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The Advantages and Disadvantages of Dry Camping

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The Advantages and Disadvantages of Dry Camping

One of the key advantages of RV travel is that all it takes to technically start camping is to throw the motorhome or tow vehicle into “Park.” With most vehicles being highly self-sufficient – even away from the power grid and water hookups of your average campground – any stretch of land can become an impromptu campsite for the night. A secluded spot next to a stream. An empty field or a deserted parking lot. Yes, even Aunt Edna’s driveway, if you’re so inclined.

Such features as an onboard generator and/or inverter, LP tank(s), fresh water supply, and holding tanks make such a reality possible. That is, assuming you know what you’re doing. Surely, the temptation to dry camp or boondock, where travelers camp in one way or another away from standard campsites and hookups, appeals to the gypsy spirit in many of us at some point and time. And there are other reasons, too.

Me, Myself, and I A sense of community is always nice, but sometimes being thrown into the mix at the local campground isn’t exactly what you’re looking for. Larger campgrounds may swell to thousands of campers on a busy weekend; poorly laid out parks stack RVs one right on top of each other. Where did all these people come from? While no one can deny the benefits of full hookups, hot showers, game room, and mini-mart, frankly, established campgrounds are not for everybody. Even the five-star RV resorts that do everything from back in your RV to massage your feet might sometimes miss the point. You want to get away from it all, and that means blazing your own trail. Setting up the travel trailer at the secluded fishing hole. Maneuvering the motorhome through the deepest reaches of the dense forest until you find the perfect spot. Ah, now that’s more like it. No sounds of idling diesels next-door, no kids playing Frisbee through your campsite. Just you, your crew, and nature. Isn’t this the way it was supposed to be?

Location, Location, Location An RV trip isn’t always to popular destinations, where campsites are plentiful. Some folks, who take the second-home concept seriously, choose to set up their rig for an extended stay in a place where an established campground might not be found. For example, that fold-down camper of yours might work admirably in grandma’s backyard during your lengthy visit. Best of all, the grandkids are nice and close. Or perhaps it’s the part-time job that’s got you working at the Christmas tree lot, volunteering at that State Park, or selling your wares at a regional art show that requires on-site living sans hookups? Patient’s families have been known to “camp out” at the hospital, in order to be close to a loved one during a time of crisis. Furthermore, those whose hobbies take them far off the highways – such as motor sports enthusiasts, rock climbers, or boaters – often won’t find better nightly accommodations than their RVs. Different situations call for different accommodations, and your RV is ready for any of it.

Drastic Times Call for… The couple was absolutely dumbfounded by the no vacancy signs up and down Pennsylvania’s Interstate-80. They looked everywhere, by the end of the night just hoping for any campsite, anywhere. Unfortunately, it was fall foliage season and every single place was booked. Sound familiar? It’s getting late and everyone’s exhausted? Somebody forgot to make the reservations and things are looking a little grim. Any RV maverick who heads for a prime tourist spot in-season knows full well how quickly campgrounds can fill up, often forcing a decision of where to beach the rig for the night. Truth is, sometimes boondocking is a necessity – even if you don’t particularly like the idea of bunking down in a Wal-Mart parking lot or deserted field. If you’re not going to be a stickler about making reservations, it’s best to work out dry camping skills in advance – before you have to use them.

Money Woes Compared to even a moderately priced motel, most RV parks, campgrounds – even plush RV resorts – are terrific deals. A night spent at a state or national park is cheaper still, bolstered by the kinds of bedazzling views one won’t find just any old place. However, there are those of the RVing sect who say hooey to the whole notion of paying to camp. After all, they already ponied up $100,000 for the motorhome, which is the premier full-time camping machine. By their thinking, every night spent parked in the woods or at a friend’s house or catching zzz’s at the truck stop is money in the bank. Of course, campground owners don’t much like this free-wheelin’ philosophy, but you can’t beat the price of a night of dry camping.

The Can-Do Spirit Many RVers started as tent campers, so we’re used to the idea of roughin’ it. And just because we made the transformation from soggy sleeping bag to comfy digs doesn’t mean we no longer embrace – or at least pine for – the pioneering spirit. Many of us still cuddle our inner explorer and we get a thunderous sense of pride from camping out where few motorhome tires have tread before. We’re talking about a spot so rustic that not even the pricey satellite dish works. Generating your own power, carrying your own water, feasting on fresh trout or a pantry full of canned goods is a sure-fire way to restore one’s swagger – regardless if it’s in a $5,000 truck camper or $500,000 diesel-pusher. Free camping can be found throughout many of the million acres governed of the Bureau of Land Management and National Wildlife Refugees.

Before You Go… However, contrary to popular belief, the world is not your oyster. One cannot simply park their vehicle anywhere they please and throw out the welcome mat. There are laws to consider, etiquette to follow, and safety concerns to factor. Furthermore, different RVs offer different capabilities as far as boondocking is concerned. Many smaller towables lack the ability to generate their own power, lacking an onboard generator, inverter, or even solar power applications. Smaller fresh water tanks will limit the duration of the trip – and length of shower, for that matter – of any off-roading adventure. Is your RV up to the challenge? Are you? Here’s a few things to consider before camping without a net.

Safety First The problem with camping in Parts Unknown is just that – you just don’t know. Is it safe or not? While every campground isn’t necessarily Fort Knox, the reputable ones are well-lit, fenced-in, and offer the safety-in-numbers reassurance you won’t get bunking at the truck stop or deepest, darkest woods. For me, every snap of a tree branch sends me into a deep, paranoid panic when parked in isolation. For others, it’s all part of the natural experience. Still, one must never compromise the safety factor. If it’s just a matter of spending the night before moving on in the morning, gravitate towards spots that are well-lit, fairly busy, and ideally located near the communal bond of another RV or two. Parked under a streetlight might not make for the best night’s sleep you’ve ever had, but it does provide some assurances of safety. Moreover, make sure doors and windows are locked, possession brought inside for the night, and you know where the keys are in the case of a much-needed quick getaway. That, and a Louisville Slugger in case things ever get, ahem, interesting.

Legal Matters While Wal-Mart has made it well-known how much they just love harboring RVers for the night, many potential landlords aren’t so giving. Nor are some towns, which feel squatters may not be the best thing for the community – or the local businesses that profit from overnight guests. The fact is the land you’re looking to camp on – be it in the back of a mall lot or next to a woodland stream – belongs to somebody. And that somebody probably isn’t you. At the very least, one should always try to get the owner’s okay before activating the slide-out and sending up the TV antennae for the big game. Otherwise, that tapping you hear on the side of the window at 4 a.m. might just be Officer Friendly looking to point you back on the highway. As a rule of etiquette, it’s always nice to support a business that has allowed you to camp over for the night.

