’t hurt.
Before I left, I bought their cookbook in Spanish (they were out of the English version). Flipping through the pages, I saw pictures of Beyoncé and Jodie Foster to Ed Harris, James Caan, Robert Duvall, Danny Glover, and Steven Spielberg—just a few of the notable guests who had been there long before me. Memories of them, the recipes in this book, and our Christmas dinner are now part of our Cuban lore.