Angel Rosario Jr.

La Nueva Victoria

2536 Broadway

New York, NY 10025

&

Apolo Restaurant (Permanently Closed)

168 Delancey St

New York, NY 10002

It was difficult to decide which place to go to for our interview today. I definitely went through some hurdles figuring out the right space. The truth is, a lot of the restaurants I grew up going to have since closed, and that makes me very sad.

I spent so much of my adult life in California, not here in NYC, so most of my adult experiences are from the West Coast. The places I think about from the past are usually from when I was with my family or as a child growing up in Harlem. I asked my mom and sisters to look through pictures to see if they could find any restaurants still around, and there were none. Harlem still feels like home, but in some ways it doesn't. The restaurants I grew up in felt like home too, but now they no longer exist.

When I started thinking about spaces we used to go to, what I do recall is a common theme – a lot of them were Chinese-Latin fusion. Given the familial feeling around this food and cuisine, I figured I’d bring you here, to La Nueva Victoria, and share my story. I didn't necessarily grow up coming here but being here brings back a flood of memories of my family.

The shrimp is good but it’s definitely not like the one we used to have, but it’s still good. The iced tea they serve here instantly brings me back to being a kid. I remember getting on top of counters to get the powder, mixing it in water, and having it with ice cubes, nice and cold, and playing games with my childhood friend Marjorie.

Food has this incredible power to transport you back to different times and places, and that’s exactly what it does for me here.

…

Growing up, we rarely went out to eat because my mom always cooked, and we didn't believe in ordering food. So, when we did go out, it was always exciting. It felt like we were closer to the families you see on TV.

One spot we used to go to often was a restaurant called Apolo in the Lower East Side, where my dad worked as a cook when he first came to the U.S. from the Dominican Republic.

Apolo held a lot of memories because my family would go there when we had big events to celebrate. The last time we went, I was maybe 21 or 22. I remember being obsessed with my digital camera, documenting everything. I saved up enough money to pay for everyone's meal that time because I wanted my whole family to come together. Everyone got dressed up, and we took family pictures, which we had never done before. That was a really nice time.

I remember being at Apolo and having chicharron with fried rice, and my family insisting that I eat everything off the plate. This experience made me develop a habit where I feel the need to finish everything presented to me. My parents would say, "Think about all the kids around the world who don’t have food." Now, as an adult, I’m always trying to clear my plate.

…

I remember being a very thin child. Everyone was concerned about how thin I was, and the doctors would always reassure them that I was fine.

My dad would consistently buy me Ensure and Nutrament because he thought I needed to gain more weight. Nutrament was a significant part of my life. Whenever I went to a bodega, I would always ask for a Nutrament, and I always got it. It was like a special treat that connected me to my dad. I've never seen a Nutrament without smiling.

Nutrament still tastes so good.

…

As I reflect on my childhood, I can’t stop thinking about all the restaurants that have closed down. It's not just about the physical location. It's about losing the possibility of reconnecting with those memories and feelings. It's like losing a part of your past that you can't get back.

One of the places that made me sad when it closed was La Preciosa China, a Dominican spot near my mom's house in Harlem. They made the best batidas, not too sweet and not too dense. I went on Google Maps and saw that it had permanently closed within the last year. It was a place we went to often. It feels like losing a piece of the past, a part of my family’s story.

For me, it’s about more than just the food. It’s about the memories tied to those meals, the conversations had, the laughter shared, and the sense of togetherness that those places brought to my life.

…

Throughout my time in California, the limited Caribbean resources and the struggle to find Dominican community made it difficult to connect with my culture.

That’s EXACTLY why when I came back from California, the first thing I did was get Dominican food with my sister, Hovi. We had the car loaded, pulled up to Jaya Restaurant in Washington Heights, bought food, and ate it in the car before unloading my stuff into the apartment.

Access to Dominican food was a big reason I chose to move back to New York and specifically live in Washington Heights. It means so much to eat cultural dishes that remind you of the past and family. These experiences make me feel grounded. It’s all about preserving those small, intimate experiences and supporting the places that keep our cultural and family memories alive.

As a doctor, I’ve been in various spaces, from low-resource areas to prestigious institutions, and it’s clear to me that food is a powerful connector to our roots.

But, because I'm a doctor and because of the spaces that I've now had the opportunity to be in, I am associated by nature of my profession with an elitist institution.

Coming from a background with limited resources in Harlem and now being in spaces associated with wealth and elitism, it's upsetting to see the disparity.

When I’m in upscale places, it often feels inauthentic and devoid of humanity. It’s frustrating to see how much money is spent on the aesthetic of a place rather than the quality of the food or the experience.

These high-end places focus more on their appearance and less on creating a genuine, welcoming experience. It’s a huge contrast to the warmth and authenticity of the small, family-owned places I grew up with.

I remember going to STK recently with some friends, and the experience was terrible. The food was overpriced, and the quality wasn’t good.

It emphasized the discrepancy we have in society, where we value things for their appearance and notoriety rather than their true worth. It was disheartening to see how much emphasis was placed on the restaurant’s image rather than the quality of the meal and the overall experience.

I know my stance might sound extreme, but I think about how much money goes into the development of places like restaurants or places of power where people are being charged hundreds of dollars per plate and I can't separate that from the society that we live in, both at the local level and then globally.

It's frustrating and it makes me really upset because I don't understand what the functional purpose of food at that cost is, particularly when there are tons of people who lack resources and quite frankly, a lot of the food tastes like sh*t too, so I don't understand.

Not only do we lose the quality of the food, but also the authenticity.

…

La Nueva Victoria is uniquely situated because we see a changing landscape around here. The restaurant’s location almost seems like a bit of an outlier given that we’re on the Upper West Side.

I wonder about the longevity of it all. How much time and for how long can they ward off the pressures of closure or relocation? It's no different than families who are in certain neighborhoods, and then because of the changing environment, they have to leave.

This ties very much to the sadness that I feel.

If home is safety, then right now in my life, I feel like there are fewer places that feel safe. It’s triggering to be in a place where I have to use my utensils in the right way, sit a certain way, and present myself in a certain way. I don't have to, but there's pressure. It's very frustrating and makes me really angry.

It’s all just for show.

There's no bearing on people's humanity, no bearing on a sense of respect.

I value places where you can come as you are and not be judged for it. Those are the places that I feel most comfortable with and that I feel are undermined and undervalued in our society, where we're monetizing aesthetics and other things that have nothing to do with why people are there.

It’s crucial to support these places to keep our culture and memories alive.

So, what I’ve learned is that food is a link to our past, a way to preserve our culture, and a means to bring people together. The memories we create are the stories we tell, the traditions we pass down, and the moments we cherish.