Is Your Rig Worthy? The axiom is painful yet true: The smaller the RV, the less stuff it’s got. Smaller fresh water tanks mean less aqua for drinking and washing, while minuscule holding tanks dictate fewer days spent in the wild before needing to purge. Keep this in mind before scheduling a two-week odyssey far away from civilization. As we mentioned, your vehicle may or may not have means to create electricity onboard, forcing owners to invest in a portable generator or inverter to do the work. On the flip side, a smaller unit is better when it comes to maneuvering you and your crew to more reclusive places. A camper van or truck camper is a superior off-road machine, capable of squeezing through the tight passages that a 40′ motorhome or 60′ worth of trailer and tow vehicle can only dream about. In short, don’t write checks your RV can’t cash. Know and respect your RV’s limits, and plan accordingly. Moreover, what is the condition of the RV? Is everything working okay? Better be sure before you find yourself 20 miles away from a paved road with a flat tire or a dead battery. As you would before any trip, fully inspect the unit and stay on top of any preventative maintenance and routine service.

Ready, Set, Camp Even if you never intend to spend one single, solitary moment camping away from full hookups and the predictable fun of a campground, it’s still a good idea to at least know how what your RV is capable of – just in case. The best advice is to test your dry-camping skills in a safe environment. The smartest way is to get a no-hookup campsite (or get full hookups and don’t use them the first night or two) to see how you do. Or just try things out in the driveway. You’ll learn all-too-quickly you and your RV’s learning curve. How fast does your family go through water? How much LP do you need for a weekend or more? How adept are you at cooking over a campfire if the LP gas runs out? How much can your generator handle at one time – or how good are you at conserving electricity? Ah, yes, conservation, the backbone of the dry camping experience. Here’s some ways to get the most out of less.

Restore Power If you run out of electricity, you run out of a lot. Fortunately, there are ways to keep that from happening, namely through the use of a generator or inverter to keep the batteries surging. Portable models aren’t cheap, but are available to prolong your stays in the great outdoors. Otherwise, you’ll need to adopt a highly disciplined approach to squeeze every bit of juice out of your batteries. Turn off all unnecessary lights and appliances when not in use. A few guilty parities are the water pump, electric step, or exterior lights, which all subtly eat up the amps. Forgo the blow dryer and air conditioner, which are big electricity-users. Park in the shade, on hot days, to keep the refrigerator from overworking, but still keeping things cool onboard. Don’t keep playing with the slide-outs or spend the whole afternoon watching TV. Keep an eye on that monitor panel. You don’t want the batteries to drain to zero. Remember: In a pinch, a decent-length drive can partially recharge your coach battery when readings begin to wane.

Water World Not everyone has a 100-gallon water tank. For everyone who doesn’t, it’s time to conserve, considering that water is critical for cooking, cleaning, and hydrating the crew. How else are you going to make Kool-Aid? Thankfully, fresh water is pretty easy to maintain and re-supply if you should run out (Quick Mart, anyone?) Still, shorter showers (remember the in-and-out style of the “Navy” shower) and minimizing hand washing (use hand sanitizers when possible) should maintain water levels. Don’t leave the water on when brushing teeth or washing dishes, either. If there are facilities nearby for showering and such, use them. And just think – the less water you use, the less goes into the holding tanks. It’s a win-win. A final thought: Just because no one may be able to see you doesn’t give you the right to dump the tanks during your boondocking adventures. We’re on our best behavior, right? Fifty gallons worth of spewing gray and black water is no way to repay someone for using his or her property.

Pro-Propane LP gas is a pretty hardy resource, meaning it’s tough to run out if you have any decent-size tanks. However, our conservative approach should still be employed here as well. The best way to stretch the propane supply is to cook outdoors. A campfire is still the most fun and flavorful way to prepare a meal, a method that simply can’t be replicated in the RV’s oven no matter how you try. Snuffing out pilot light’s when not in use will stretch your supply even further. Otherwise, go easy on the furnace and water heater.

Provisions Overloading the RV is a bad thing. Running out of Mac N’ Cheese 30 miles from the nearest town isn’t too good, either. Dry-campers must walk the line between loading up and overloading, which is hopefully something that comes with experience. Spare canned goods, firewood, and portable cooking devices can go a long way when roughin’ it – provided they don’t tilt your vehicle into the overweight condition. If boondocking plans simply call for a night here and a night there, you probably won’t run out of food or supplies. However, if the campout is of the epic variety, be realistic about how much of everything you might need and how easy it will be to get more. Bring extra food and water, if need be, since a hungry group quickly falls into mutiny mode. A few other possible items to include: portable grill/cooking grate, charcoal, fishing poles and tackle box, extra blankets, alkaline batteries, cell phone, first aid kit, tool kits, hatchet/saw, manual can opener, cooking tools, and bug spray. And don’t head into the woods with the fuel tank on “E.” Chances are your generator will munch on some of the fuel and dry camping is no time to run out of gas.

portable inverter generator #Advantages #Disadvantages #Dry #Camping

‘This Is What’s Keeping Our Pantry Full’ | ‘De Esto Mantenemos la Despensa’

The nonprofit No Us Without You feeds more than 1,300 undocumented families in Los Angeles that have been impacted by COVID-19. Here are some of their stories.

It’s said that prep cooks, dishwashers, and bussers are the backbone of the restaurant industry, but when the pandemic arrived, forcing restaurants to shutter, it was these workers who were hardest hit. About 10 percent of restaurant employees in the United States are undocumented immigrants (many studies estimate that number to be much higher); although they pay taxes, with few exceptions, undocumented workers are unable to receive government aid like unemployment benefits. When COVID-19 put them out of work, many were forced to use up savings, and in the worst cases, choose between paying rent or buying food.

As mutual aid efforts sprung up in response nationwide, Los Angeles-based grassroots organization No Us Without You started feeding the families of undocumented restaurant workers. The founders and weekly volunteers, who are all industry veterans, see their efforts as a way to give back to the essential workers that made their own careers possible. (Read more about No Us Without You here.)

Below are some of the stories of these workers, in their own words.

