He chose to become a baker like his grandfather, and now customers line up to get their hands on his “Cuban sandwich”: the story of Elder Carrazana.
There is a corner of Madrid, in the Usera neighborhood, where the pouring rain does not discourage anyone. Under umbrellas, in a seemingly endless line, people stoically wait their turn (often enduring two hours, as evidenced by some reviews). They are not waiting for the latest smartphone model or concert tickets, but something much more ancestral: a sandwich. To be precise, the Cuban sandwich from Locco Pizza.
A matter of DNA (and necessity)
The story of Elder Carrazana, 35, is one of those twists of fate triggered by the pandemic. Five years ago, Elder was a bricklayer; his partner, José Rodríguez, worked in security. Both found themselves unemployed and with a small empty commercial space in Carabanchel, as El Pais recounts here. “I didn't want to be a chef,” Elder confesses between batches. But flour ran in his blood: his grandfather was the village baker in Guisa, Cuba, as were his uncles. When unemployment left him penniless, Elder took up the family trade. He started baking to survive, trying to recreate the flavors of Havana's street stalls: thick pizzas and, above all, those stuffed sandwiches that have now become a cult favorite.
The secret: 230 sandwiches, no more, no less
Unlike large chains, here the rhythm is dictated by the yeast. Every morning at 8 a.m., Elder starts preparing sourdough bread. He uses a 25-kilogram bag of flour a day, which translates into about 230 sandwiches and 70 pizzas. “By 11 p.m., it's all gone,” he assures us. The highlight is the pork shoulder, cooked slowly for five hours. The philosophy is radical simplicity: no industrial sauces or complex ingredients. The focus is on the crispiness of the rind and the authentic flavor of the meat, enhanced by its own fat. This artisanal transparency is what has driven TikTok and Instagram crazy: “organic” videos showing the real work, without filters, accumulating millions of views.
The spirit of the neighborhood against “modern slavery”
Despite its global success on social media, Locco Pizza remains a family business. Elder's brother, partner, and closest friends work in the kitchen. The atmosphere is like a covered square: customers come in, greet each other by name, take a photo with Elder (who has become an influencer despite himself), and take away their treasure. However, there is one strict rule: no delivery apps. If you want Elder's sandwich, you have to go to Usera. “Sending kids out on bikes in the rain for a few euros is 21st-century slavery,” he declares firmly. “To eat the neighborhood's sandwiches, you have to come to the neighborhood.”
From Columbus Day to the funeral “ritual”
The real boom happened almost by accident during a holiday, when a video about the bread-making process went viral. From that moment on, the place became a pilgrimage destination for the Latino community and tourists.
Its popularity has also led to some unusual requests: once they had to prepare a huge supply of sandwiches for a funeral. Elder recalls it with a smile: “It was strange, but after all, you have to eat well to cry properly.” Whether it's for a farewell or an evening with friends, the mission remains the same: to transform a few simple ingredients into an experience worth hours of waiting.
