There’s only one town on Culebra. And within that one town, called Duey officially but never anything other than el pueblo or the town in practice, exist but a few dining options. On our recent stay, we tried them all.

Somehow, while sucking down our Presidente beers we managed to unearth a rift in the island. And while we never found an explanation, nor ever determined the cause, on one side of the battle, the war was evident.

Culebra has two types of people: locals and expat-types. Sure, there’s some variation in both populations, but on the whole, the businesses are mostly owned by expats and cater to tourism, with the exception of a few localized options, owned and operated by and for locals. We heard some relatively racist responses as to why this could be, including, ” a local thinks that if he has money in his pocket, then he doesn’t need to show up to work that day.” And to be sure, some of the people we probably mistook for locals were, in fact, Puerto Ricans hanging out on the island and doing the post-school thing, or just enjoying the laid-back vibe.

Everyone in town has their own recommendations as to where you should eat. One could dine at the “mini resort” on the road to Playa Zoni, Club Seaborne. The club’s excellent bar situation and “caribbean fusion” cuisine were highly regarded. But you have to drive there, and it’s expensive. Another semi-remote, but worthy option was las delicias: very friendly with pretty good food and pleasant outdoor dining. Another spot, just a few hundred meters out of downtown, was highly recommended but only moderately good.

You could eat at Tina’s, the Puerto Rico “locals” place, which was excellent, but a bit greasy for everyday dining. Or you could try your luck at a few other spots, such as the Chinese restaurant.

Cafe Isola was excellent, but served only sandwiches and cafe food, so really not great (or even open for) dinner. However, their espresso drinks and sandwiches were top-notch for anywhere, but especially for a Caribbean island. Oasis, the pizza spot was excellent, but again, how much pizza can one eat?

And everyone we asked sang the same song, or rather, lamented to the same tune: The Dinghy Dock is closed. They also had the same stern warning: Mamacita’s, the other only real dining option in town, had recently undergone a management change and was, “not as good.”

Mamacitias (web site) is a guesthouse, restaurant, bar and, most controversially, a laundromat. It sits directly on the channel that connects Ensenada Honda to the Lagoon where the ferries dock, so one can pull a boat right up to the patio, hop out and enjoy some food and beverage—a pretty good setup.

Once inside, the drinks were generally strong, occasionally free and the food was serviceable and typical: fish, chicken, pork, tostones, and an assortment of beans with rice. The service was friendly if a bit pokey, and the attitude was laid-back Caribbean/Puerto Rico all the way, with pets roaming the dining dock and people lingering with a drink by the water. It stank a little bit, being right not on the channel and sort of near where the fish coop cleans the fish.

But something was amiss. We were in a tourist shop, and some expat types began a conversation. “Can you believe,” they said, “what they’ve done to Mamacita’s? I mean, a laundromat! I can’t believe it!” We were paying for our items, and I wanted to linger to see what the controversy was all about, but couldn’t figure out a way to do it without seeming obvious and didn’t want to just ask them, which would have been easiest.

We shrugged it off. After over a week on Culebra, we had determined that Mamacita’s was the best basic option, given that the Dinghy Dock was closed. The fish sandwich was solid. The drinks were reasonably priced. The other restaurants, in fact, all of the restaurants, were just “okay.” But as far as “okay” went, Mamacita’s excelled.

What’s more, Mamacita’s was actually a lot of fun. No jaded honkey bartender pounding coozy-wrapped bud cans here: just enthusiastic young Puerto Ricans and other youngsters enjoying the good vibes of paradise. Throw in a steel drum player here, a conga player there. Instead of guitar-based singalongs, these Puerto Rican youngsters would beat out rhythms ont he congas while chanting call-and-response lyrics: guys versus girls.

Mamacitas is located on a narrow, curved street. Every time we walked to it, this Chihuahua was either in a chair asleep, or basking in the sun, asleep. Sometimes, he’d make an appearance and beg us for food. As you approach, almost invariably you’ll see the tall, blonde hipster girl hanging out front. And she always greets you with a smile or a “how’s it going.”

The most fun nights we had on the island took place at Mamacitia’s. From planting ourselves at the bar and plowing through several passion coladas (and a bunch of free margaritas), to the conga night in which people partied to conga and dj music. We even witnessed an impromptu conga-fueled singalong one night. Everyone was smiling, dancing, laughing and having a good time, beating anything within reach to the time of the drums.

But still, the bad vibing by the townie expats continued. After we left the supreme Pedro and Susan Villa Melones, we roomed at a guest house right in town. The owner, who was a bit older and very nice, tried to warn us not to go to Mamacita’s. “They just don’t cater to the local community,” she informed us. “The Dinghy Dock won’t be open before you leave, but it’s going to re-open. The owner of the building is going to re-open the restaurant after the previous people stopped leasing the space. It’s going to be done right, this time.”

But we had information from Jerry, the guy who rented us our jeep, that the Dinghy Dock was going to open before we left. We told our landlady, who doubted it. “No, it’s too soon, I think.” It felt good to have scooped a local expat, so we let it rest at that, and rubbed it in her face later that week because, you guessed it, we at at the Dinghy Dock.

Our verdict: nothing special. Or, as we coded our rating system on this trip, it earned an “LL,” which stands for lackluster. Our food was relatively fine. Typical for the island—some frozen lobster meat, a piece of fresh-ish fish, some tostones. But the Dinghy Dock featured a very, very feeble salad bar: totally Sysco Foods quality with some terrible, gloppy dressing. This, as we overheard the next day, is what passes for “fabulous” and “wonderful” in Culebra. It’s certainly true that in such a small community, the news travels fast.

We asked ourselves, what more could Mamacita’s do to cater to the “local community.” It seemed to be filled with Puerto Ricans, for the most part, which, last I checked, were part of the “local community” if Puerto Rico. It also provided food and beverages, which are, as far as I remember, the items one hopes to attain when one goes to a restaurant and bar. They rent rooms, which may or may not be decent, we didn’t see, but certainly that service brings money into the community via tourist dollars.

In short, we couldn’t figure out what the honkey beef with Mamacita’s was and, if you ever find yourself in Culebra, we recommend spending some evenings there. Any chance you have of having any sort of “cultural experience” on that island most likely exists within Mamacitas.

So, any people want to chime in? What’s the problem with Mamacitia’s?