New Wave
By Dayana Melendez
📍 Location: 1718 N Nebraska Ave, Tampa, FL
🍮 Signature Dish: Abuela’s Peanut Butter Flan
👨👩👧👦 Owner: Joseph Palau, 3rd-generation Tampeño
🕰️ Opened: 2016
💬 Motto: “Tradition with a twist.”
The scent hits you first: a mix of sugar caramelizing, garlic sizzling, and espresso brewing. It’s the kind of smell that feels like home before you even know why. Inside Flan Factory, sunlight filters through large front windows, bouncing off wooden tables and pastel walls. Latin music plays softly beneath the buzz of conversation, and customers drift between bites and laughter.
At the front counter, guests order from a stack of laminated menus, while a small standing display lists the daily special beside the register. The cashier greets each customer like a regular, takes the order with an easy smile, and hands over a small number to place on the table. It’s an easy rhythm that fits the space: calm, friendly, and focused on what really matters—the food.
Behind the counter, a chalkboard stretches across the wall listing flan flavors that read like a celebration of both heritage and creativity: guava, pistachio, Ferrero Rocher, birthday cake, maduros foster, café con leche, pumpkin pie, dulce de leche, and the classic “Olga’s Original.” It brings back the nostalgia of old-school Cuban coffee shops, but with the twist of truly imaginative desserts.
As my husband and I found a table, we admired the gallery wall in the main dining room, a homage to all things only a Tampa Cuban could truly appreciate (sorry, Miami). From colorfully adorned rooster artwork to paintings of Ybor City streetcars and even a few photos of old Havana, the décor was a fun part of the experience.
Flan Factory was founded by first-generation Tampeño Joseph Palau, who was raised in West Tampa and inspired by the cooking of his abuela. Her kitchen was the heart of the family, and no meal was ever complete without her signature flan. Though he once disliked it as a child, his mother changed his mind with one small twist: adding peanut butter to the classic recipe. That bite sparked a lifelong love for the dessert, and when his abuela passed away in 2014, he decided to honor her legacy. Two years later, Flan Factory was born.
The restaurant, still family-run, keeps her spirit alive by combining authentic Cuban comfort food with inventive modern touches. It’s the kind of place that respects tradition but isn’t afraid to have fun with it.
Our meal began with the arroz frito, a Cuban-style fried rice that felt both familiar and indulgent. Each spoonful revealed soft grains infused with soy and garlic, succulent shrimp, bits of ham and egg, and the subtle sweetness of caramelized plantains. It was surprising to see this dish on the menu, and I just knew I had to try it. Many people are familiar with traditional Cuban meals—like a comforting bowl of perfectly seasoned picadillo with white rice and black beans—but most are unaware of the Chinese influence in Cuban cuisine. Though I’ll spare you the history lesson, this dish transported me to childhood memories of traveling to Havana’s Chinatown, where the same unexpected mix of cultures created flavors that felt both foreign and familiar. Flan Factory’s version captures that same spirit.
Next came the special of the day, another fusion dish: mojo pork birria tacos, an unexpected marriage of Cuban and Mexican influences. The pork was tender and citrusy, marinated in garlicky mojo that brightened the rich consommé on the side. The tortillas were golden at the edges, sturdy enough to hold their juices but delicate enough to fold into the perfect bite. The traditional birria taco has had a viral moment in recent years, and it was exciting to see this Cuban twist on it.
Photos by Dayana Melendez
For a drink, I tried the horchata iced coffee—smooth and faintly spiced with cinnamon. It paired beautifully with the food, bridging savory and sweet like an intermission before dessert.
Then came the finale: the coquito flan. Coquito, for those unfamiliar, is the official holiday drink of Cuba’s neighboring island, Puerto Rico. The boozy drink blends rum, coconut, and sweet milk into smooth perfection—some of the same ingredients used to make flan. It just made sense. I can’t say if it was the fact that my husband is Puerto Rican or simply the thought of having a boozy dessert on a weekday afternoon, but both of our eyes lit up like bright lights on Christmas trees on Noche Buena the moment we saw it on the menu.
Served in a small glass ramekin, its golden caramel top shimmered in the light. The texture was impossibly smooth, each spoonful gliding like silk. Coconut, cinnamon, and a whisper of rum danced together harmoniously. Around us, diners discovered their own favorites: pistachio, café con leche, Ferrero Rocher. The room felt alive with quiet delight.
Flan Factory doesn’t rely on theatrics or luxury. It’s a casual counter-service café where the food speaks for itself. Dishes arrive quickly but never feel rushed, and every flavor tastes intentional. It’s the kind of cooking that feels personal and soulful.
If there’s one thing I might tweak, it’s the balance in the consommé for the birria tacos; it had a touch too much acidity for my taste. But that’s a minor note in a meal that otherwise hits every chord.
More than a restaurant, Flan Factory feels like a continuation of someone’s family table—a space where recipes, stories, and generations converge. It’s the legacy of an abuela’s kitchen, translated into modern Tampa life.
Whether you come for lunch, dessert, or nostalgia, you’ll leave with a full heart, a sweet tooth, and maybe a new addiction to flan.
Sabores de Ybor 