Gaspar, prep cook originally from Oaxaca, Mexico

In Mexico, I didn't cook. I had my parents. They gave me everything. We were not rich, but we always had enough food. In the '80s, you would hear people saying that in the United States, you make good money. People started leaving, and one of them was me. I was quite young, about 17 years old. The first job I had was in a car wash in Encino, and then I started working in a restaurant washing dishes, and eventually learned to cook. I worked for a Chinese company called Chinese Gourmet Express for like 14 years. I was a sous chef. All jobs are tiring, but there are jobs that kill you little by little; cooking is one of them. I'm already 50 years old. That's why I only work as a prep cook now. We are responsible for everything the cooks need. I was working at an American bar and restaurant when the pandemic started. First they cut our hours, and then they closed. To this day, I don't have a formal job. I went out to look for work standing on street corners. I found steady work two or three days a week cleaning a garden and taking care of cars. We've used the little savings we had to pay rent. Anything that we earn goes to rent. My wife's nephew told me he gets food from this organization and we signed up. It's honestly helped a lot because you can't get much with $100 at the market anymore. Everything is expensive. This help is like getting $100 in cash. I have two kids who graduated from college at UC Berkeley. They are working in San Francisco as nurses at a hospital. We are lucky. What we have not been able to accomplish, they have accomplished. We are not accepting help from them, because they have student debt. They have to get out of debt first so they can help us. Yesterday I went to work at a [new] restaurant for the first time. They called me back. I hope they keep me. The government is saying that we [immigrants] are a burden, what a lie! They ignore our productivity. Hispanic people in general are the most cautious, they are the hardest workers. That is the reality in this country, everything is the opposite. For example, in my case, I'm thankful to [No Us Without You] for this great help, but outside of that, I don't get help from anywhere else. We fend for ourselves. We [immigrants] are the backbone of all businesses, not just restaurants. Because if you look at it, Hispanics are in construction, Hispanics are in gardening, Hispanics are in hotels, in the restaurants, fixing the streets, in everything. We are the support nationwide. Hispanics are the pillar of the nation, but it's difficult for that to be recognized. Many people are returning to Mexico. We are thinking of going back too. We have a place to go back to. We built a humble house on the land my parents left me. And I'm planning on starting a business in my small town in Oaxaca. With my age, and the experience that I have living in this country, I realize that this is not living. There comes a time where one can get sick, and what does one have here? The government is not going to help you.

En México, yo no cocinaba. Tenía mis papas. Ellos me daban todo. No éramos ricos pero siempre teníamos suficiente comida. En los 80 se escuchaba que la gente decía que ahí en Estados Unidos se gana bien. Entonces la gente se fue saliendo y uno de ellos fui yo. Estaba bastante joven. Tenía unos 17 años. El primer trabajo que tuve fue un car wash en Encino y después empecé a trabajar en un restaurante. Empecé lavando trastes. Y aprendí a cocinar. Trabajé en una compañía china que se llama Chinese Gourmet Express por como 14 años. Yo era sous chef. Yo digo que todos los trabajos cansan pero hay trabajos que te van matando poco a poco. Ya tengo 50. Por eso yo nada más trabajo en preparación. Nosotros somos responsables de todo lo que ocupan los cocineros. Estaba trabajando en un restaurante y bar americano cuando empezó la pandemia primero. Primero quitaron las horas y después cerraron. Hasta la fecha no he conseguido trabajo formalmente. Salía a buscar trabajo en las esquinas. Con suerte conseguí trabajo dos o tres días a la semana limpiando un jardín y cuidando carros. Para la renta hemos estado agarrando el poquito de ahorro que teníamos. Lo que ganamos se va a la renta. Un sobrino de mi señora me dijo que recibe comida de esta organización. Entonces nos inscribimos. La verdad nos ha servido bastante porque ahorita en el mercado ya no se compra nada con $100. Todo está caro. Es como si me hubieran dado unos $100 en dinero en efectivo. Yo tengo dos hijos graduados en el colegio en Berkeley. Ellos están trabajando allá en San Francisco. Son enfermeros en un hospital. Somos afortunados. Lo que no hemos podido hacer nosotros, lo hicieron ellos. No les estamos aceptando ayuda porque ellos también tienen deuda de la escuela. Tienen que salir de eso para que nos puedan ayudar. Ayer fui a trabajar con un señor, ya me llamó para que empiece en un restaurante. Ojalá que me diga que me quede. El gobierno está diciendo que somos una carga. ¡Qué mentira! Ignoran que somos productivos. La gente hispana en general son los más precavidos, son los más trabajadores. Esa es la realidad en este país, todo es lo contrario. Por ejemplo, en mi caso, estoy agradecido a [No Us Without You] por esta ayuda, pero de ahí yo no agarro una ayuda de ningún otro lado. Nos la buscamos como sea. Nosotros somos la columna vertebral de todos los negocios, no nada más en restaurantes. Porque si lo vemos, el hispano está en la construcción, el hispano está en la jardinería, el hispano está en las hotelerías, en los restaurantes, arreglando las calles, en todo. Somos el soporte a nivel nacional. Los hispanos somos el pilar de la nación, nada más que es muy difícil que se reconozca. Mucha gente está regresando a México. Nosotros ya estamos pensando en irnos. Nosotros tenemos donde llegar. Hemos hecho una casita humildemente en la tierra de los viejos. Yo voy a hacer mi propio negocio. Con la edad que tengo, la experiencia que tengo viviendo en este país, esto no es vida. Llega el momento en que uno se puede enfermar y ¿qué tiene uno? El gobierno no va a respaldar.

José, busser originally from Oaxaca, Mexico

I'm a computer technician. I used to work for the state government in Mexico. As my daughters were growing up, I wanted to give them a better education, and due to the limits of my education, I couldn't get better jobs. The economic situation leads us to migrate. I started working in a restaurant when I arrived 13 years ago. I started as a dishwasher in Bel Air and then as a busser at a luxury restaurant in Santa Monica. I currently work as a busser at an American seafood restaurant in West Hollywood. I also work at a Mexican restaurant in Century City. The truth is, living in Los Angeles with only one job isn't enough. I worked almost full time at both of them, but when the pandemic hit, everything closed. We definitely weren't expecting this. As migrants, we have no income from the government, nothing. I was out of work for four months. A friend told me about an organization that's helping immigrants. So I registered by phone. This has been very helpful to my family and my friends. The food they give us is of good quality, it's not just anything. I use the apple and celery to make green juices. I cut the squash and make it with eggs. The tortillas they give us are delicious. The yogurt I use to make smoothies. We use everything. In July, the restaurants reopened and I started working again, but with fewer hours. I work 25 hours in one restaurant and 25 hours in the other. Before, I worked about 35 hours at each. Working al fresco means being out in the sun. Where I work in West Hollywood we set up in the restaurant parking lot. One person sets the tables and chairs in the morning and we have to put them away at night. I'm 48 years old. It's hard work, but there's no other choice. We depend on businesses staying open. We have to be careful not to spread the infection. Exposing oneself [to COVID-19] is delicate for your health, and it also means not working for at least 15 days. Right now there's talk that things will close again. We'll be out of work again, out of resources. I spent the money I had saved up in those first four months of the pandemic. This pandemic came to depress us, to make us dip into our savings. I have a colleague who wasn't called back. They only called back about 70 percent of the staff. It makes you ask, "Why him and not me?" I always try to better myself and my situation, but work consumes me. In 2010, I took a graphic design course. I bought my computer. I have my accessories. Since I was an IT technician for 30 years, I know computers from top to bottom. I also have my camera and my lenses. I was working with a friend years ago taking wedding photos. I have the equipment in case I go back to Mexico; I can start a photography business there.

