Bartender River Gish has (almost) no idea how they wound up in Portland, Maine. A Florida native of Puerto Rican descent (a “Florican,” as Gish calls it), they were eyeing a move to either Chicago or New York to jump into their respective bar scenes. Instead, they rolled the dice on the unknown — the real unknown.
“I didn’t know anything about Maine,” says Gish, who tends bar at Puerto Rican restaurant and bar Papi Portland. “I suppose you could say I ended up here by chance.”
What they found once they arrived was a small but mighty community of Puerto Rican bartenders and hospitality workers proudly representing their culture as they influence the city’s cocktail scene at large. This impact is highly visible: Guava tends to be a popular ingredient in drinks, and other Puerto Rican fruits and spices occasionally get referenced in food menus across the city.
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While Portland earned a reputation as a cool cocktail destination for traveling drinks enthusiasts in recent years, the influx of Puerto Rican bar professionals like Gish and the impact they’ve imparted may be surprising at first glance. After all, Maine is the least ethnically diverse state in the nation by population percentage, per 2020 U.S. Census data. But it’s becoming less unorthodox over time: For bartenders hailing from the Caribbean island or boasting Puerto Rican roots, it’s even becoming an essential destination that may even help shape their careers.
Getting Schooled
The catalyst fueling Portland’s status as an improbable mecca is Papi’s co-founder and beverage director LyAnna Sanabria. When she launched the venue in the city’s historic Old Port neighborhood in March 2023, it quickly became a unifying source of pride among the Puerto Ricans within the local hospitality scene. It also captured the attention of Puerto Rican bartenders outside of Portland, to the point where they started inquiring about work opportunities during tourist season.
Sanabria responded to the demand by launching an internship program for unseasoned Puerto Rican bartenders, allowing them to get behind the stick at Papi and cultivate their skill sets for up to six months. “We offer bartenders a pathway where they can work and learn while they’re getting their ass kicked,” she says. “Then, they can go back to the island with new skills that can rival other international scenes.”
Sanabria’s program doesn’t have an official name yet — she’s waiting until she sets up an official nonprofit to cross that bridge — but it’s already earned the nickname TiTi, a nod to the Spanish term for Auntie. It’s also an alliterative nod to Turning Tables (TT), the New Orleans-based non-profit devoted to training and mentoring Black and brown bartenders. The latter is not a superficial acknowledgement: Sanabria and TT founder Toure Folkes joined forces to form a partnership of sorts: TT graduates can continue their learning experience at Papi to hone their talent.
“If Turning Tables is the undergraduate program, then we’re the grad school,” Sanabria says. “We’ll take a look at what you already know and we’ll help you grow in that existing knowledge.”
“The community embraced us so much when we opened, I almost thought it was a setup. We were ready to fight for us being here in a dignified, professional manner. Instead, there was this overwhelming feeling of love supporting us.”
The makeshift master’s program’s first participant, Ava Gonzalez, has been in TiTi for about one-and-a-half months. “I’ve already learned so much,” she says. “It’s been great to go from [learning] about the classics to Papi where you take that knowledge and experiment with new techniques and creativity, all while celebrating Puerto Rican culture.” The Houston native has no plans on staying in Portland once she “graduates” in September — she’s headed to New York City to seek a position in the hospitality industry — but the experience and lessons learned through both programs have left an indelible impact.
“I plan on carrying what I’ve learned from TT and TiTi everywhere,” she says. “I’m picking flowers on my own journey and making my own bouquet, if you will.”
Response and Representation
For the most part, the Puerto Rican bartenders who have settled into Portland enjoy the city for its thriving creative scene and bucolic outdoor environment. There are some parts that still require adjustments.
“It’s the whitest, least diverse place I’ve ever lived, and I’m still getting used to it,” explains Juan Rodriguez, who helped Sanabria open Papi and is now tending bar at waterfront seafood restaurant Scales. “But I love it here. I love being so close to the water and the mountains.”
The Portland community has also generally supported the small band of Puerto Rican bartending talent as it grows and flows into other venues. This was a pleasant surprise for some.
“When people come from Puerto Rico and see things from where they come from, it brings them right back home, even if they haven’t been [back] in years. It’s a little piece of home, and it’s crazy to see here in a place like Portland, but it’s great, especially because of the sacrifice some people had to make to live better.”
“The community embraced us so much when we opened, I almost thought it was a setup,” Sanabria says. “We were ready to fight for us being here in a dignified, professional manner. Instead, there was this overwhelming feeling of love supporting us.”
Beyond offering acceptance from their barstools, guests have expressed a desire to learn more about the U.S. territory beyond its influence on a specific cocktail. This has led to conversations of warm, white sandy beaches and turquoise waters under sunny skies, but it’s also leaned into more serious topics, such as the still-lingering effects of Hurricane Maria.
“People are still leaving Puerto Rico because of Maria,” Rodriguez says. “Ten years ago, Puerto Rico’s population was 4 million. Now, it’s down to 3.3 million. That takes a toll.”
Pride Over Prejudice
While communal support for the scene is strong, it’s not completely idyllic. Ribbons of conservative New England insularity weave through the region, particularly outside of the city. This occasionally delivers harsh realities.
“The job exposes us to a lot of racism, to be honest,” says Gish. “We’re basically on display as people of color, and we’re subject to a lot of microaggressions at work. But that’s how it is growing up Puerto Rican, both inside and outside of Portland.”
“People occasionally tell me, ‘You don’t look Puerto Rican,” adds Rodriguez. “It makes me wonder, well, what do they think a Puerto Rican looks like?”
Still, these unsavory moments are no match for the pops of positive joy that comes from speaking conversational Spanish in public or seeing a guest get misty-eyed after that first bite of a dish they haven’t had since they left the island. These experiences matter because they foster representation: In a place as overwhelmingly white as Maine, these moments matter greatly to those in the scene, even if their presence there is temporary.
“When people come from Puerto Rico and see things from where they come from, it brings them right back home, even if they haven’t been [back] in years,” explains Elliot Natera, a current Papi intern. “It’s a little piece of home, and it’s crazy to see here in a place like Portland, but it’s great, especially because of the sacrifice some people had to make to live better.”
Moments like these are ultimately why the slow, ongoing infusion of Puerto Ricans into Portland works, and the fact that they can be pulled off in such an unorthodox environment makes the movement impressive as hell.
“We’ve shown that we can run a Puerto Rican program in the whitest state in the U.S,” Sanabria states. “It’s cool that such a little colonized island can have that much influence.”
