Poor Folks Coffee in Matanzas, Cuba: Scarce, Cold & Bitter

Many retirees would need to invest half of their pension in a simple 284-gram (0.62 lbs.) package of imported coffee.

By Julio Cesar Contreras (14ymedio)

HAVANA TIMES – All that’s left of coffee is its color in the cup Rafael brings to his lips each morning at the snack bar in the Armando Mestre neighborhood of Matanzas. Unable to face the day without a sip to fully wake him, this 67-year-old Cuban has come to accept that his wallet can only afford a brew that’s meager, bitter, adulterated, and almost cold.

“Around seven in the morning I leave my house to come here, after hauling water,” he tells this newspaper. Rafael’s routine resembles a hamster wheel, turning endlessly. “From dawn I watch the tap to see if I can at least fill a bucket for cooking or flushing the toilet.” If he’s lucky, he’ll also be able to store water in a few bottles and set some aside to bathe later.

Next comes the visit to El Matador, a privately-run snack bar where, for 20 pesos, a Matanzas local can get a shot of coffee that he doesn’t even enjoy, because the contents aren’t worth much. “It tastes weird because it’s heavily diluted, but at least it’s something hot to jolt me awake,” he tells 14ymedio. At home, where power outages often last more than 20 hours a day and there’s a shortage of cooking gas, using his coffeemaker is nearly impossible.

“When I’m lucky and the power’s on, I can use the electric coffeemaker, but then the blackout comes, and that coffee doesn’t stay warm—it gets cold like a dead man’s leg.” The quality of the grounds is another headache for those craving a good Arabica blend with a rich aroma, mild flavor, and low acidity, like the kind once grown in Cuba.

“Most of the coffee being sold right now in Matanzas comes from Miami,” says a worker at a private café who serves up to fifty small cups every morning. Thousands of packages of coffee arrive in Cuba daily in travelers’ luggage—an informal import that has completely displaced the scarce, domestically produced grounds due to plummeting production. [Of course coffee isn’t grown in the United Staes, so this is coffee grown somewhere else and coming third hand to Cuba.]

The downfall of Cuban coffee is a reality everyone feels. Consumers see it in the disappearance of the product from ration stores, in rising prices on the informal market, and even in the declining quality of what’s still available. According to the National Office of Statistics and Information, coffee production has dropped by 51% over the past five years.

“La Llave and Bustelo coffee arrive from Miami, and people love them because they have that traditional Cuban roast and remind them of how coffee used to taste here,” the vendor explains. “But in recent years, cheaper brands have also started coming in, and even if they’re lower quality, to any Cuban they’re a godsend compared to the coffee sold from the ration book.”

Brands like El Morro, El Dorado, La Carreta, and Cubanazo have also made their way from Florida into Cuban coffeemakers. In the largest Cuban exile community, stores and supermarkets have sensed the commercial opportunities that Cuba’s deep economic crisis offers. From school uniforms at all levels to the shipment of power generators to get through blackouts, the goods aimed at Cuban consumers on the island have surged in recent years.

“My cousin in Hialeah says she only buys those cheaper coffee packages to send here because they’re not the kind she likes to drink herself,” the café worker admits. “But here they’re very welcome, because people no longer count on rationed coffee, which hasn’t shown up in Matanzas since February.” Mixed or low quality, imported coffee still far outshines the coarse, often nameless packages sold through the ration system.

“I used to take the coffee from the ration store, mix them with ground peas, and add a little bit of the good stuff,” Rafael explains. But even that workaround is history because now the rationed coffee “doesn’t come, and when it does, is useless.” “The few peas I can buy now are for eating,” he adds, referring to the legume that, for decades, both the state and consumers have used to stretch the monthly coffee ration.

With a pension of 2,500 pesos a month, Rafael would need nearly half—about 1,200 pesos—to buy a 284-gram (10 oz.) package of La Llave. Doing so would be a financial disaster, so he keeps a mental map of where he can still find a cup of coffee at 10, 20, or 40 pesos.

“I’ve had the burnt tasting coffee at the bus terminal kiosks,” he says. “If I don’t have a sip in the morning, the headache destroys me, but if I drink it at a state-run cafés, I’ll probably end up with stomach pain,” he sums up his dilemma. Government establishments still serving coffee are dwindling, and the amount they brew is shrinking. “You show up ten minutes after they start serving, and they’re already out,” the retiree laments.

One option remains: going to a higher-end place where prices skyrocket. “For me, the coffee at Sala White no longer exists, let alone the one at Hotel Velazco, and I don’t even think about the ones along Paseo de Narvaez. I don’t have 200 pesos to spend on that,” says Nilda, another Matanzas resident in need of her daily caffeine fix. “This one must’ve been brewed early, because it’s lukewarm. That’s what’s left for the poor,” she says at the snack bar.

The worker keeps a bowl of sugar under the counter and dispenses only one spoonful per cup. No more is allowed because Cuba’s most iconic crop is also facing a production crisis. “A pound is going for 270 pesos,” the employee explains. Next to the burner where the coffee pot brews, there’s a package labeled Florida Crystals—sugar from the very canefields in Florida now managed by Cuban-American businesspeople and helping supply the island.

First published in Spanish by 14ymedio and translated and posted in English by Havana Times.

Read more from Cuba here on Havana Times.