The Bitter Coffee of a Hospital

August 26, 2026

HAVANA TIMES – There are places where you expect to find relief. A hospital, for example. And even if the visit is unpleasant, even if the wait drags on for hours or the results of blood tests raise more questions than answers, there is the naive hope that, at least within those walls, a certain degree of order will prevail.

Perhaps that is why I was surprised to discover that a cafeteria had opened in the hospital. The surprise was not that it was privately run, because in today’s Cuba, the extraordinary thing would be to find something that wasn’t trying to turn itself into private business. What caught my attention was the contrast. Just a few yards from the laboratories and doctors’ offices, someone was selling coffee, soft drinks, and prepared snacks. Among them was a hot dog that had been sitting around far too long waiting for its next buyer.

I decided to order a coffee, for which I paid 250 pesos. It wasn’t a large coffee or anything particularly elaborate. It had no foam, no rich aroma, nor any flavor that would justify such a price. It was a tiny dose served in a minuscule cup, barely more than a sip.

But the worst part wasn’t even the price. The worst part was the taste. There is bad coffee, and then there is memorably bad coffee. This one belonged to the second category. Bitter, watery, and devoid of character. The kind of coffee that could make you long for any homemade brew patiently prepared in an old coffee maker.

As I tried to finish it, I took a closer look at the attendant. He was wearing a glove on one hand to handle the food. So far, everything seemed fine. However, the same glove he used to pick up the bun and arrange the hot dog was also the one he used to take money and give change.

Bills, bread, coins, food. All in the same sequence. I couldn’t help thinking about the irony of the scene. The glove, that symbol of hygiene, ended up becoming nothing more than an accessory. A kind of visual alibi meant to put people’s minds at ease. And all of this was happening inside a hospital.

Perhaps somewhere else the episode would have gone unnoticed. After all, it is no secret that food hygiene has long been fighting a losing battle here against improvisation. But in a hospital, things should be different… They should be.

As I left the cafeteria, I wondered how many times we have ended up accepting situations that, just a few years ago, would have seemed unacceptable to us. Perhaps that is the real problem. Not even the 250-peso shot of coffee. Nor the attendant who handled money and food with the same hand.

What is truly troubling is that disappointment no longer provokes outrage, but resignation. And that, more than the bad taste of the coffee, was what stayed with me for the rest of the morning.