Casa Adela restaurant review: “That place forever in your heart no matter where you live”

This story was updated on Monday, Feb. 26th at 8:03pm.

Before I fled to NYC for college, I grew up in the suburbs of Marin County, California. While food hotspots are about 30 minutes away in Oakland or across the bridge in San Francisco, Marin mostly offers a dull blend of mainstream American dining options. Against the odds, though, is one widely adored, authentic Caribbean restaurant: Sol Food. A Puerto Rican restaurant chain serving a range of dishes from Pollo al Horno to Empazinados, and my personal favorite: their famous Bistec sandwich, where two perfectly toasted slices of bread hold together thinly cut pieces of steak topped with avocado, sauteed onions, and pink mayo.  

While I don’t often reminisce on the food culture of Marin, from time to time I become nostalgic and picture the divine Bistec sandwich. Shamefully, it has taken me almost two years to venture into the Puerto Rican cuisine scene of the Lower East Side, partly because of my adoration for Sol Food and my fear of betraying it. But finally, I have met my Sol Food away from home, and arguably one of the best restaurant experiences I’ve had in New York City.

Founded by its namesake, Adela Fargas, and now run by her son Luis and his family, Casa Adela has been a Village staple since 1976. As the neighborhood continues to expand with new restaurants, Casa Adela stands firm at 66 Loisaida Avenue. Humble as it may look, this Puerto Rican joint has a steady buzz among locals and has drawn rave reviews from The New York Times and The New Yorker. I was first attracted to it on a walk home one night, immediately backtracking after getting a single whiff of the heavenly roasted chicken. 

The very next day, I walked through Casa Adela’s doors and was instantly charmed by its tropical ambiance. Above the entrance was an arch covered in palm leaves, Puerto Rican flags, and stuffed macaws perched on top. The front doors swung open, releasing the scents of slow-cooked meats and frying plantains that made my mouth water like Pavlov’s pups.  

I came at 3:00 p.m., hoping to avoid the dinner rush, but to my surprise, there was a herd of people practically clawing to the front of the line. I took one of the few menus available and skimmed it, simultaneously eavesdropping on what one of the regulars was ordering. Using my elementary-level Spanish — not one word of English had been spoken since I’d entered the restaurant — I put on a brave face and asked the small woman with round glasses behind the counter for “Un Cubano, Tostones y Un Flan por favor,” to which she responded with “Dieciocho.”  

As I swiftly moved to a cramped corner, one of the only spaces available, I took in the decor. There were only five dining tables in the place, and the wall behind them was plastered with pictures of Adela, either cooking or posing for black-and-white portraits. While I absorbed the essence of the person that Adela was, I saw a small sign on the bottom corner that read, “Puerto Rico, that place forever in your heart no matter where you live.” 

“Un Cubano, Tostones y Un Flan!” was yelled from the other side of the room, and I rushed to grab my dinner, which was packed into a hefty plastic bag. I tried to find an open seat but was interrupted by an intense stomach growl, so I decided to just plop down on the sidewalk. I quickly ripped open layers of aluminum and paper that encased a Cuban the length of my forearm. 

I lifted the colossal sandwich to take my first bite and an eruption of savory flavors ensued. The thick-cut pork wrapped in ham seemed daunting at first but was counterbalanced by the crunch of a zesty pickle and stringy Swiss cheese. I took down half the sandwich before I tried the tostones, which complemented the chewiness of the meat and bread perfectly with their crisp exterior and gooey inside. I dipped the fried plantains into a small paper cup of sauce, from the bottom of the bag, which I guessed was a mixture of oil and garlic. After relishing the tostones, I refreshed my palate with a candy-sweet Jarritos soda. 

As I felt myself approaching maximum stomach capacity, I made sure to leave room for the flan. The “Flan de Queso,” a jiggly cheese cube doused in vanilla syrup, is not something I would typically order. But whatever misconceptions I’d had about flan in the past being flabby and cloying, Adela’s flan was different. It had a rich, creamy consistency with a perfect blend of sweet and salty flavors, leaving me to wonder, “Where have you been all my life?” Quickly, the flan was demolished and I attempted to return to finish off the Cuban and tostones but was far too full, leading me to realize that just $18 at Casa Adela could satisfy not just one but two diners. 

As I headed on my short walk home, my pace was slowed by the colossal amount of food I had just consumed. I reflected not only on how delectable my meal was, but how grateful I was to have found a gem like Casa Adela. Eating that delicious Puerto Rican food brought back some of the happiest memories I had from Marin, dining with friends and family at Sol Food. The simple, familiar taste of roasted pork and vanilla cheese had given me a piece of home in New York City that I didn’t know I needed. 

I remembered the sign on the Adela wall: “Puerto Rico, that place forever in your heart no matter where you live.” I thought that if this experience had made me think of Marin, Casa Adela must be a slice of home for so many customers, as well as a reminder of the good ‘ole days in Loisaida that Adela spent cooking for her beloved neighborhood.

Correction: A previous version of this article included an incorrect spelling of the founder’s name. The correct spelling is Adela Fargas. The story has been revised to reflect this change. The story has also been revised to reflect that the restaurant is currently owned by Fargas’ son and his family.