Cubanos

You're wandering through Grainger Market on a Friday lunchtime, dodging the usual market chaos, when you spot Cubanos tucked into one of those brilliant independent stalls. The counter's cramped, the playlist is unmissable, and within minutes you're holding a plate of mofongo that's got actual depth—garlicky, buttery, nothing frozen about it. The ropa vieja is shredded proper, falling apart the way it should, and if you're smart you'll grab a mojito to cut through the richness. It's the kind of spot that reminds you why Grainger Market still matters when everywhere else is chains.