Emelina: A Dream of a Lost Cuba Earns Michelin Stardom in West Palm Beach

When two chefs sit down at a sleek counter in West Palm Beach and ask themselves, “What would Cuban food look like if we weren’t limited by decades of hardship?” the answer that bubbles up is unmistakably bold: Emelina.

Osmel González, a native of Havana, and his partner‑chef Camila Salazar, who grew up in Colombia, opened the little‑by‑little chef’s counter in June 2026. Within four months—yes, just four—they were handed a Michelin star, the first ever awarded to a restaurant that calls itself Cuban.

González describes his cooking as “the Cuba we cannot have,” a wistful nod to a homeland where travel, trade and free‑flowing ideas were once taken for granted. He often pictures his mother’s fish‑soup remedy for hangovers, his father’s endless frying of snapper on a beach shaded by seagrape trees, and he tries to capture that sun‑warmed memory on a plate.

One night, for example, he serves a dry‑aged, tempura‑battered red snapper perched on a carved wooden saucer, topped with a dab of refried tomato paste and a precise tuft of Kaluga caviar. Around it rests a cloud of fried‑egg‑and‑horseradish emulsion and a clear amber consommé that looks like liquid sunrise. The diners sip the broth last, as González whispers, “Taste the story, not just the fish.”

That story stretches back to a pop‑up they ran in Miami Shores called EntreNos. The tiny 10‑seat kitchen earned a Michelin star in 2024 and a Green Star for sustainability a year later, before closing its doors in mid‑2025. It was there that González and Salazar first tested the idea of a modern Cuban palate—one that borrows from Spanish techniques, farm‑to‑table sensibilities, and the bounty of Florida’s waters.

Enter Álvaro Pérez Miranda, a restaurateur‑artist behind the Michelin‑starred Ogawa. He helped secure the Flamingo Park Market space, formerly home to the minimalist chef counter Konro. The trio christened the new venture Emelina, after González’s late grandmother, whose handwritten recipes still line the kitchen walls.

Emelina’s tasting menu runs ten dishes deep, each assembled on the spot by González, Salazar and a small brigade of assistants. Expect Spanish‑inspired sauces, locally sourced pork, heirloom vegetables, and the occasional surprise—like duck‑skin chicharrónes dusted with coriander and oregano, or a re‑imagined pan con minuta that feels both nostalgic and futuristic.

Because of the Michelin buzz, reservations have been disappearing like the tide. A $275 prix‑fixe, wine‑paired dinner sells out a month in advance and the counter is almost always full, giving diners a rare glimpse of what a liberated Cuban culinary tradition might taste like.

Not everyone sees it as a celebration, though. Food historian Ana Sofía Peláez points out that while Emelina dreams of a Cuba that could have been, the island today is wrestling with power blackouts, food shortages and renewed U.S. sanctions. “It’s heartbreaking,” she says, “but it also reminds us how powerful food can be as a hope‑machine.”

For González, who left Cuba before the worst of the shortages set in, the restaurant is a personal reckoning. “Back home we didn’t know how to stretch what we had,” he admits, “and now I get to stretch it in the most delicious way possible.”

Emelina is more than a meal; it’s a conversation between past and future, between a reality that never fully blossomed and a possibility that’s being plated right now, one elegant bite at a time.