Lovely Cuba

I Tried Cuban Pizza, For Real — Here’s What Hit and What Missed

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I’ve eaten Cuban pizza a bunch of times now. Street windows. Tiny cafeterias. A home try that made a mess but tasted great. I’ve got thoughts. And cheese. So much cheese. If you’re curious how my experience stacks up against others, this candid rundown of the same dish is a fun compare-and-contrast read.

Wait, what even is Cuban pizza?

Here’s the thing: it’s a thick pan pizza with a soft middle and a crispy ring around the edge. The sauce leans a little sweet. The cheese comes heavy, like a blanket. A lot of places use gouda mixed with mozzarella, so it melts smooth and stretchy. Toppings? Think ham, chorizo, onions, pineapple, sometimes picadillo (seasoned ground beef), and even sweet plantains.
If you want a step-by-step look at how it’s traditionally thrown together, check out this approachable recipe for pizza cubana that walks through dough, sauce, and cheese ratios.

It’s comfort food. It’s a paper-plate thing. It’s also kind of messy. And yeah, I love that part.
Want to go beyond pizza and explore the country’s full culinary landscape? Pay a quick visit to Lovely Cuba for a crash course before you dig in. For an even broader taste tour, check out this messy, tasty review of eating across Cuba.

Where I actually ate it

  • Little Havana, Miami: I grabbed a jamón y piña slice (ham and pineapple) from a ventanita, one of those walk-up windows. It came bubbling in a small round pan and got slid onto a flimsy plate. The edge was browned and crunchy. The center was soft and a bit steamy. I burned the roof of my mouth because I couldn’t wait. Worth it. The sauce had a hint of sugar and oregano. The cheese tasted like gouda—creamy and mild.

  • A Hialeah strip-mall cafeteria: I tried a choripizza (chorizo) that was salty, spicy, and a little greasy in the best way. Oil pooled on top—like a tiny orange halo. I dabbed it with a napkin because I’m me, but I kept eating. The crust had that puffed rim that snaps when you bite it.

  • My home test, in a cast-iron pan: I brushed the pan with more oil than felt normal, pressed in a dough ball, and let it rise. Sauce was canned tomato with a pinch of sugar, garlic, and oregano. Cheese mix was gouda and mozz, shredded at home. Toppings: picadillo, green olives, and a few slices of ripe plantain. First try? Center got soggy. I rushed it. Second try, I baked the crust a few minutes before sauce and cheese. That fixed it. The edges came out crisp, like a little crown.

What I loved

  • The cheese pull is epic. It stretches like a rubber band, but in a good way.
  • The crust has two moods: airy inside, toasty outside.
  • It’s salty-sweet and cozy. A late-night friend.
  • It feels like Miami—bright, a bit loud, and warm.

You know what? It’s a pizza that hugs you back.

What bugged me

  • Some versions are too sweet. Sauce doesn’t need that much sugar.
  • Grease happens. It can pool in the middle, so ask for a bit more time in the oven.
  • The center can sag if it’s rushed. Slow it down, and it sings.
  • If you want leopard spots and smoky char, this isn’t that style.

Ordering tips that helped

  • Ask for “bien tostada” (extra toasty) on the edge.
  • Let it sit two minutes before you bite. It sets the cheese.
  • Split toppings: salty (ham or chorizo) plus bright (onion or olive).
  • Splash of mojo sauce right before serving can cut the richness.
  • If you’re taking it home, crack the box open so steam doesn’t make it soggy.

My quick home method (simple, not fancy)

  • Use a cast-iron or any small round pan. Oil it well.
  • Press in store dough. Let it puff a bit.
  • Bake the crust a few minutes.
  • Add a light layer of sauce, then loads of cheese, then toppings.
  • Bake hot till the edge turns brown and the cheese bubbles.

I go 70% gouda, 30% mozz. It melts like a dream.

Who will like it?

  • Fans of pan pizza and comfy food.
  • Kids who love cheese.
  • Night owls. Soccer-watchers. People with paper plates.

By the way, if you’re the kind of eater who snaps a gooey cheese pull and immediately wants to show it off in a food-chat group, a quick browse of SextLocal’s directory of Kik usernames will connect you with active Kik users who love swapping recipes, restaurant tips, and midnight slice photos—perfect for expanding your pizza-loving circle.

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Little comparisons

  • Versus New York pizza: Cuban pizza is thicker, sweeter, and cheesier.
  • Versus Detroit: Less caramelized cheese on the edge, softer middle.
  • Versus Neapolitan: Very different. Think cozy pan bake, not wood-fire drama.

My scorecard

  • Flavor: 4.5/5
  • Texture: 4/5 (when baked long enough, it shines)
  • Cheese pull: 5/5
  • Mess factor: 3/5 (napkins needed)
  • Value: 5/5

Overall: 4.3/5. I’d order it again, and I do. Curious how this cheesy icon first took hold on the island? iCuban’s primer on Cuban pizza digs into the backstory, oven styles, and why the sauce trends sweet.

Final bite

Cuban pizza feels like a family thing, even when you’re eating it alone at a window with traffic whooshing by. It’s soft, bold, and a little sweet, with edges that crunch. It’s not perfect. Sometimes it’s greasy. Sometimes it’s too sweet. But when it hits, it hits. I keep craving that browned rim and that melty, gentle cheese.

Next time, I’m getting jamón, onions, and green olives. Maybe a cola. Maybe a paper plate on my lap in the car. Honestly, that’s the move.

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