Yo soy técnico en computación informática, estuve trabajando en el gobierno estatal en México. Mis hijas venían creciendo; quería darles una mejor educación y mi educación escolar pues me limitaba a obtener mejores puestos. La situación económica nos hace migrar. Yo empecé a trabajar en un restaurante desde que llegué hace 13 años. Me metí a trabajar en un restaurante en Bel Air como dishwasher. Después trabajé en un restaurante de lujo en Santa Mónica de busboy y ya empiezo. Yo trabajo de busboy en un restaurante americano de mariscos en West Hollywood y también trabajo en uno mexicano en Century City. La verdad, vivir en Los Ángeles con solo un trabajo no es suficiente. Yo trabajaba casi full time en los dos y viene esto de la pandemia y todo cerrado. No nos esperábamos esto definitivamente. Como nosotros somos migrantes, no tenemos ingresos por parte del gobierno, nada. Estuve cuatro meses sin trabajo. Un amigo me dijo de una organización que está ayudando a inmigrantes. Entonces me registré por teléfono. Esto ha sido de bastante ayuda para nosotros y para mis amigos. Los alimentos que nos dan son de buena calidad, no son cualquier cosa. La manzana y apio los uso para hacer jugos verdes. El squash la corto y la hago con huevo. La tortilla que nos dan es exquisita. El yogurt para hacer smoothie. Todo se ocupa. En julio se abrieron los restaurantes otra vez y empezamos con pocas horas. Trabajo 25 horas en uno y 25 horas en el otro. Antes trabajaba unas 35 horas en cada lugar. Trabajar al fresco es estar en el sol y por ejemplo en el trabajo donde estoy en West Hollywood estamos trabajando en el parking del restaurante. Una persona pone las mesas y sillas en la mañana y nosotros en la noche las tenemos que meter, todas las noches. Cuesta el trabajo pero tenemos que trabajar. Dependemos de la apertura. Nos tenemos que cuidar para no extender el contagio. Exponerse es delicado para la salud y también significa perder el trabajo por al menos 15 días. Ahorita se está hablando de que probablemente se vuelva a cerrar. Otra vez nos quedamos sin trabajo, nos quedamos sin recursos. Yo mi dinero que tenía ahorrado pues se me fue en esos primeros cuatro meses de la pandemia. Esto nos vino a deprimir, a echar mano en los ahorros. Tengo un compañero que no lo llamaron para trabajar. Llamaron como a un 70 por ciento a trabajar. Dice uno, "¿Por qué a mí no y a él sí Yo trato de superar pero el trabajo me consume. En el 2010 estudié un curso de diseño gráfico. Me compré mi computadora. Tengo mis accesorios, como soy técnico informático de hace 30 años. Entonces conozco la computadora de arriba para abajo. Yo tengo mi cámara fotográfica, mis lentes. Estuve trabajando con una amiga hace años haciendo fotos de bodas. Tengo mi equipo por si regreso a México; puedo trabajar en eso.

Esperanza, lonchera cook originally from Michoacan, Mexico

I came here because in Mexico there isn't much work, and there's a lot of poverty. If it's difficult here, the situation there is worse. I've been working as a cook at a lonchera [food truck] for 16 years. Before that, I worked as a prep cook at another lonchera. My mom taught me to cook. I cook meat for tacos, chicharrones, chicken, tortas, hamburgers. We also make Mexican dishes like chilaquiles, birria, ribs in green salsa with rice and beans. Mexican food sells very well. We drive around where the car dealerships are. Our clients are car salesmen, car washers, secretaries. We also go to two factories. I like my job, but I've been having a lot of knee problems from being on my feet 10 hours a day. This pandemic affected me a lot. I didn't work a single day for three months. I'm back at work now, but instead of working five days a week, I only work two. Sales have fallen because there aren't as many people at the car dealerships. Many car salesmen, car washers, and secretaries were let go. One day I drove by here and saw that there was food being distributed. We submitted an application. We don't miss a week because this is what's keeping our pantry full. It was a big relief because we're not even making enough money to pay the rent. Many people treat you with a lot of racism here, but they should realize that it's because of Latinos that California functions. Because who picks the fruit, the vegetables, all this that they're giving us in this box? Eggs, meat, milk: Who makes it? We Latinos. Many people don't see that. It's a lot of work. They don't see the effort people are making. I have a 22-year-old son who I brought from Mexico five years ago. But my older girl stayed; she had already made her life there. It's been 22 years since I've seen her. When I'm not at work, I dedicate myself to my home. I also sell homemade food to my friends. I make pozole or chiles rellenos or pupusas to earn a little extra money. My job is important to me because I can support my family and I like to see customers leave satisfied and liking the Mexican flavor.

Me vine porque en México no hay mucho trabajo, hay mucha pobreza. Si aquí es difícil, allá está peor. Tengo 16 años trabajando como cocinera en una lonchera. Antes de eso también estaba en una lonchera pero como ayudante picando verdura. Mi mamá me enseñó a cocinar. Yo cocino carne para tacos, chicharrones, pollo, tortas, hamburguesas, todo eso. También hacemos platillos mexicanos como chilaquiles, birria, costillitas en salsa verde con su arroz y su frijol. La comida mexicana es muy bien vendida. Andamos por toda el área de donde están los dealers de carros. Nuestros clientes son vendedores de carro, lavadores de carro, hay secretarias. Vamos también a dos fábricas. Me gusta mi trabajo pero ya he tenido muchos problemas con mis rodillas por estar parada 10 horas al día. La pandemia me afectó mucho. Duré como tres meses sin trabajar ni un día. Ya estoy trabajando otra vez pero en lugar de trabajar los cinco días, solo trabajo dos. Se bajaron las ventas porque en los dealers ya no hay tanta gente. Descansaron muchos vendedores, muchas secretarias, muchos lavadores. Una vez pasamos por aquí y miramos que había distribución de comida. Metimos la aplicación y de ahí no faltamos porque de eso mantenemos la despensa. Nos ha aliviado mucho porque no estamos sacando ni para la renta. Mucha gente te trata con mucho racismo aquí, pero que se pongan a pensar, por nosotros los latinos, es que es California. Porque ¿quién pisca la fruta, la verdura, todo esto que nos están dando? Los huevos, la carne, la leche: ¿Quién lo hace? Nosotros los latinos. Mucha gente no lo ve. Es mucho trabajo. Y no ven el esfuerzo de la gente. Tengo un muchachito de 22 años. Ese me lo traje aquí como hace cinco años. Pero la muchacha ya mayor se quedó; ella ya hizo su vida. Tengo 22 años que no la veo. Cuando no estoy en mi trabajo me dedico a mi hogar. También vendo comida casera a mis amistades. Hago pozole o chiles rellenos o pupusas para ganar un dinerito extra. Para mí es importante mi trabajo porque puedo mantener a mi familia y me gusta ver a los clientes que se vayan satisfechos y que les guste el sazón mexicano.

