Derick Lopez wanted to relive the joys of his youth in the South Bronx in the 1980s—joys that have become harder to come by as many of the Puerto Rican establishments of his childhood have since closed down. At 15 years old, he was cooking alcapurrias (meat-stuffed fritters) for himself and telling his sister he would one day open his own cuchifrito, a casual counter spot where golden-fried Puerto Rican foods glisten through the window.
Bodegas (small grocery stores), piragüeros (shaved-ice vendors), social clubs and cuchifritos began to pop up throughout the City with the influx of Puerto Rican immigrants during the 1950s. The Puerto Rican population of New York City peaked in 1970 and declined about 36 percent in 2022; many moved outside of the City and closed up shop. Faced with a culinary landscape that has largely “disappeared,” Lopez, like several other new-generation Puerto Rican restaurateurs (such as those of Cocotazo and Kiosko 787) decided to create his own contribution to the culture: The Freakin Rican.
Clockwise from top: A sandwich with fries, a pastel, mofongo with pork, tostones and fried fish with rice
Lopez started the brand in 2014 as a street festival cart, and in 2018, expanded it into a brick-and-mortar restaurant in Astoria, Queens. The food has earned him some of the greatest compliments for a home-style chef: pasteles (stuffed masa cooked in banana leaves), alcapurrias and pernil that remind customers of Grandma’s cooking. He also hosts salsa yacht parties, drops Puerto Rican intel—did you know that the Vatican served Puerto Rican coffee in the 19th century?—and he visited the island to feed families impacted by Hurricane Maria in 2017. For fellow entrepreneurs and survivors of childhood trauma, he shares intimate stories to motivate them to thrive.
It’s all in service of offering that “feeling of family, unity” from his youth to today’s Puerto Rican community, who drive up from different parts of NYC for a taste of his food. His Astoria storefront doesn’t display fried foods in the window, but the nostalgia is still there: life-sized chicken figurines at the window in homage to old Bronx life, classic hits from Shannon (“Let the Music Play”) and Frankie Ruiz, and families ordering sancocho (beef stew).
Read on to hear what Lopez says about his restaurant, community and inspiration.
You grew up in the Bronx, and the Freakin Rican is based on those experiences. What was it like then?
Derick Lopez: I loved the South Bronx. We used to live on 153rd [Street] and Melrose [Avenue], and that was what really developed me as a person, as an entrepreneur, as a human being. Back then, it was like a mini Puerto Rico. It literally felt like you were there because the population was very, very Puerto Rican.
You had roosters on the street. The older gentlemen were outside playing dominoes and the children were playing in the fire hydrants, and running on the streets. It was just a really, really happy time in my upbringing.
Hold up, there were roosters on the street?
DL: Oh, yeah. People had backyards with roosters. There was freestyle music pumping out of the cars, Whitney Houston’s “Dance with Somebody.” And there was always an abundance of delicious food. At all the cuchifritos. And my mother cooked every single day. Those memories filled me with so much happiness, that feeling of family, of unity. I wanted to feel that again. And so this is why I created the Freakin Rican, which is family oriented.
You’ve shown a lot of transparency about your hardships during your childhood. What were your struggles then?
DL: I was in the South Bronx till I was about 9 years old. We moved to the projects [on 169th Street] after that, and then, at about 12, I ran away and entered the group home system. Although I was young, I was always mature, and I just felt that I would be better off on my own.
I was transferred to a group home on 22nd Street in Gramercy, and this was a more inclusive setting where there were gays, straight, I mean, you name it, everything.
Did you come out while you were at this group home?
Yeah, basically. Not that anyone would not know, because it was pretty evident as a young individual that I was gay. Now, I carry myself in a different way. But mind you, I was trying to figure out everything.
I could imagine the sense of freedom, especially in Manhattan during the ’90s. You must have been able to really explore.
