As I write this, I’m sitting at my kitchen table, nursing the worst case of indigestion I’ve had since I ate Liberian food a month or two ago. And that’s kinda weird, since I had what I thought was a very pleasant, tame meal at a little Dominican place in Harlem called La Nueva Flor de Broadway.
Rumor has it that La Nueva Flor has–or at least used to have–killer Cuban sandwiches. And that’s sort of funny, since my buddy Carlos is a regular at La Nueva Flor, and he swears that we were eating in a Dominican place.
When I met Carlos near the 137th Street subway station, our conversation went something like this:
Carlos: What kind of food do you want?
Me: “What kinda food you got around here?”
He didn’t say a word about the place being Cuban, so I suspect that the posts about the place here and here and here might be mistaken in calling La Nueva Flor de Broadway (and its defunct predecessor La Flor de Broadway) a Cuban restaurant. Either that, or my buddy Carlos is a very clueless Colombian.
In any case, La Nueva Flor is a tidy little diner-type place, with a steam table lurking behind the counter, loaded with Latin lunch treats: white rice, yellow rice, black beans, brown beans, a couple of different editions of chicken, a plate or two of beef, some tripey-looking stuff, and a pan of something that resembled stewed swordfish steaks with large chunks of peppers and onions. I looked to Carlos for advice, since he is wise in the ways of La Nueva Flor:
Me (about as bright as a box of hammers if I haven’t had lunch yet): “Dude, is that fish?”
Carlos (looking at me as though I’m far dumber than a box of hammers): “Uh, yeah. Looks like it.”
Me: “How’s the fish here?”
Carlos: “I always order beef.”
Me: “Oh, sh*t.”
So I ordered stewed chicken (pollo guisado). It was absolutely delicious, and was served with more fried (sweet) plantains than I should eat in one sitting, especially since that same meal included an epic heap of yellow (translation: greasy, salty, beautiful) rice, black beans, and chicken. Now I’m paying for my fried plantain transgressions. Nothing that an economy-size bottle of pepto can’t cure. It’s not as bad as Montezuma’s revenge (I’m not sure that I technically had Montezuma’s revenge, but I did a lot of projectile vomiting in Mexico one summer–it counts, right?), so let’s call it Sammy Sosa’s revenge. (For the record, I have no idea why Sammy Sosa would want to take revenge on me.)
Anyway, the food was great, and we paid a grand total of $16 for two heaping plates of (non-fish) food, a pair of sodas, and two gigantic shots of espresso (highly recommended). If you’re looking for Cuban sandwiches or Dominican lunch plates or… well, even if you have no idea what you’re looking for, you could do much worse than stopping in here.
La Nueva Flor de Broadway
3395 Broadway, Manhattan
Subway: 137th Street station (1 train)