Platanos

Fried plantains, the sublime side-dish of Latin cuisine, come in several different formats.  This weekend, our local El Salvadoran cafe served them in long strips, as if they had peeled the whole plantain and made full-length slices about 1/2 inch thick.  In Florida, where they were a common offering at restaurants and cafes regardless of the menu's ethnic theme, the plantains were cut into chunks about two inches thick prior to frying.  At home, we cut chunks less than 1 inch thick and and fry them twice, mashing them flat on the second go in the Cuban noche buena supper tradition.

Regardless of how they end up on the plate, platanos maduros begin in the market as green plantains, a large, starchy cousin of the US-favored banana.  They mature on the shelves until they start to soften and the skins turn dark brown or even black.  When fully ripe, the sugars really sing in the pan, where they caramelize a bit, browning as they fry.  While I prefer my style of fried plantains, having someone else do the prep work is a real treat; and finding them so often in Florida endeared the state to me.
Add a sprinkle of salt, and there's heaven on the plate.  Crema provides a popular accompaniment, too. But why add to perfection?