Last night I attended my first meeting of the Stop LAPD Spying Coalition. It was interesting, heartening, and full of people worth meeting. I will be going to future meetings, and you should too! But that’s not what I’m here to tell you about. I’m here to tell you about the lovely order of papas fritas I bought from a woman who was cooking them right there in a pot of sizzling oil on the East side of Alvarado Street, tucked away in the South end of the Red Line plaza.

These were hands down the second best fried potatoes I’ve ever had in my life.¹ This isn’t a damned food blog, though, so I’ll spare you the crispy-chewy-salty-greasy details and commence with the politics. Remember that this is the kind of lovely urban situation that business improvement districts want to kill with fire to satisfy their weirdo puritanical neurotic obsessive hang-ups and yet another example of why BIDs must be crushed, burnt, eradicated, with salt plowed into the fields where once they flourished. In any case, it’s worth remembering that the fight for legalized street vending in Los Angeles is not just about human rights, about human dignity, about justice, about freedom, it’s also about really, really delicious food. Los vendedores ambulantes no son criminales, compadres!

Image of papas fritas is ©2016 MichaelKohlhaas.org.

1. I don’t want to discuss the first best. The memory is too holy. Sorry. Maybe when we know each other better, mmK?