The Pivot
At Corona Plaza in New York City’s borough of Queens, a nightly food court hosts dozens of vendors and thousands of customers. Photo by Yesica Balderrama
Joaquina and Sonia lost their childcare jobs to the pandemic. So the Mexican immigrants in New York turned to what they know best. Their chalupa stand in Queens now guards them from a financial crisis
Editor’s Note: Systemic barriers have long kept Latinos from gaining financial traction and upward mobility. The coronavirus pandemic has worsened this inequality. Yet Latinos are a growing financial force in the United States. The nation’s demographics are shifting and Latinos’ annual buying power is now estimated at $2.6 trillion. This series, “Keep the Change,” shines a spotlight on Latinos working, in big and small ways, to level the economic playing field.
At Roosevelt Avenue and 103rd Street in the New York City borough of Queens, on the bustling Corona Plaza, grilled meat and vegetable skewers, agua frescas, and coolers full of atole and arroz con leche are on display beneath warm canopy tents.
Moved by the aromas of smoked and barbecued meat, visitors stroll from stand to stand, stopping to talk with gloved vendors preparing tortillas and roasted corn esquites in front of large sizzling pans. Other stands sell imported, brightly embroidered blouses, colorful beaded jewelry, statues of La Virgin de Guadalupe, clay miniatures, and flowery, hand-painted picture frames.
Two of the vendors are Joaquina and Sonia, primary income providers for their families who at the start of the coronavirus pandemic lost their in-home childcare jobs. (palabra honored their requests to alter their names. Like many immigrant vendors, they live and work in the informal economy.) The women had to scramble to regain their financial footing, and like many an entrepreneur, they pivoted to what they know best. For Joaquina and Sonia, it was chalupas.
Joaquina at her home kitchen, where she prepares ingredients for the chalupas she sells at Corona Plaza in Queens, NY. Photo by Yesica Balderrama
A savory income
At 10 on a recent Wednesday morning, Joaquina prepared for a busy day: She stopped at the supermarket to gather ingredients for her specialty, which, by the way, is a healthy distance from what Taco Bell calls a chalupa. She selected fresh tomatoes, tomatillos, and Maseca - a popular brand of corn flour for making tortillas. Cooking authentic chalupas, a delicacy from south-central Mexico and her native state of Puebla - takes time. Joaquina starts with a variety of salsas, made from scratch. The meat is seasoned before fresh toppings like onions, lettuce, cilantro and queso fresco are cut up and set aside.
With 40 years of experience making chalupas, Joaquina said it was her mother who taught her the trade.
Today, Joaquina said she enjoys being able to make her own schedule. "I'm more free than an employee. The rewarding part is being able to see how long I can keep my business going, and how realistic it is to be able to reach my goals. I can either meet them or fail."
With the inventory ready, Joaquina packed her utensils and drinks before starting the late-afternoon commute to her food post in the middle of Corona Plaza. The place is busiest in the afternoon and into the dinner hours. Sonia usually arrives at the same time and the pair sell food to hungry customers in the night. Sonia is the greeter, taking orders and running the cash register. Joaquina flips the tortillas for chalupas to make sure they are crispy and warm. They keep their priorities straight, fielding questions from a nosey journalist in between tasks. Only when the line briefly disappears do they pause to talk more deeply about their new jobs.
“The rewarding part is being able to see how long I can keep my business going, and how realistic it is to be able to reach my goals. I can either meet them or fail."
The women said they’re thriving in a routine they repeat four days a week.
Joaquina said what she enjoys most about Corona Plaza is the warm, welcoming environment. "I like the ambiance. People are much nicer. Business is informal."
A growing vendor population
The aromas and sights of foods like roasted corn on the cob and grilled meats greet customers at Corona Plaza in Queens, NY. Photo by Yesica Balderrama
There are an estimated 10,000 to 20,000 street food vendors in New York City. At Corona Plaza, most merchants are from Mexico, and Central and South America. They’ve created a space for immigrants - customers and vendors - in an area where people gather and socialize over food that attracts customers who live in all parts of the city, and hail from an array of countries. The nightly scene illustrates Queens’ reputation as one of the world’s most ethnically diverse urban communities.
