Written by The Kid Mero

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‍WE’RE INSIDE NOW. WE DON’T NEED TO CHILL IN FRONT OF THE BUILDING ANYMORE

INTRODUCTION

For Veena Company—a New York-rooted creative studio dedicated to healing through music, fashion, and wellness—“home” is more than a location. It’s culture you can smell in the hallway. It’s a voice on the news that sounds like your mother. It’s a childhood of being fed by neighbors who weren’t technically family, but knew how to feed you like one. Home is what you hold onto even as you leave it. It’s also what you carry forward, generation to generation.

In this special feature, we listen in on a deeply textured conversation between NBC New York anchor Darlene Rodriguez and writer-comedian and late-night icon The Kid Mero. Both Bronx natives, both cultural landmarks in their own right, they explore identity, food, family, representation, and what happens when you finally get to own your own house—but never lose your borough soul.

Mero: I’ve always wanted to pick your brain about how the Bronx influences you, what you do, how you do it.

Darlene: First of all, I'm so flattered that you said that. When I was first starting in this business, I had a manager who said: New York City's rough. People have a lot to do. All they want to know is that it's going to be alright. Where we're from, we've dealt with stuff.

Mero: Yeah, I feel you. I always say I was classically trained in New York—not even New York City but in Bronx public school. That was my comedy training ground.

Darlene: Absolutely. The other day, I posted something on my story: You can't hurt my feelings. I went to middle school in the Bronx. I’ve wanted to do this job since I was eight years old. I didn’t know anyone who was a news anchor. But my mother was so into the news. I knew it was important because of the way she was paying attention. She told me—my daughter’s going to be just like Barbara Walters. Her friends would say: consider something a little more realistic.

Mero: Right, like have a plan B. But if you have a plan B, then you're not really going for plan A. It’s well-intentioned. These parents want to protect their kids, so they keep them here. But they don’t let them expand or spread your wings. They value stability over almost everything else. I’m lucky. My mother supported me. And my dad was always very “shoot for the moon.”

Darlene: Were you in the Bronx? The Heights?

Mero: Yeah. I was always in the Bronx on East Tremont and Dewey Avenue. All my family came to what I call the Dominican Ellis Island, which is Washington Heights, Dyckman area. Every Dominican lands there and then spreads out. My grandfather had a gas station and that's how he was able to buy a house. He was the first person. We was like: yo, he's rich. Bought the house for like $70,000, but it was like—yo, he's rich.

Darlene: Wasn't that the marker, though? Home ownership was the thing. No one in my family owned a home until me. My mother, my grandmother, the people before us. It was hard to be Latino in New York City, especially when you didn't speak English. Everything was difficult. It’s expensive to be poor. I went to college in Miami. It was the first place where I saw Latinos running a city. In New York, everyone in my world was Latino, but we weren't in charge of anything. We didn't have economic power or political power. But that’s just the Bronx.

Mero: But I mean, damn. Look at you and me now. People are always like, oh, you grew up in the Bronx? It must've been so crazy. They almost pity me. And I'm just like—listen bro. I am privileged to have grown up in the Bronx. There are things I’ve endured and experienced that give me a leg up in a lot of stressful situations. I live in a wealthy part of New Jersey now. I have four kids. And they’re 13, 10, 6, and 8. Things are just different. There's 28 different types of water when I go to the bodega. For some reason, I still call it bodega. But where’s the ethnic stuff? You can only find cilantro.

Darlene: Exactly, when I make my sofrito, I gotta go to the ethnic stores to find the good stuff. And avocados. Over here, in my market, they’re three for $2. But in the Heights, they’re 10 for $1.

Mero: And if I spend $100, I get a free 20 pound bag of rice.

Darlene: That’s really the thing with food. In the Bronx, we lived in close quarters. Someone’s mom is always making a sanchoco. I wanted that for my kids, so even with this crazy schedule, I cook every day. I want my kids and their friends to feel like the house smells good.

Mero: For real. Food is one of the most basic ways to be reminded of home, right? I remember my mom working, going to Lehman college, and still coming home and busting down some moro. And there was even Titi up in the other apartment who just came from DR last month. And she’s going to stay with us, in this revolving door of people, and have some food.

Darlene: Everyone ate. Even if you didn’t have a lot of money or expensive gifts, they managed to feed everyone. That made such an impression on me.

Mero: There’s so much change in the Bronx. To stay there, I needed to be Elon Musk-rich to afford real estate. What do you think is staying the same?

Darlene: I think our sense of pride will never change. You wear Bronx pride like a badge. Where I am now, sometimes you’re made to feel like you’re beneath others, because of the borough we come from. But we’re all the things. It’s a privilege to report on my borough. Every story I do, I do it as if the person was my neighbor. Every perspective matters. That’s my community.

Mero: Yeah. That sense of community stays with you even when you leave the Bronx. I have a big home, which means I can have 50 people over now. We’re inside now. We don’t need to chill in front of the building anymore.

Mero: I get here, I live in this really nice community, and it's small, and everybody knows everybody. There's one elementary school, one high school. My kids go, and then my son, there's a kid who said to him, you're Puerto Rican, right? Shouldn't you be mowing my lawn? Aren’t you all on welfare?

Darlene: Wow.

Mero: I mean, we still battle that stereotype. That thing. And I feel me personally—nobody makes it, but it is my responsibility to make sure that people know this is who I am. This is where I’m from. This is where I was raised. And look, I’m sitting here right next to you. I can do exactly what you do. My kids go to school with your kids. You are no better. I am not beneath you. You really grow up in this environment where you're made to feel like you're beneath because of this borough we come from and the reputation that it has. But I feel like it's my responsibility to show—we're all the things. All the things.

