The most exciting street food in the Bay Area is on this one block

San Francisco Chronicle​

6 days ago

Over the past three years, I've witnessed a single stretch of Oakland's Fruitvale neighborhood transform into a bustling street food hub unlike any other in the Bay Area.
In 2021, the options here on Foothill Boulevard were slim, with only a pair of Guatemalan stands. Now, depending on the day and time, there are between 10 and 20 different stalls selling Mexican huaraches, Guatemalan sandwiches, Salvadoran hen soup and Honduran baleadas, a folded-over flour tortilla stuffed with beans and more.
The layout is like a corridor, with stands starting at Fruitvale Avenue and extending to 35th Avenue. It doesn't have an official name but many refer to the area as 'Walgreens' — alluding to the pharmacy where most stands congregate. These vendors effectively function as informal sidewalk restaurants — their rapid growth a reflection of a recent wave of immigrants seeking community, sustenance and sanctuary in an increasingly hostile new land.
Foothill Boulevard stirs to life early. In the brisk morning, day laborers keep warm with cups of atole, a thick beverage made with corn masa or rice flour, while lining their bellies with tamales steamed in banana leaves. By lunch time, the options double. Savory aromas beckon noses and the hum of woodwind music spills out of speakers. A stand's most effective marketing tactic? Cooking in front of its clientele. Even a brief stroll down the corridor is met with a visual parade of comforts: wood-brown fried chicken zig-zagged with condiments, fluffy pupupas oozing with cheese and hand-stretched flour tortillas the size of a shield.
During the evening, especially on weekends, the street teems with hungry denizens. Blue collar workers find sustenance in juicy steak plates. Families snack on cups of roasted corn, fruit-filled crepes and Guatemalan-style tostadas topped with beets or chow mein (a legacy of Chinese immigrants in Guatemala). A handful of taquerias advertise spinning al pastor trompos, quesabirria tacos and huaraches.
In the last decade, Fruitvale has seen an increase of Central Americans immigrants; Oakland is home to roughly 18,500 foreign-born Central Americans, or about 4% of the city's population, according to the 2023 American Community Survey — an increase of more than 60% over a decade prior.
These changes are palpable on Foothill Boulevard. Street food is the pulse of the neighborhood. The format thrives on this sense of immediacy, so much so that certain businesses have found more success on the sidewalk than with formalized food trucks. 'It's a place to socialize,' said Henry Sales, a community leader and translator for the neighborhood's Mam people, an indigenous group from Guatemala. He compares the corridor to La Terminal in Guatemala, a popular market in the capital city.
Fatima Nuñez, the chef behind the exceptional Pupuseria Fatima, said the scene reminds her of her home in El Salvador. 'Where we're from, we're accustomed to seeing stands,' she told me in Spanish. The model, she argues, makes 'you feel like family.'
What I see in Frutivale's street food scene is raw talent — a preview of future Bay Area restaurants. But I've often worried about the future of this corridor. While many of these vendors operate out of necessity, they do so outside the law. During the height of the pandemic, this part of Oakland developed a reputation for lax enforcement by local officials, but some stands have been shut down in the past.
'Our need (to work) is much greater than the risk,' said Nuñez. Last year, her business was shut down by health officials; undeterred, she returned a few weeks later.
And then there is the Trump administration's animosity toward immigrants. 'I'm scared they're going to deport me and ruin my children's future,' Nuñez said.
'People's fears are definitely heightened,' said Andrew Park, executive director of Trybe, a nonprofit organization that provides food and various programs for the community. Those moments of anxiety, like false rumors of ICE raids in Oakland, can negatively impact business.
'Sales go down for a bit,' said Cynthia Solorsano of Shucos Magi, a Guatemalan stand that's been on the strip since 2021. 'But, thankfully, after a few days, fear starts to go down, and we continue to sell.'
Despite their vulnerable position, Fruitvale's street vendors are out in the open, confronting peril head-on. 'We want people to see that we're just fighting to survive too,' said Darwin Fuentes Lara, who runs Honduran stand El Sazon K-Tracho.
But these businesses aren't just surviving. Of the now thriving corridor, these three vendors stand out as the strongest talents, providing a thrilling window into Guatemala, El Salvador and Honduras.
Shucos Magi