Maxima, prep cook originally from Chihuahua, Mexico

I learned to cook from life. When I lived in Mexico, I worked in a hotel with a restaurant. I would make the beds and from there I would run down to the restaurant. I would tell the chefs, "Hey, I'll help you clean the beans, I'll help you choose the rice." I watched from afar how the food was being prepared and wrote everything down. Then, I would run home and I would prepare what I learned. Later, the chef saw that he couldn't get rid of me and asked me to be his assistant. He started showing me how to cook, and I said "I found my place." I love cooking. It's my life. I came here because I'm a single mom and my daughter wanted to go to college. How would I pay for it? I had to find a way. I was in New York for 12 years, where I worked at two Burger Kings and a Wendy's as a cook. I came to Los Angeles because my daughter wanted to come here. She had already finished college. I started working at a Burger King here too. Then I worked at [a West Hollywood restaurant] as a prep cook for four years. I would prepare everything they sold at night. All the cook has to do is take out the trays we prepare to finish cooking and then the dish goes to the table. Things are already measured. People don't see the back of house staff who are marginalized. The people in the back do the most work. And we're the ones who receive the least. From there I went to [a restaurant in Downtown LA] where I stayed for another four years until the pandemic started. They let us go because there was no work. I'm now 54 years old. I don't even know how I did it. I lost my car. This one I'm driving is my brother's. I don't spend anything on food. Because everything they [No Us Without You] give us is useful. It helps us a lot. I'll be honest with you: I owe a month's rent because I can't handle everything. There was a time during the pandemic when I went to Dodger Stadium with my daughter to collect cans and we would sell them. That's how we paid the electric bill. Right now, I'm working at a restaurant three days a week making ceviche. I've learned another job! I know that one day I'll tell this story. I'm going to say, "I survived." What I thank God for the most is that I haven't become infected. The most important thing is that your family is united. The downtown restaurant called me to see if they can hire me again. My hobby is food prep, the smell of the vegetables. What I like most is learning new things every day: That's the beauty of a restaurant that always changes menus. I love it there because the chef told me, "You take care of the spices." The basil, thyme, rosemary, all that passed through these little hands. When I finish all my work and I say, "And now what am I going to do for myself?," I take my grandson and I go hiking up a mountain. When he no longer wants to walk, I have to carry him on my back until we get to the top. I try to go out where there aren't many people. I try to find a way to be myself. My dream is to set up a stall and sell ceviches. I would love that; it's my most precious dream. But it's just a dream.

Yo aprendí a cocinar de la vida. Cuando vivía en México, trabajé en un hotel con un restaurante. Yo arreglaba las camas y de ahí bajaba corriendo al restaurante. Les decía a los chefs, "Oye te ayudo a limpiar frijoles, yo te ayudo a escoger el arroz". Veía de lejos como preparaban la comida y apuntaba todo. Me iba corriendo para mi casa y yo preparaba lo que aprendía. Ya después vio el chef que no me podía sacar de la cocina y me preguntó si quería ser su ayudante. Él empezó a enseñarme la cocina y dije "De aquí soy". Me encanta la cocina. Esa es mi vida. Yo me vine aquí porque soy mamá soltera y mi hija quería sacar su universidad y ¿de dónde yo sacaba? Tenía que buscarle. Estuve en Nueva York 12 años. Trabajaba como cocinera en dos Burger Kings y un Wendy's. Me vine para Los Ángeles porque mi hija quería venirse. Ya había terminado la universidad. Empecé a trabajar en un Burger King aquí también. Después trabajé en un restaurante de West Hollywood como preparadora por cuatro años. Preparaba todo lo que vendían en la noche. El cocinero nada más saca de los trays que le ponemos nosotros para terminar de cocinar y va para la mesa. Ya están medidas las cosas. La gente no ve que los trabajadores de atrás son marginados. Las personas que están atrás son las que más hacen el trabajo. Y somos los que menos recibimos. Despues me fui a [un restaurante en el centro de Los Ángeles] donde estuve otros cuatro años hasta que empezó la pandemia. Nos despidieron a todos porque no había trabajo. Yo tengo ahorita 54 años. Ni yo sé cómo lo hice. Perdí el carro. Este carro es de mi hermano. No gasto nada en comida. Porque todo lo que ellos [No Us Without You] me dan me sirve. Nos ayuda mucho. Ahorita no te voy a mentir: debo un mes de renta porque no puedo con todo. Hubo una temporada durante la pandemia que me iba al estadio de los Dodgers con mi hija a recoger botes y los vendíamos. Con eso pagamos la luz. Ahorita voy a un restaurante, ahí me dan tres días de trabajo como cevichera. ¡Ya aprendí otro trabajo más! Yo sé que un día voy a contar esto. Voy a decir, "Sobreviví". Y lo que le doy más gracias a Dios es que no me he contagiado de nada. Lo principal es que tu familia esté unida. Ahorita me llamaron del restaurante en el centro para ver si me vuelven a contratar. Mi hobby es la preparación, el olor a las verduras. Lo que más me gusta es cada día aprender cosas. Eso es lo bonito de un restaurante que siempre cambia los menús. Me encantaba ese restaurante porque el chef me decía a mí, "Tú te encargas de los olores". La albahaca, el tomillo, el rosemary, todo eso pasaba por estas manitas. Cuando ya termino toda mi labor y digo, "¿Y ahora que voy a hacer para mí?", me llevo a mi nieto y me voy al cerro a caminar. Donde él ya no quiere caminar tengo que cargarlo en la espalda hasta que llegamos arriba. Trato la manera de salir donde no hay mucha gente. Trato la manera de ser yo. Mi sueño es poner un local y vender ceviches. Me encantaría; es mi sueño adorado. Pero eso es un sueño nada más.

Samanta Helou Hernandez is a multimedia journalist and photographer based in LA covering culture, identity, and social issues. Copy edited by Emily Safrin

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The nonprofit No Us Without You feeds more than 1,300 undocumented families in Los Angeles that have been impacted by COVID-19. Here are some of their stories.

It’s said that prep cooks, dishwashers, and bussers are the backbone of the restaurant industry, but when the pandemic arrived, forcing restaurants to shutter, it was these workers who were hardest hit. About 10 percent of restaurant employees in the United States are undocumented immigrants (many studies estimate that number to be much higher); although they pay taxes, with few exceptions, undocumented workers are unable to receive government aid like unemployment benefits. When COVID-19 put them out of work, many were forced to use up savings, and in the worst cases, choose between paying rent or buying food.

As mutual aid efforts sprung up in response nationwide, Los Angeles-based grassroots organization No Us Without You started feeding the families of undocumented restaurant workers. The founders and weekly volunteers, who are all industry veterans, see their efforts as a way to give back to the essential workers that made their own careers possible. (Read more about No Us Without You here.)

