By Garry Pierre-Pierre | The Conversation
When I was in High school, long before there were Haitian nightclubs, most of us Haitians partied at Caribbean spots. I remember rub-a-dubbing to Yellowman and whining to the Mighty Sparrow. We would party in Brooklyn until 5 in the morning and often make a pit stop at Cabana Rodriguez, a restaurant where my friends and I ordered sancocho to blunt the effect of the hangover that we knew would come the next day.
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