When the Solorsanso family began their Guatemalan stand Shucos Magi in 2021, it was one of two vendors on the Walgreens circuit. Searching for opportunity, the Solorsanos left Guatemala a decade ago and landed in Houston. They moved to Oakland in 2017 and launched Shucos Magi as a food truck two years later. During the pandemic, they relocated the lonchera to Fruitvale, where they encountered parking issues as the vendor count ballooned, so they moved to the sidewalk.
With their food out in the open, sales boomed. 'People seek what they can see,' said Cynthia Solorsano.
The most common sight at Shucos Magi is brawny churasco ($15), a fixed plate of juicy, grilled beef splashed with chimichurri; and longaniza, a pale, house-made sausage mottled with fresh mint. Charred green onions, smooth black beans, creamy pasta salad and thick Guatemalan tortillas round out the meal.
Chapines (as Guatemalans are nicknamed) regard churasco as a symbol of festivity; for those untethered from home, the dish provides a semblance of familiarity. Cynthia sees a restaurant in the Shucos Magi's future, but she wants to stay nearby, because now, it's a Guatemalan hangout.
What's the secret to the masterful pupusas at Pupuseria Fatima, run by wife-and-husband team Fatima Nuñez and Francisco Catacho?
'I think the flavor is in the hands,' said Nuñez.
Those appendages are quick, seasoned tools that she uses to conjure up pupusas in seconds. Francisco swears his wife is the fastest pupusa-maker this side of El Salvador.
The key difference in Fatima's pupusas is the beans, specifically pinto beans, instead of traditional red beans, that are whipped smooth. In the revuelta, the frijoles become a creamy binder for chicharron and cheese. Tear it open and behold a glorious sheen of savory richness.
The pupuseria adapts to its clientele, evidenced by its green salsa, a spicy variant of the traditional, mild tomato salsa. Nuñez noticed her patron's penchant for spice, so she made a condiment that blends Mexican and Salvi flavor.
'A Salvadoran doesn't eat much chile, but I try to find what my clients like,' she told me.
The couple moved to Oakland in 2019, after escaping the threat of gang violence in El Salvador. After Nuñez worked at her sister's pupusa cart, she knew Fruitvale would be a prime location for a stand of her own. She has diabetes, so she has difficulty keeping employment, but operating her own business, as she has since 2022, gives her more control.
Pupuseria Fatima has been shut down as recently as last year. However, Nuñez has a backup plan in place: a mobile cart that she hopes to get permitted.
For now, she's grown indifferent to the risk. 'This is how we live. We have to pay rent too, we have to take care of our kids,' she said.
She has three. The middle child — Saul Catacho — can be spotted at the stand, doing homework, staring at his phone. I asked him: Who makes the best food here? He chuckled, as if there could be any other answer: 'My mom,' he said.
El Sazon K-Tracho
Honduran Baleadas have become a hot commodity in Fruitvale, with four separate stands offering the quesadilla-like dish. But no one makes it better than El Sazon K-Tracho, one of the newer additions to the line-up.
El Sazon K-Tracho has already become a hit with the neighborhood's Catrachos, the colloquial term for Honduran people. 'There are a lot of Hondurans here,' said Darwin Fuetes Lara, who founded the stand with his wife and chef Carolina Vasquez.
Much of El Sazon K-Tracho's success has to do with the excellence of Vasquez's tortillas, which are made a la minute. The recipe, which includes a bit of baking powder, and the hand-stretching gives her tortillas a pleasant chewiness.
Vasquez can turn a wad of wheat into a 12-inch vinyl. With dough between her hands, she begins stretching it with a clap, which whips the flowy ends across her wrists. She gauges thickness and tugs at the ends as necessary. This dexterity brings vigor to her tortillas, which can so often-be lifeless when mass produced. For the sencilla, or plain, baleada ($6), she smears the tortilla with refried red beans, a handful of crumbled stinky cheese and a squirt of sour cream. For a more filling meal, add scrambled eggs ($7), chorizo ($9) or shredded chicken ($9).
There are two approaches to eating a baleada: you can tear off pieces or gnaw on it like a caterpillar does a delicious leaf. Folding is also acceptable, but remember: 'It's not eaten with a fork,' said Vasquez.
Before opening El Sazon K-Tracho in summer 2024, Lara had trouble finding a job. Today, the stand has become the couple's main source of income. He acknowledges the current temperature surrounding immigrants, but it does not deter him, he told me.
'In truth, we don't pay much attention,' he said, surrounded on all sides by industrious immigrants like him, 'because we're in a state where there's more opportunity to live here.'