Below are some of the stories of these workers, in their own words.

Gaspar, prep cook originally from Oaxaca, Mexico

In Mexico, I didn't cook. I had my parents. They gave me everything. We were not rich, but we always had enough food. In the '80s, you would hear people saying that in the United States, you make good money. People started leaving, and one of them was me. I was quite young, about 17 years old. The first job I had was in a car wash in Encino, and then I started working in a restaurant washing dishes, and eventually learned to cook. I worked for a Chinese company called Chinese Gourmet Express for like 14 years. I was a sous chef. All jobs are tiring, but there are jobs that kill you little by little; cooking is one of them. I'm already 50 years old. That's why I only work as a prep cook now. We are responsible for everything the cooks need. I was working at an American bar and restaurant when the pandemic started. First they cut our hours, and then they closed. To this day, I don't have a formal job. I went out to look for work standing on street corners. I found steady work two or three days a week cleaning a garden and taking care of cars. We've used the little savings we had to pay rent. Anything that we earn goes to rent. My wife's nephew told me he gets food from this organization and we signed up. It's honestly helped a lot because you can't get much with $100 at the market anymore. Everything is expensive. This help is like getting $100 in cash. I have two kids who graduated from college at UC Berkeley. They are working in San Francisco as nurses at a hospital. We are lucky. What we have not been able to accomplish, they have accomplished. We are not accepting help from them, because they have student debt. They have to get out of debt first so they can help us. Yesterday I went to work at a [new] restaurant for the first time. They called me back. I hope they keep me. The government is saying that we [immigrants] are a burden, what a lie! They ignore our productivity. Hispanic people in general are the most cautious, they are the hardest workers. That is the reality in this country, everything is the opposite. For example, in my case, I'm thankful to [No Us Without You] for this great help, but outside of that, I don't get help from anywhere else. We fend for ourselves. We [immigrants] are the backbone of all businesses, not just restaurants. Because if you look at it, Hispanics are in construction, Hispanics are in gardening, Hispanics are in hotels, in the restaurants, fixing the streets, in everything. We are the support nationwide. Hispanics are the pillar of the nation, but it's difficult for that to be recognized. Many people are returning to Mexico. We are thinking of going back too. We have a place to go back to. We built a humble house on the land my parents left me. And I'm planning on starting a business in my small town in Oaxaca. With my age, and the experience that I have living in this country, I realize that this is not living. There comes a time where one can get sick, and what does one have here? The government is not going to help you.

En México, yo no cocinaba. Tenía mis papas. Ellos me daban todo. No éramos ricos pero siempre teníamos suficiente comida. En los 80 se escuchaba que la gente decía que ahí en Estados Unidos se gana bien. Entonces la gente se fue saliendo y uno de ellos fui yo. Estaba bastante joven. Tenía unos 17 años. El primer trabajo que tuve fue un car wash en Encino y después empecé a trabajar en un restaurante. Empecé lavando trastes. Y aprendí a cocinar. Trabajé en una compañía china que se llama Chinese Gourmet Express por como 14 años. Yo era sous chef. Yo digo que todos los trabajos cansan pero hay trabajos que te van matando poco a poco. Ya tengo 50. Por eso yo nada más trabajo en preparación. Nosotros somos responsables de todo lo que ocupan los cocineros. Estaba trabajando en un restaurante y bar americano cuando empezó la pandemia primero. Primero quitaron las horas y después cerraron. Hasta la fecha no he conseguido trabajo formalmente. Salía a buscar trabajo en las esquinas. Con suerte conseguí trabajo dos o tres días a la semana limpiando un jardín y cuidando carros. Para la renta hemos estado agarrando el poquito de ahorro que teníamos. Lo que ganamos se va a la renta. Un sobrino de mi señora me dijo que recibe comida de esta organización. Entonces nos inscribimos. La verdad nos ha servido bastante porque ahorita en el mercado ya no se compra nada con $100. Todo está caro. Es como si me hubieran dado unos $100 en dinero en efectivo. Yo tengo dos hijos graduados en el colegio en Berkeley. Ellos están trabajando allá en San Francisco. Son enfermeros en un hospital. Somos afortunados. Lo que no hemos podido hacer nosotros, lo hicieron ellos. No les estamos aceptando ayuda porque ellos también tienen deuda de la escuela. Tienen que salir de eso para que nos puedan ayudar. Ayer fui a trabajar con un señor, ya me llamó para que empiece en un restaurante. Ojalá que me diga que me quede. El gobierno está diciendo que somos una carga. ¡Qué mentira! Ignoran que somos productivos. La gente hispana en general son los más precavidos, son los más trabajadores. Esa es la realidad en este país, todo es lo contrario. Por ejemplo, en mi caso, estoy agradecido a [No Us Without You] por esta ayuda, pero de ahí yo no agarro una ayuda de ningún otro lado. Nos la buscamos como sea. Nosotros somos la columna vertebral de todos los negocios, no nada más en restaurantes. Porque si lo vemos, el hispano está en la construcción, el hispano está en la jardinería, el hispano está en las hotelerías, en los restaurantes, arreglando las calles, en todo. Somos el soporte a nivel nacional. Los hispanos somos el pilar de la nación, nada más que es muy difícil que se reconozca. Mucha gente está regresando a México. Nosotros ya estamos pensando en irnos. Nosotros tenemos donde llegar. Hemos hecho una casita humildemente en la tierra de los viejos. Yo voy a hacer mi propio negocio. Con la edad que tengo, la experiencia que tengo viviendo en este país, esto no es vida. Llega el momento en que uno se puede enfermar y ¿qué tiene uno? El gobierno no va a respaldar.

José, busser originally from Oaxaca, Mexico

I'm a computer technician. I used to work for the state government in Mexico. As my daughters were growing up, I wanted to give them a better education, and due to the limits of my education, I couldn't get better jobs. The economic situation leads us to migrate. I started working in a restaurant when I arrived 13 years ago. I started as a dishwasher in Bel Air and then as a busser at a luxury restaurant in Santa Monica. I currently work as a busser at an American seafood restaurant in West Hollywood. I also work at a Mexican restaurant in Century City. The truth is, living in Los Angeles with only one job isn't enough. I worked almost full time at both of them, but when the pandemic hit, everything closed. We definitely weren't expecting this. As migrants, we have no income from the government, nothing. I was out of work for four months. A friend told me about an organization that's helping immigrants. So I registered by phone. This has been very helpful to my family and my friends. The food they give us is of good quality, it's not just anything. I use the apple and celery to make green juices. I cut the squash and make it with eggs. The tortillas they give us are delicious. The yogurt I use to make smoothies. We use everything. In July, the restaurants reopened and I started working again, but with fewer hours. I work 25 hours in one restaurant and 25 hours in the other. Before, I worked about 35 hours at each. Working al fresco means being out in the sun. Where I work in West Hollywood we set up in the restaurant parking lot. One person sets the tables and chairs in the morning and we have to put them away at night. I'm 48 years old. It's hard work, but there's no other choice. We depend on businesses staying open. We have to be careful not to spread the infection. Exposing oneself [to COVID-19] is delicate for your health, and it also means not working for at least 15 days. Right now there's talk that things will close again. We'll be out of work again, out of resources. I spent the money I had saved up in those first four months of the pandemic. This pandemic came to depress us, to make us dip into our savings. I have a colleague who wasn't called back. They only called back about 70 percent of the staff. It makes you ask, "Why him and not me?" I always try to better myself and my situation, but work consumes me. In 2010, I took a graphic design course. I bought my computer. I have my accessories. Since I was an IT technician for 30 years, I know computers from top to bottom. I also have my camera and my lenses. I was working with a friend years ago taking wedding photos. I have the equipment in case I go back to Mexico; I can start a photography business there.

