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Rock Cafe and the Tacos of Calle Uruguay

Oftentimes I find myself in the unenviable position that forces me to make a choice in regards to post-drinking eatables, and since I’m not one to be rolling in excess the options before me can be somewhat limiting at, say, 2AM. I recently found myself in that particular crossroads: I was at one of my favorite bars in the city, a German pub/restaurant named Steinbock, when hunger suddenly struck. I can count the times I’ve eaten anything from Steinbock’s menu with half the fingers of my right hand, and I haven’t done so more often not because the food is bad (it’s actually quite delicious) but because it’s both in German and expensive. It’s something about the menu, but I find the German dialect highly intimidating. Mind you, the menu is translated in both English and Spanish so I don’t know what the matter with me is that I run a cold sweat every time I dare venture into the monumental task of getting an Emence (pronounced Eh-Men-Say, and you really should dare… the dish is definitely worth the embarrassment). With my stomach growling and most of my money pissed away on beer, I hopped in my car with $3 dollars to my name and the hunger for something cooked, grilled and that will potentially clog my arteries… what’s a silly man like me to do, then?

My search led me to Rock Cafe… or rather, across the street from the legendary Panamanian club. With no relation to the Hard Rock Cafe franchise (you can find that at the Multicentro Mall, if you’re so inclined) Rock Cafe is a club that has outlived presidents, the aftermath of the 1989 “Just Cause” invasion of Panama by U.S. army, and most businesses of the last 20 years dwelling both in and outside of the entertainment field. Here’s a tip for the investor in you that wants to build a club in Panama City as a long-term business plan: don’t. I have been around these parts for many summers, and I can tell you that the average life of a club in Panama is anywhere between 2-3 years. It’s only until recently that some establishments have mixed up the tried-and-true formula of closing shop before the popularity fades, but the norm is to see a club make a splash, be relevant for a year or two only to then be unceremoniously shoved under the rug by the next big club. You’d think that the promoters these clubs hire in order to keep the business rolling in big bucks are starving in a ditch somewhere offering to fellate you for a quarter, but surprisingly this is not the case. There was an article in Panamanian variety publication WeekEND that focused on these promoters and by my stars and garters, these guys have been in business for as long as Rock Cafe has, jumping from club to club and, in my eyes, sucking donkeys at keeping them on the entertainment map. I’ve got nothing against the guys since they’re trying to make a living doing what they like just as much as I am but sweet pappy, if I were a foreign club owner I’d feel hard-pressed to hire any of them once I see how many clubs they’ve worked on in terms of promotion and how they’ve all systematically been put to sleep like stray dogs, instead opting to call the demigod that made Rock Cafe’s deal with Beelzebub so that they could stay open for more than 2 decades and still bring in the noise, bring in the funk. THAT would be the deal I’d want.

Since Rock Cafe is one of the portals to Hell on earth (hot girls, gunshots and all), many Panamanians peruse the grounds on a weekly basis starting on Tuesday all the way to Saturday, drinking their nights away to reggaeton beats until the only dialect they can speak is some variation of Irish Klingon only to hop on their cars (which they are too inebriated to drive) and waltz their merry way home if they don’t manage to end up wearing their cars as top hats somewhere on the way. My venomous snark aside, one of the benefits Rock Cafe has given the community is, and I have no doubt about this, the ability to attract both young and old entrepreneurs of the fast food industry to do business across the street from them. Even though there’s a Burger King located on the corner of the strip mall Rock Cafe is directly in front of (working late hours, no less), these fearless paladins of the night venture out every night on their street vendor carts in order to satiate the need for food after a hard party’s night. The Rock Cafe street has now become popular due to these vendors just as much as the club itself, with their forte being the ever-satisfying taco. They have it all figured out: the amount of people that transit the area is close to the thousands per night (especially on the weekends) so one cart alone won’t be able to keep up with demand. As a solution to the problem, presently there are 4 taco vendors, unionized and one right next to the other for consumer comfort. There’s no competition here as, from what I’ve been told, they have worked out some sort of bartering system that benefits all vendors on the strip, and both them and my belly end up plenty jolly.

Legends of the Rock Cafe tacos curing illnesses such as depression, the flu, breast cancer and Parkinson’s have not yet been verified, but I can tell you for a fact that they sure as hell brush off a foul mood when you’re so mad you could scorch fire and eat babies. I was staying over one Saturday night at the apartment building right below the strip mall where the taco vendors set up shop, trying to get a good night’s rest because I had to wake up extra early the following morning (Sunday, a big “no-no” in The Book of Rob) and Rock Cafe just so happened to secrete a scent that attracted every chiva parrandera party bus in the city to have a Brooklyn-style block party in the parking lot a good 50 meters away from the bedroom window. So, I eventually go downstairs at 3AM with the canned fury of a thousand exploding suns in order to do something that would make me feel better and as I walked towards the street to cross it and see what the fuss was about, I ran into the taco vendors. You know you’ve struck gold when these people, sirs that serve hundreds of people night in and night out, recognize you. It’s either that or it just means you’ve eaten too many tacos, but I digress. The point to my story is that I had a conversation with the taco guy that went something like this:

Rob: What in the hell is going on over there?

Taco Guy: Chivas. 3 of them pulled in like an hour or so ago and they’re partying outside the club.

Rob: That’s retarded.

*Taco Guy shrugs*

Rob: I want to fall asleep but I can’t because of those idiots.

Taco Guy: You live in this building right here? (pointing at the building on top of the strip mall)

Rob: I’m staying over for the night. Fuck, though… I’m on the 8^th floor and can I hear that turd fiesta like it was right in my ear!

Taco Guy: It’s always like this.

Rob: You are Conan incarnate, my friend.

Taco Guy, after a hearty chuckle, pauses. He sees my distraught. It is then that he makes a daring move to ease my sleep-deprived carcass from the ruckus surrounding us.

Taco Guy: I can make you a taco.

Rob: (pauses) Hit me.

The first taco hit the spot, but it created the utmost desire for another. And then another. Three tacos in and I was exhausted, in a state of sweet delirium that I cannot quite describe in simple words. I thanked the Taco Guy and his therapeutic tacos and, $3 poorer, went back upstairs with my gentle soul reestablished, ready to continue the fight against the urban elements Rock Cafe would continue to fling at me like a rabid monkey all the way to sunrise. Of course, if I hadn’t bought those miraculous tacos I would’ve probably jumped out of the 8-story window, without question.

The Rock Cafe tacos aren’t the only ones around the city that provide nutritious after-hour excuses to feast. Calle Uruguay has plenty of options in this regard and, even though there are less now than there were before, the variety is still there: the aforementioned tacos, hot dogs, hamburgers and these crazy-looking “pata-tacos” are available all for the same $1-1.50 price range. If I may, I would like to recommend the nice taco guy stationed right in front of Moods club; he’s got chicken, meat and lamb, but you owe it to yourself to get the lamb. They’re higher-end tacos ($1.50!) but they’re delicious. I could fill a Scrooge Mc Duck vault full of those and eat my way out of it gleefully. If you’re ever in the vicinity (and why wouldn’t you be? There are bars out the ass there), your Calle Uruguay experience will not be complete without some delicious street food. No ratburgers… promise.

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