In certain neighborhoods of Miami, where Irvin Rey, owner of Cubanacan, grew up, the smell of frying sofrito wafts through restaurant doors on almost every block.

Juice bars blend frothy tropical fruits right before your eyes, and any time of day you can get a cup of Cuban coffee strong enough to wake the dead.

But Rey followed a job to Colorado Springs, and the chances of getting a decent Cuban sandwich, or a steaming plate of picadillo, or any of the other foods he had grown up with, went from good to almost none.

So he did what Cubans have been doing since Africans and Europeans first arrived on the island: He brought the food he loved along with him.

Cuban food, like Cuban music, is a spirited marriage of African and European style with a distinctly Caribbean flavor. The food is slow-cooked, simple, full of savory sauces, rice and plantains.

At Cubanacan, a tidy nook in a bleak, gum-spattered strip mall, the results are hearty, humble dishes of meat and rice, and perfect Cuban sandwiches that can make diners who have never been to Miami's Little Havana salivate at the thought of a Cuban sandwich stand on every block.

Rey has gone to lengths to make it as authentic as possible.

He hunted down a supplier for Cuban sodas such as Materva, ($1.79) which tastes a bit like Red Bull mixed with iced tea.

He found a bakery in Chicago that could send him Cuban bread for the Cuban sandwich ($8.99), a stack of garlic- and citrus-marinated roast pork, ham, Swiss cheese, mustard and pickles, pressed like a panini.

The secret to Cuban bread, a doughy baguette with a good crust, is a moist, chewy center that comes from the addition of lard or shortening.

The entrees don't stray from the slow-cooked Cuban classics, and do them proud.

The ground beef of the picadillo is gradually simmered with sliced green olives, raisins, tomatoes, peas, and sofrito, a near- universal Cuban starter seasoning made from onion, green bell pepper, garlic, oregano and ground pepper. The result is the type of old-school richness you find in a really good meat loaf.

The chunks of beef cross shank in the carne con papas must slow roast in sofrito and tomatoes for three hours to reach fall- from-the-bone tenderness.

Arroz con pollo -- a mix of shredded chicken and rice in a saffron-hued blend of seasonings -- is a slightly lighter option, although for the three or so people in town still on the Atkins diet, the baked yucca root on the side (which tastes like a slightly gummy potato) is definitely a no-no.

So are the plantains, both the ripe, sweet maduros, which are delightfully golden deep-fried, and the starchy tostones, which are fried, mashed into a patty, and fried again until they turn into a delicious chip served with garlicy mojo salsa.

Cubanacan uses only Ranch Foods Direct beef, which tends to cost a bit more, but has a nice flavor with no hormones or antibiotics.

"My wife works for the health department," Rey said. "So she's concerned about all that stuff."

The juices, which include papaya, mango and my favorite, maracuya or passion fruit, are so gloriously fresh that they're still fizzing from the blender when they hit the table.

The flaky, homemade empanadas de camaron, packed with melted cheese and shrimp, are a nice way to start. The empanadas de guava, packed with guava preserves and steaming-hot cream cheese, are a nice way to finish.

Especially when paired with a sweet, strong cafe con leche.