Darlene: I love New York. I love the borough I was raised in. I love the people who raised me. And I mean everybody. I feel like that’s my baby too. I always want to make sure that they’re treated with respect and that the stories are given the proper respect. A news director once told me—when you do a story, I don’t care how difficult it is, I want you to do it as if the subject was your neighbor. That if you saw them the next day, they would know you were fair. Maybe you didn’t like what I had to say or how the story was framed. But it was fair. That stuck with me. It’s important to have different perspectives. They matter. They bring so much to the table. So I’m grateful I get to bring mine.

Mero: I always tell people, the Bronx is not a monolith. You got to see all of it to get it. My oldest is 13. We’ve been in Jersey for years now, but he still tries to say “I spent most of my life in the Bronx.” I’m like—little man, you remember maybe three years of it. But I get it. You’re holding on.

Darlene: They want that tie. And you want that for them too. That toughness. That flavor. The culture.

Mero: Exactly. And now that I got a house, I feel like—my house is the building. We host everything. Thanksgiving. Christmas. Birthdays. I want my kids to know what a full house feels like. That kind of love. That kind of energy. You leave the Bronx, but the Bronx stays in you. And you recreate it wherever you land.

Darlene: Wasn't that like the marker though, right? It was like home ownership was the thing. I mean, that didn't happen in my family until me and I look at where we've come from and the progression and it's just shocking to me. And I'm so proud of them. My mother, my grandmother, the people before us and those generations where it was hard and it was hard to be Latino in New York City. It was hard to be Latino in New York City when you didn't speak English. Yes. It was just everything was difficult. I said this on the other day, we were talking about how expensive certain things are in certain neighborhoods. It's hard to get, especially in a lot of lower income neighborhoods in the city, it's hard to get food that's nutritious. The produce costs more fresh produce. Yeah. You won't find a diet soda or low fat milk in a bodega sometimes. And it's times. But the truth is, I was saying it's expensive to be poor. And I know this firsthand. I know this firsthand. Everything is hard. Everything is more difficult.

Mero: It's like the standard for what poor is gets lower and lower and lower. It's like, yo, nah, it's not that You can't, you know what I mean? Pay your bills and eat nutritious food. It used to be, Hey, can you feed your family? You can't. Okay, then you qualify for this. Right now it's like, yo, you can't feed your family, but do you still have running water?

Darlene: Right, right. Do you have—

Mero: A roof? So good. You're—

Darlene: Good. You're good. Yeah. Got—

Mero: You. Figure it out. And like you saying, it's absolutely true. There's no way, look, I live now in a very suburban affluent area and there's 28 different types of water when I go to the bodega and I still for some reason call it bodega. And the dudes over there love it. They're like thinking, they're like, yes, with the bodega. And I'm just like, yeah, yeah, yeah. But to your point, 20 different types of water, fresh fruit, you know what I mean? Stuff replaced every day is going. And I'm just like, damn, what's going on locally? You know what I mean? The stuff for you to get stuff, it's always ethnic stuff. The only produce that you can find is anos and—

Darlene: Cilantro.

Mero: Right.

Darlene: Don't play. I make my sofrito. So I have to go to those stores to find all the good stuff.

Mero: Yes, exactly. That's the thing too. It's like, yo, I got to go over here to get the stuff with this produce. It's cheaper. I got to get a BJ's membership to get skim milk and eggs, you know what I mean? Strawberries—

Darlene: Or something thes. And over here in my supermarket, they're three for $2, but in the heights they're like 10 for a dollar. And they're bigger and way better.

Mero: They're way better. And if I buy whole thing and if I spend a hundred dollars, I got a free 20 pound bag of rice.

Darlene: No, I know. And that's the thing too, food, right? Culturally, where we're from, especially in New York, I feel like because we've always lived in sort of closer quarters, that amazing smell of someone's mother's food or if they're making a, or somebody's making a sanko or whatever, or making their own Soto. And I always wanted that, even though we moved to the suburbs, I wanted my kids to have that. So with this crazy schedule, I, I would cook every day, every day. So we sat down altogether and we're going to sit down, we're going to have family love. We're going to commiserate every day at dinner time. And I think it's great. And their friends would come over and Rice mine was the best thing they ever had in their life because it's with my own sofrito and all that sort of stuff. But I always wanted my kids and their friends to come in the house and go, Ooh, it smells so good. And I wanted to feed everybody. I wanted that because I feed to me that's home and that's nurture. And I wanted them to have that.

Mero: And speaking on that, I also love that it is one of those things that you were saying, it reminds you of home. And food is one of the most basic, you know what I mean? Markers of like, yo, this is where I come from that we have, you know what I mean? As people, especially as Bronx, Latinos. And I vividly remembered, yo, my mom was going to Lehman College working and still coming home and busting down some moto some, you know what I mean? Oh, it—

Darlene: Was probably delicious.

Mero: Yooo, you know what I'm saying? Whatever it was. And it was the whole everybody, it was like, yo Titi up in the other apartment and she just came from Dr. Last month and she's going to stay with us for six months. I'm like, all right, cool. The house felt like, you know what I mean? Like a revolving door of people. But—

Darlene: Everybody ate. And I love that. I would look like when I first met her, and she was in that apartment in the building where everybody would come to Anna's house to eat. And I'll never forget, I feel like you take a little from the grownups, if you will, or the parents in your life, your friends parents, your parents neighbors, that sort of thing. And what she taught me was that the love of feeding everyone, because that's what she had to give. She didn't have a lot of money or expensive gifts for you or anything like that, but she had food and I felt like that one ro of rice, how the hell did that feed everybody? I stress out if I don't have enough here for a few people, but somehow it was magically enough for everybody who came through the door, and I never forgot what an impression that made on me.

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