Yo soy técnico en computación informática, estuve trabajando en el gobierno estatal en México. Mis hijas venían creciendo; quería darles una mejor educación y mi educación escolar pues me limitaba a obtener mejores puestos. La situación económica nos hace migrar. Yo empecé a trabajar en un restaurante desde que llegué hace 13 años. Me metí a trabajar en un restaurante en Bel Air como dishwasher. Después trabajé en un restaurante de lujo en Santa Mónica de busboy y ya empiezo. Yo trabajo de busboy en un restaurante americano de mariscos en West Hollywood y también trabajo en uno mexicano en Century City. La verdad, vivir en Los Ángeles con solo un trabajo no es suficiente. Yo trabajaba casi full time en los dos y viene esto de la pandemia y todo cerrado. No nos esperábamos esto definitivamente. Como nosotros somos migrantes, no tenemos ingresos por parte del gobierno, nada. Estuve cuatro meses sin trabajo. Un amigo me dijo de una organización que está ayudando a inmigrantes. Entonces me registré por teléfono. Esto ha sido de bastante ayuda para nosotros y para mis amigos. Los alimentos que nos dan son de buena calidad, no son cualquier cosa. La manzana y apio los uso para hacer jugos verdes. El squash la corto y la hago con huevo. La tortilla que nos dan es exquisita. El yogurt para hacer smoothie. Todo se ocupa. En julio se abrieron los restaurantes otra vez y empezamos con pocas horas. Trabajo 25 horas en uno y 25 horas en el otro. Antes trabajaba unas 35 horas en cada lugar. Trabajar al fresco es estar en el sol y por ejemplo en el trabajo donde estoy en West Hollywood estamos trabajando en el parking del restaurante. Una persona pone las mesas y sillas en la mañana y nosotros en la noche las tenemos que meter, todas las noches. Cuesta el trabajo pero tenemos que trabajar. Dependemos de la apertura. Nos tenemos que cuidar para no extender el contagio. Exponerse es delicado para la salud y también significa perder el trabajo por al menos 15 días. Ahorita se está hablando de que probablemente se vuelva a cerrar. Otra vez nos quedamos sin trabajo, nos quedamos sin recursos. Yo mi dinero que tenía ahorrado pues se me fue en esos primeros cuatro meses de la pandemia. Esto nos vino a deprimir, a echar mano en los ahorros. Tengo un compañero que no lo llamaron para trabajar. Llamaron como a un 70 por ciento a trabajar. Dice uno, "¿Por qué a mí no y a él sí Yo trato de superar pero el trabajo me consume. En el 2010 estudié un curso de diseño gráfico. Me compré mi computadora. Tengo mis accesorios, como soy técnico informático de hace 30 años. Entonces conozco la computadora de arriba para abajo. Yo tengo mi cámara fotográfica, mis lentes. Estuve trabajando con una amiga hace años haciendo fotos de bodas. Tengo mi equipo por si regreso a México; puedo trabajar en eso.

Esperanza, lonchera cook originally from Michoacan, Mexico

I came here because in Mexico there isn't much work, and there's a lot of poverty. If it's difficult here, the situation there is worse. I've been working as a cook at a lonchera [food truck] for 16 years. Before that, I worked as a prep cook at another lonchera. My mom taught me to cook. I cook meat for tacos, chicharrones, chicken, tortas, hamburgers. We also make Mexican dishes like chilaquiles, birria, ribs in green salsa with rice and beans. Mexican food sells very well. We drive around where the car dealerships are. Our clients are car salesmen, car washers, secretaries. We also go to two factories. I like my job, but I've been having a lot of knee problems from being on my feet 10 hours a day. This pandemic affected me a lot. I didn't work a single day for three months. I'm back at work now, but instead of working five days a week, I only work two. Sales have fallen because there aren't as many people at the car dealerships. Many car salesmen, car washers, and secretaries were let go. One day I drove by here and saw that there was food being distributed. We submitted an application. We don't miss a week because this is what's keeping our pantry full. It was a big relief because we're not even making enough money to pay the rent. Many people treat you with a lot of racism here, but they should realize that it's because of Latinos that California functions. Because who picks the fruit, the vegetables, all this that they're giving us in this box? Eggs, meat, milk: Who makes it? We Latinos. Many people don't see that. It's a lot of work. They don't see the effort people are making. I have a 22-year-old son who I brought from Mexico five years ago. But my older girl stayed; she had already made her life there. It's been 22 years since I've seen her. When I'm not at work, I dedicate myself to my home. I also sell homemade food to my friends. I make pozole or chiles rellenos or pupusas to earn a little extra money. My job is important to me because I can support my family and I like to see customers leave satisfied and liking the Mexican flavor.

Me vine porque en México no hay mucho trabajo, hay mucha pobreza. Si aquí es difícil, allá está peor. Tengo 16 años trabajando como cocinera en una lonchera. Antes de eso también estaba en una lonchera pero como ayudante picando verdura. Mi mamá me enseñó a cocinar. Yo cocino carne para tacos, chicharrones, pollo, tortas, hamburguesas, todo eso. También hacemos platillos mexicanos como chilaquiles, birria, costillitas en salsa verde con su arroz y su frijol. La comida mexicana es muy bien vendida. Andamos por toda el área de donde están los dealers de carros. Nuestros clientes son vendedores de carro, lavadores de carro, hay secretarias. Vamos también a dos fábricas. Me gusta mi trabajo pero ya he tenido muchos problemas con mis rodillas por estar parada 10 horas al día. La pandemia me afectó mucho. Duré como tres meses sin trabajar ni un día. Ya estoy trabajando otra vez pero en lugar de trabajar los cinco días, solo trabajo dos. Se bajaron las ventas porque en los dealers ya no hay tanta gente. Descansaron muchos vendedores, muchas secretarias, muchos lavadores. Una vez pasamos por aquí y miramos que había distribución de comida. Metimos la aplicación y de ahí no faltamos porque de eso mantenemos la despensa. Nos ha aliviado mucho porque no estamos sacando ni para la renta. Mucha gente te trata con mucho racismo aquí, pero que se pongan a pensar, por nosotros los latinos, es que es California. Porque ¿quién pisca la fruta, la verdura, todo esto que nos están dando? Los huevos, la carne, la leche: ¿Quién lo hace? Nosotros los latinos. Mucha gente no lo ve. Es mucho trabajo. Y no ven el esfuerzo de la gente. Tengo un muchachito de 22 años. Ese me lo traje aquí como hace cinco años. Pero la muchacha ya mayor se quedó; ella ya hizo su vida. Tengo 22 años que no la veo. Cuando no estoy en mi trabajo me dedico a mi hogar. También vendo comida casera a mis amistades. Hago pozole o chiles rellenos o pupusas para ganar un dinerito extra. Para mí es importante mi trabajo porque puedo mantener a mi familia y me gusta ver a los clientes que se vayan satisfechos y que les guste el sazón mexicano.

