By Joi-Marie McKenzie
A hint of cold air breezes past the corner of Fulton and South Portland, where Habana Outpost sits. The restaurant feels empty. In a month, Habana Outpost, a seasonal hot spot for residents in Fort Greene, will completely shut down for the winter.
A large green sign that reads “Habana Outpost Open Saturday, April 17” hangs on a green wire fence that encases its outdoor cement courtyard. The sign serves as a piece of history and a bittersweet memory as the place prepares to hibernate. Habana usually closes in September. But this year they’re closing later – October 30, weather permitting.
Sitting in the courtyard are a few patrons still holding on to their summer getaway. Two women gossip over frozen mojitos (the margarita machine was broken) while a couple across the courtyard sits millimeters apart under a multicolored umbrella.
“I don’t think it’s working out,” a woman in a grey v-neck t-shirt says to her friend. “It was never anything he would complain about…he just has a problem, like real issues.”
Her friend’s response is barely audible as a bus drives by. Salsa music competes with the afternoon traffic.
The chef, who cooks all of Habana’s specialties from inside a large red truck that sits just outside the main dining room yells, “Number 270! 270!” No one in the courtyard moves. The chef continues to make more orders of guacamole, “Famous Corn”, their specialty, and hamburgers.
Now, a somber jazz song starts playing in stark contrast to the salsa music as well as to the summery décor – colorful umbrellas, red folding chairs and murals that pop out from the walls.
When his patience wears thin, the chef begins calling out repeatedly “270! 270!” A girl wearing a black and white tee shirt pops from out of the shade and runs with her ticket to the truck.
A couple strolls in from the South Portland entrance and walks into the back of the courtyard. A tall slim man wearing a fedora and sunglasses asks, “Where should we sit?” After a quick look around, the woman in a jean shirt paired with white pants rolled up to her ankles responds, “How about shade?”
They make themselves comfortable under a tent at the edge of the courtyard as a mom pushes her stroller across the cement, holding a plastic bag of Habana to go.
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