A good number of the vendors are non-citizens, including Joaquina and Sonia. Additionally, many of the immigrant vendors don’t qualify for the kind of financial assistance that’s kept many families afloat during the pandemic.
Every night, familiar aromas of a variety of Latin American foods fill Corona Plaza. Photo by Yesica Balderrama
Joaquina and Sonia are immigrants from Mexico. Joaqina has lived in the United States for 16 years; Sonia for 32 years, most of those in New York. They are longtime friends, first meeting at a clinic that offers healthcare, yoga and pilates classes for immigrant women.
"We respect each other - we get along very well,” Sonia said. “We have always spent time together since we met."
The health center provided care and support at no cost. Unfortunately, like many public centers, it closed during the onset of the pandemic in March 2020.
Not long afterward, the women lost their jobs.
Job-killing pandemic
According to a report by the PEW Research Center, foreign-born immigrants lost their jobs at higher rates than U.S.-born workers.
Before the pandemic, Joaquina cared for children in clients’ homes. Sonia also babysat and cleaned houses for a living. Once the pandemic set in, employers stopped calling. Restaurants and other businesses closed as well. Both went unemployed for months until they decided to pivot and start working with each other.
"There was no work," Sonia recalls. What little work they could find did not pay enough.
Joaquina said she saw the opportunity: no one else sold chalupas at the plaza. They have families and bills to pay - Sonia's brother is immuno-compromised, and Joaquina's children are teenagers. By selling food they earn enough to support themselves and help relatives.
Sonia is a little more blunt about why she works the chalupa stand: "We aren't here because we enjoy it - we are here because we need to be. It’s very risky to work on the street. You have to stand here when it's 100 degrees, or in the cold. It's not easy."
Risk is compounded by the fear that police will interfere, or that they’ll be robbed or physically assaulted. They are not alone in worrying: a survey by the Street Vendor Project, which offers free legal advice and other assistance to food vendors, showed that 44% of women have felt unsafe. About 25% reported harassment linked to gender or race. Some vendors whose first language is not English, or are non-citizens, have said they’re reluctant to ask for help.
More need than permits
Many food vendors prefer the informal sector because they fear interaction with government officials and a limited number of permits makes the start-up difficult and expensive. In response to job losses during the pandemic, authorities in New York City scaled back policing at places like Corona Plaza. Photo by Yesica Balderrama
For years, the New York City cap for food vendor permits had been 2,900. Legislation 1116-B passed earlier this year to increase the yearly cap to 4,000 licenses. A license typically costs $200 dollars, but because of the high demand, some vendors are willing to pay up to $20,000 on the black market for a counterfeit permit. That is a risk most refuse to take. Instead they operate without licenses. Still, police can fine them up to $2,000 for selling food without a permit - or well more than what most food vendors earn in a day at Corona Plaza.
Despite all the risks, Joaquina and Sonia said they take pride in what they do. They make sure the quality and safety of their food are top-notch. They said that what ensures they keep their clients is not only making good food but treating them well. They’re now working on an application for a license under expanded vendor legislation.
So far, Joaquina and Sonia haven't had bad experiences selling chalupas. They said vendors at the plaza maintain a support network and look out for each other. The city reduced policing of food vendors during the pandemic and the women are relieved that sellers have largely been left free to make a living.
Sonia and Joaquina know that the outlook for their business is uncertain because of regulations and COVID-19. For now, though, the friends and business partners are doing the best they can with what they know. As Sonia says, "One fights and needs to work to be able to move forward."
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Yesica Balderrama is a journalist and writer based in New York City. Her work has appeared on Latino USA and WNYC, and in PEN America, Guernica, Mental Floss and others.