Rabat – Have you ever wanted to experience Cuba without leaving Morocco? This is, admittedly, not a desire that I have ever heard anyone express, and it is probably not even what the owners of the bar Havana had in mind when they named their establishment. But my American friend Madeline Turner and I wanted to see what Havana was all about.
Madeline was so excited for our reviewing adventure that she came all the way from her usual haunt in Fez on November 25 to join me in the Moroccan capital. We opted for Havana because it was one of the better-known spots in Rabat’s moneyed Agdal neighborhood. I had also been there once or twice before for a night out and had a great time.
The two of us rolled into Havana at 10:00 PM. Given that we were showing up on a Friday night, the bar was packed. Most of the clientele were in their 20s or 30s, dressed to the nines, and unspeakably cool.
Madeline managed to fit right in. I pretended that I did.
As Madeline and I grabbed a pair of seats next to the bar counter, Havana’s DJ launched into a techno set. The music was quite loud, but not so loud that Madeline and I couldn’t have a conversation. For example, I could hear her point out the English sign near the back of Havana that read, “If you can’t be happy, at least you can be drunk.”
I asked the bartender for a jalapeno margarita, and Madeline requested a strawberry fields cocktail. We also put in an order of mini-burgers and patatas bravas. Meanwhile, the DJ raised the volume of the music to the point that Madeline and I could only hear each other by screaming.
Our drinks came out in about three minutes. Madeline loved the strawberry fields.
Picture of Strawberry fields cocktail.
“This is the best cocktail I’ve had in Morocco!” she had to shout at me three times before I made out what she was saying.
I tasted Madeline’s drink and agreed. It was superb.
My jalapeno margarita was a different story. The glass had no salt on the rim or anywhere else, and the cocktail tasted like nothing more than ice water with the memory of citrus. If there had ever been any jalapeno flavoring, it had long ago been abducted by an alien race.
I tried to tell this joke to Madeline, but she couldn’t hear me because the DJ had upped the volume yet again. In any case, the common denominator between our cocktails was that neither drink had much alcohol.
The tapas that we ordered, arriving after 20 minutes, were a mixed bag. The mini-burgers tasted delicious but were the miniest mini-burgers I had ever seen. The patatas bravas were just regular, unseasoned, sauceless potatoes. Nonetheless, I love potatoes in all forms.
The DJ’s volume continued to increase, and two women, packed into the overstuffed bar like sardines from Safi, decided to stand uncomfortably close to my barstool.
“The music is so loud that you should be dancing, but you can’t because there’s no space,” Madeline texted me since we couldn’t communicate by speaking. “You can just scream.”
We paid our bill and left after less than an hour.
Madeline and I give Havana 2.5 stars out of five. I’m not saying that I am never going back there, but I am definitely not in a hurry.
