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 are products so commonplace to us that we often ask ourselves, "Where are they?" My mother always recalled that her first few experiences grocery shopping in the United States were strange. Cultural differences created a sense of unfamiliarity, even when it came to something as simple as buying food.
During my first few years in the United States, I did not speak English. My native languages, Spanish and Pipil (an Indigenous language of El Salvador), were my only means of communication. Yet, within my community in Compton, I found Spanish speakers who helped me find my footing in Los Angeles. They were also the people who introduced me to el mercado.
Mercado means "market" in English, but the two concepts are very different. A market can be any grocery store, where white bread sits next to pasta. El mercado, however, is packed and crowded, yet it feels like home. On Vermont Avenue and 11th Street, the longstanding tradition of outdoor markets lives on in Los Angeles. The first time I visited the block-long mercado, I was overwhelmed with emotion. It felt as though, even for a moment, we had been transported home.
By this point in my life, I was learning English, though I did not speak it very well. I was mostly limited to talking with the six ESL (English as a Second Language) students in my program. I had already spent much of my life feeling different, yet in that moment, I felt at home. Around me, I understood everyone—not only through language, but through culture. It felt as though we were all there for the same reason, as if my mother and I were no different from anyone else.
Later in life, I began to understand the politics of food, particularly what was considered "foreign food." I found myself shopping in the "exotic foods" aisle of our local Food 4 Less. Yet I was always drawn back to el mercado. Throughout my journey with food, this local mercado introduced me to the beauty of countless similar places. To me, they became a hidden world within the city—a place where we could gather together and enjoy a small taste of what we had been forced to leave behind.
It was one of the few places where my immigration status didn't matter. It didn't matter how I had arrived, whether I stayed, or even what my name was. You always felt at home, even while being gently shoved through the crowd.