El Mercado
A local vendor selling fuits, candies and sauces on the corner of 11th Street and Vermont Avn. Photo Credits: Brenda Verano
As many immigrant children can tell you, something as simple as grocery shopping is not so simple. Within our long list of groceries, some products are so commonplace to us, that we ask ourselves, “Where are they?” My mother always recalled that her first few experiences shopping for groceries in the United States were odd. Cultural differences created a distaste even for something as simple as buying food.
Within my first few years here in the United States, I did not speak English. My native languages Spanish and Pipill (A dialect of Mayan) were my only way of communication. Yet, within my community in Compton, I found Spanish speakers who helped me find my footing here in Los Angeles. These same people were the ones who introduced me to “El Mercado.”
“Mercado” in English means market, but the two concepts live differently with us. The market is any grocery store, where the white bread sits next to pasta. The Mercado is packed and crowded but it feels like home. On Vermont and 11th, the longstanding tradition of outdoor markets is upheld here in Los Angeles. The first time I had ever gone to the block-long mercado, I was overwhelmed with emotion. It felt like, even for a moment we were transported home.
By this point in my life, I was learning English; I didn't speak it all too well. I was mainly restricted to only talking to the six ESL (English as Second Language) students in my program. I had already felt different in my life, yet for that moment I was at home. Around me, I understood everyone, not only in language but in culture. It felt like we were all there for the same reason, like my mother and I were not different.
Later on in life, I started to understand the politics of food, in particular, what was deemed “foreign food.” I lived within the “exotic foods” section of our local Food4Less. Yet, I was always drawn back to the Mercado. Within my food journey, this local Mercado introduced me to the beauty of many other similar locations. This to me became almost like a hidden world within the city. An area where all of us could gather together and get a small taste of what we had to leave.
It was one of the few places where my immigration status didn't matter, how I arrived or stayed, or even what my name was. You always felt like you were at home, even when you were getting shoved in the crowd.