Havana for The Food Pilgrims: a Friday-to-Monday weekend

A guided hour through the sugar mill model and the ageing casks, ending in the bar with a tasting of the añejo; the shop sells what the airport does not.

The restored square with the microbrewery on one corner and the coffee roaster on another; walk its arcades and decide which of its tables gets you later.

Two small floors of a colonial house where the suckling pig is the order and the ceviche changes with the boat; book, the room seats thirty.

The Vedado farmers' market at opening: guavas, yuca, malanga and pork by the pound on concrete slabs, and the juice stand by the entrance for breakfast.

Less a museum than a chocolate kitchen with a counter: hot chocolate thick enough to stand a spoon in and truffles made from Baracoa cacao that morning.

The paladar that made paladares famous, up a crumbling staircase to lamb in coffee, snapper with a mango glaze and the best wine list in the country.

The marble promenade under laurels, with the Sunday art market along the benches and the peanut sellers calling maní in paper cones.

A fisherman's house on the river where the morning's catch becomes sashimi and grilled snapper on the dock; go by taxi and let them choose the fish.

Raulito Bazuk's family-run dining room where Cuban staples are rebuilt one at a time, the ropa vieja slow-cooked and the plantain done three ways.

A Swiss-Italian pastry shop in a tiny space by the harbour: cardamom buns, quiche and espresso, the breakfast the rest of the city cannot manage.

The old dock warehouse market; past the paintings of cars, the back stalls sell coffee from the Sierra Maestra and guava paste in blocks to take home.

A designer's café on the little hill by the Iglesia del Ángel, with tapas and a decent sandwich for the airport, and a courtyard for the last hour.