Where Cubans Cook
A photographic journey through the kitchens of Havana
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Credit: Ellen Silverman
Photo by Ellen Silverman
What start out as tentative conversations with the inhabitants often turn into absorbing encounters. One morning I stopped to talk to a woman as she was entering her house. After protesting that her kitchen was not worthy of a photograph, she waved me in. I walked into a space full of life and color, with paint and brushes laid out on the dining table and coffee brewing on the stove. She and her husband were painters, and I lingered for hours over a bottle of wine, talking with them about art. On another day, wandering near the Malecón—the broad esplanade that runs along the harbor—I entered a building and walked up five narrow flights of stairs, knocking on doors as I went. No one admitted me. At last I reached an apartment occupied by two sisters in their 80s, Gertrudis and Elena, who had been living there on the fifth floor for more than 50 years. They were delighted by my mission and graciously allowed me to shoot the tiny tile-walled nook where they cooked together.
I was at first drawn to the graphic simplicity of the Havana kitchens—the bold hues and clean, empty surfaces. It was only after returning several times that I started noticing how there was a distinct lack of food on the counters in this country where the basics have long been scarce, and how much of the richness of the spaces came, paradoxically, from wear: The rooms were furnished with old things, frayed things, things in constant use.
I was at first drawn to the graphic simplicity of the Havana kitchens—the bold hues and clean, empty surfacesBut I also noticed how each kitchen told the story of those who lived there. Even in the photographs without people in them, the spaces conveyed their presence: You can see how someone had lavished attention on an arrangement of plates, how they had set a table for lunch, or how a little plastic flower was positioned just so—how someone had worked to make things pretty or put things in place. And however minimal the kitchen, each one was equipped with essentials: a pressure cooker in which beans were bubbling, a small stove-top coffeepot, and a gas cooktop—sometimes with a pot of rice simmering on top of it. These kitchens might be spare, but they're beautiful—and, I think, vital emblems of those who live, and cook, within them.
See more pictures of Havana kitchens in the gallery »
Ciao,
Laura
http://www.hippressurecooking.com