Casa Juancho

Whenever people talk about how New York is the greatest city, they say things like "Where else could you get Ethiopian food delivered to your apartment at 2 am?"

I never quite understood why anyone would want ANYTHING delivered in the middle of the night, let alone food from a starving nation, but I get the message: it's neat to have multi culturalism close by.

Well, Friday evening, I had to pick up D2 at MIA. She wasn't flying in, but was taking a bus service from Gainesville called Red Coach. She ended up loving it. They sell limited seats, and she watched movies, emailed her friends, and napped during the trip. She also overheard great conversation, between 2 college boys in Marlins caps. "Oh, where you from?" "Venezuela." "My family's from Panama --that's close!" D2 wanted to add "Hey --how about a shout out for Poland and Russia?"

My friend Vice came by the office. We were scheduled to go to Trulucks for a cocktail or two before he left for dinner with his son. Instead, we ended up with our own Happy Hour in my former office, now occupied by Stuart.

We all cracked open some 15 year old Scotch Stuart had been given, and Brian, our other roommate, joined us. We 4 men then had manly talk about fatherhood, husband-hood, hookworm on Miami Beach (Vince is a Public Health doc now), and, I'm not making this up --prostate biopsies and vascectomies.

After hearing about Vince's experience with his "12 shot" retro-anal biopsy (fortunately, he was cancer -free), Stuart sat back, thoughtfully, and announced he thinks he'd just as soon die of the disease...

After we adjourned, I had a few hours to kill, and I was hungry. I drove down Coral Way, vaguely MIA-bound, and then I hit my Hyundai's GPS for restaurant suggestions.

Up popped Casa Juancho, only 1.2 miles to the Northwest! I immediately had a yen for paella, and I remembered having a fine one there years ago.

I drove over to the venerable Little Havana restaurant. Holiday parties were in full swing --each table held at least 10 diners. I sheepishly asked the hostess if I was allowed in, alone, with only my "New Times." She laughed and found me a table in a corner with a good reading light.

I ordered a Heineken and ate the crusty bread. I ordered paella, after being warned by the waiter it would take 35 minutes. Great, I told him, I was purposely killing time!

I read and overheard the increasingly drunk conversations. Surprisingly, most were in English.

I remembered I had last been to Casa Juancho 12 years ago, at my friend Jorge's son's baptism luncheon. The place is huge and lively.

The paella came, and it was delicious! I first ate paella as a UM freshman, and I was hooked. Fresh seafood and yellow rice. Delicious.

I paid my bill and left a Christmas season tip. I made my way to a Starbucks on Red Road, just south of MIA, and had a cappacino and read some more.

Before I knew it, D2 called to say the bus driver announced "8 minutes to MIA." I drove around Perimeter Road, and actually passed the red bus while on the cell phone with D2. I swung around and followed it to the bus terminal.

D2 was thrilled to be home. She got her grades, and achieved a perfect 4.0 for her first semester. D1 has a 3.8 in HER first grad school semester. My cup runneth over...

And it occurred to me that there is no place I'd rather live than Miami. I truly love it here --always have.

I think my friend Kenny mentioned that there IS an Ethiopean restaurant --on Miami Beach.

I'll stick to the paella at Casa Juancho.