So at 15, I was going to clubs. One day, I went to this bar [Uncle Charlie’s] with a resident from the group home, and I was just like, Oh, wow. I never experienced being in a room with people like me. It opened up a very different world to me, because most of my childhood, I felt that something was wrong with me. Because in that era, in my upbringing, when you seemed gay, everything was the f-word. It’s also the emotion that they would put into the word. That was kind of like, Wow, what? What's wrong with me? So that was the first time I was able to go into a room and see people like myself. I ended up working there.
Alcapurrias
So you started working at a bar when you were 15. Is that when you started thinking you want to open a restaurant?
DL: I remember being 15, cooking at home and calling my mother and saying, “Mommy, I want to make alcapurrias or papas rellenas, but it’s not coming out right,” and she would walk me through it. And as I was cooking, I knew that I wanted to own something like a cuchifrito. I told my sister that.
What were you doing before the Freakin Rican?
DL: Actually, I had another restaurant before that called Mi Isla in Glendale, Queens. It was my first experience owning something, and I failed seven months into it. I had no experience as far as managing money or employees. I just had a dream. I lost everything that I put into it, obviously, and I had to start all over again.
But I didn’t have enough money to [start over], and I didn't want to take out a loan. One day, I just woke up with this in my mind: Oh, my God, festivals.
What was your first experience setting up a pop-up at a festival?
DL: It was the Gay Pride Festival in Jackson Heights. It was 2014 or 2015. The generator wouldn’t turn on, and the rice came out hard. But [my then husband and I] got through it. We did maybe 12 festivals that season, and the prep took days.
And what were you working toward with the festivals?
DL: The whole goal was the restaurant. The banner at the festivals said the Freakin Rican Restaurant. So everyone’s like, Oh, where’s the restaurant? We would talk to them. There was this sense of community. And I was so hungry for the restaurant, for this to really build this brand, that I just kept going and going, and before you know it, we had enough saved, and everyone was like, Oh, my God, you gotta open. And we did.
How do you think the Puerto Rican restaurant scene in New York City has changed since your childhood?
DL: So many Puerto Rican restaurants disappeared. When I was younger, there were a ton of Puerto Rican restaurants, cuchifritos that weren’t just Dominican owned. And then as I grew up, they were just decimated. You really didn't see them.
Tostones
Why do you think they disappeared?
DL: As the years go by, everything rises: wages, food costs. So when you are giving your food away—because I mean all the restaurants that I knew were, like, giving the food away so cheap—it’s different.
Alcapurrias, papas rellenas, pasteles, sorullos (cornmeal fritters)—you’re making these things. You’re actually grating bananas. How can you get these things for the same price as opening a box [of premade food] and throwing it in the fryer?
I feel that many people did not really have a business sense to say, Wait, hold up. I have all these costs, and I’m charging this [small amount]? I’m actually losing money.
Do you think it’s a legacy thing, and the next generation didn’t take over their family business?
DL: I don’t really know, possibly. The generation got older, and the kids are not wanting to deal with that. And so now it’s really nice that there’s a resurgence and [some new places] popping up, which is really, really great, because we have great food.
Derick Lopez
One thing about the Freakin Rican’s brand is that you figure prominently in it. You share a lot of details about your life. Why do you do that?
DL: I want to show people that whatever you go through, you don’t have to just survive. You can also thrive. For me, success is about helping the underdog. On social media, everyone puts this facade of a person that they are. I really like to allow myself to be vulnerable. And sometimes I look back at the videos and I’m like, Oh, wow. I posted that? But it’s OK, because ideally, I’m here to be of service to people and I feel that is my sole purpose—to connect with people and to help them along their journey.
Is there anything new you’re working on?
DL: When I started, I was shipping sofritos and pasteles. I understood that if the restaurant is slow, I have this other outlet for money to come in. Then I had alcapurrias, adobo sauce, mango hot sauce. Now I’m working on a dry sofrito, a salad dressing and my own coffee. I’m always building the brand.