Maxima, prep cook originally from Chihuahua, Mexico

I learned to cook from life. When I lived in Mexico, I worked in a hotel with a restaurant. I would make the beds and from there I would run down to the restaurant. I would tell the chefs, "Hey, I'll help you clean the beans, I'll help you choose the rice." I watched from afar how the food was being prepared and wrote everything down. Then, I would run home and I would prepare what I learned. Later, the chef saw that he couldn't get rid of me and asked me to be his assistant. He started showing me how to cook, and I said "I found my place." I love cooking. It's my life. I came here because I'm a single mom and my daughter wanted to go to college. How would I pay for it? I had to find a way. I was in New York for 12 years, where I worked at two Burger Kings and a Wendy's as a cook. I came to Los Angeles because my daughter wanted to come here. She had already finished college. I started working at a Burger King here too. Then I worked at [a West Hollywood restaurant] as a prep cook for four years. I would prepare everything they sold at night. All the cook has to do is take out the trays we prepare to finish cooking and then the dish goes to the table. Things are already measured. People don't see the back of house staff who are marginalized. The people in the back do the most work. And we're the ones who receive the least. From there I went to [a restaurant in Downtown LA] where I stayed for another four years until the pandemic started. They let us go because there was no work. I'm now 54 years old. I don't even know how I did it. I lost my car. This one I'm driving is my brother's. I don't spend anything on food. Because everything they [No Us Without You] give us is useful. It helps us a lot. I'll be honest with you: I owe a month's rent because I can't handle everything. There was a time during the pandemic when I went to Dodger Stadium with my daughter to collect cans and we would sell them. That's how we paid the electric bill. Right now, I'm working at a restaurant three days a week making ceviche. I've learned another job! I know that one day I'll tell this story. I'm going to say, "I survived." What I thank God for the most is that I haven't become infected. The most important thing is that your family is united. The downtown restaurant called me to see if they can hire me again. My hobby is food prep, the smell of the vegetables. What I like most is learning new things every day: That's the beauty of a restaurant that always changes menus. I love it there because the chef told me, "You take care of the spices." The basil, thyme, rosemary, all that passed through these little hands. When I finish all my work and I say, "And now what am I going to do for myself?," I take my grandson and I go hiking up a mountain. When he no longer wants to walk, I have to carry him on my back until we get to the top. I try to go out where there aren't many people. I try to find a way to be myself. My dream is to set up a stall and sell ceviches. I would love that; it's my most precious dream. But it's just a dream.

Yo aprendí a cocinar de la vida. Cuando vivía en México, trabajé en un hotel con un restaurante. Yo arreglaba las camas y de ahí bajaba corriendo al restaurante. Les decía a los chefs, "Oye te ayudo a limpiar frijoles, yo te ayudo a escoger el arroz". Veía de lejos como preparaban la comida y apuntaba todo. Me iba corriendo para mi casa y yo preparaba lo que aprendía. Ya después vio el chef que no me podía sacar de la cocina y me preguntó si quería ser su ayudante. Él empezó a enseñarme la cocina y dije "De aquí soy". Me encanta la cocina. Esa es mi vida. Yo me vine aquí porque soy mamá soltera y mi hija quería sacar su universidad y ¿de dónde yo sacaba? Tenía que buscarle. Estuve en Nueva York 12 años. Trabajaba como cocinera en dos Burger Kings y un Wendy's. Me vine para Los Ángeles porque mi hija quería venirse. Ya había terminado la universidad. Empecé a trabajar en un Burger King aquí también. Después trabajé en un restaurante de West Hollywood como preparadora por cuatro años. Preparaba todo lo que vendían en la noche. El cocinero nada más saca de los trays que le ponemos nosotros para terminar de cocinar y va para la mesa. Ya están medidas las cosas. La gente no ve que los trabajadores de atrás son marginados. Las personas que están atrás son las que más hacen el trabajo. Y somos los que menos recibimos. Despues me fui a [un restaurante en el centro de Los Ángeles] donde estuve otros cuatro años hasta que empezó la pandemia. Nos despidieron a todos porque no había trabajo. Yo tengo ahorita 54 años. Ni yo sé cómo lo hice. Perdí el carro. Este carro es de mi hermano. No gasto nada en comida. Porque todo lo que ellos [No Us Without You] me dan me sirve. Nos ayuda mucho. Ahorita no te voy a mentir: debo un mes de renta porque no puedo con todo. Hubo una temporada durante la pandemia que me iba al estadio de los Dodgers con mi hija a recoger botes y los vendíamos. Con eso pagamos la luz. Ahorita voy a un restaurante, ahí me dan tres días de trabajo como cevichera. ¡Ya aprendí otro trabajo más! Yo sé que un día voy a contar esto. Voy a decir, "Sobreviví". Y lo que le doy más gracias a Dios es que no me he contagiado de nada. Lo principal es que tu familia esté unida. Ahorita me llamaron del restaurante en el centro para ver si me vuelven a contratar. Mi hobby es la preparación, el olor a las verduras. Lo que más me gusta es cada día aprender cosas. Eso es lo bonito de un restaurante que siempre cambia los menús. Me encantaba ese restaurante porque el chef me decía a mí, "Tú te encargas de los olores". La albahaca, el tomillo, el rosemary, todo eso pasaba por estas manitas. Cuando ya termino toda mi labor y digo, "¿Y ahora que voy a hacer para mí?", me llevo a mi nieto y me voy al cerro a caminar. Donde él ya no quiere caminar tengo que cargarlo en la espalda hasta que llegamos arriba. Trato la manera de salir donde no hay mucha gente. Trato la manera de ser yo. Mi sueño es poner un local y vender ceviches. Me encantaría; es mi sueño adorado. Pero eso es un sueño nada más.

Samanta Helou Hernandez is a multimedia journalist and photographer based in LA covering culture, identity, and social issues. Copy edited by Emily Safrin

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