Home Cooking Among the Hooches of La Costa : Two Restaurants Provide Familiar Flavors for the Residents of Hidden Migrant Camp

The morning sun had not yet peeked over La Costa, where residents of the upscale community were nestled in their comfortable homes.

But across the road from the quiet, manicured neighborhood, cooking fires were already crackling in the misty darkness. The smell of burning wood wafting over the rugged foothills mixed with that of the meals being cooked in the restaurantes en el monte.

It was 5:30 a.m.--30 minutes before the open-air “restaurants in the wilderness” were scheduled to open--and Juan Hernandez and his wife, Maria, were stooped over a smoky fire, cooking for the men who were already lining up to eat. Juan warmed corn tortillas over a blackened sheet of metal, while Maria stirred the refried beans, rice and chicken that were simmering over flames fed by twigs from nearby brush.

Hidden in the Hills

The couple’s restaurant serves Valle Verde (“Green Valley”), a squatters’ camp of about 200 workers from Mexico and other Latin American countries that sits hidden in the hills off El Camino Real, a major north-south artery in North County.

The camp dates from more than a decade ago, when alien workers set up the first primitive hooches on the ridge line between the then-far-off communities of Encinitas and La Costa. A recent building boom has brought the two areas to the doorstep of the camp.

Beyond the Hernandezes’ Restaurante Valle Verde, about 300 yards down a worn footpath, Guadalupe Mojica Elizondo and her common-law husband, Ruben Pina, were preparing to open their El Restaurante Los Pollos (“The Chickens Restaurant”). Their breakfast menu was a little more varied. Besides refried beans and rice, Mojica was offering steak and eggs that morning. Coffee was not on either menu, but the price of a meal at both restaurants included all the tortillas a person could eat.

By the owners’ accounts, the two restaurants feed up to half of the camp’s inhabitants each day. And, at the price, why not?

For $2.50 per meal, customers at the Hernandez eatery can enjoy a breakfast, lunch or dinner of rice, beans and meat, chicken or fish. Soda pop is 50 cents a can, and beer sells at $1 a can.

Pina and Mojica’s menu offers a broader range of choices, including porkand breaded steak. Of course, the variety means higher prices. They

charge $3 a meal, $3.60 with a soda. Beer is also $1 a can. Both restaurants extend credit to their customers.

Valle Verde stands out from the many alien encampments that dot North County from Fairbanks Ranch to Fallbrook. Like most, its residents live in primitive hooches or plywood shacks that, thanks to camouflage fashioned of sagebrush and branches, are hardly noticeable from the road.

However, Valle Verde’s landowner has made life a little more bearable for the aliens by installing rudimentary shower and washing facilities at the edge of the camp, along with a faucet for drinking water. The camp sits precariously on the eastern side of the ridge. It is separated from the roadway by lush green fields of gladioli that come alive with color in the early summer.

Hidden under spreading shade trees and in areas cleared of brush, the two restaurants--unique among the dozens of migrant-worker encampments in affluent North County--are busy from early morning until late at night. Their customers come entirely from the alien community living in the hills, most of whom rely on homeowners or contractors for occasional jobs.

Other camps are served by catering trucks that offer packaged food such as sandwiches, candy and potato chips, but the restaurants offer hot, traditional meals served on paper plates with plastic forks, knives and spoons. Their rough-hewn tables are lined with benches and tree stumps.

“Last November, we were the first ones to open a restaurant,” said Mojica. “I’ve lived in Valle Verde since 1984 and have seen the camp’s population grow in the last two years.

“My husband and I saw the need for a restaurant and decided to open one,” she said. “When the men go to work, they get home late in the afternoon, too tired to cook. So it’s convenient for them to come here and eat. We’re open until 10 p.m., but we don’t blow out the candles until our last customer has eaten and the pots and pans have been washed.”

Serve As Gathering Spots

Mojica, who is from Guadalajara, owned a restaurant in Mexico before coming to the United States. She estimated that 40 men eat at El Restaurante Los Pollos each day.

Since the aliens work only an average of three days a week, the restaurants also serve as gathering spots during the day, where men and women can sit, drink a warm beer or soft drink and socialize.

On this afternoon, a group of about 15 men were gathered around the only table at Restaurante Valle Verde, talking with the Hernandezes. A plastic trash bag served as a tablecloth and a bouquet of daisies in a glass jar on the table added a touch of home.

The Hernandezes, who opened their restaurant in March, estimate they feed up to 60 workers a day.

A hand-lettered sign posted next to a hillside trail announces, Se Venden Tortillas y Comidas (“Meals and Tortillas for Sale”) and serves as advertising for the eating establishment. The Hernandezes pooled their meager savings and opened the restaurant because Juan had little success finding work after they arrived from Oaxaca in January.

“I never thought that I would be cooking for so many men,” Maria said, “but when we decided to come try our luck in the United States I never thought that we would end up living in el monte .

“In Mexico, we had a house, humble as it was, but nothing to eat,” she said. “Here we have enough to eat, but look at how we live. The conditions are terrible, and we have to worry about the migra (immigration authorities) all the time.”

Videotaped by City

The U. S. Border Patrol and city officials know about the restaurants and have visited them on occasion. The Encinitas Fire Department has instructed the aliens about fire safety, and city officials filmed a video to show a community group the conditions in the camp.

Because there is no electricity or refrigeration at the camp, the restaurant owners are forced to make at least three trips a day to a nearby Vons supermarket in La Costa, where they shop for supplies in the same aisles as their well-to-do neighbors. Each couple spends up to $200 a day for groceries, beer and soda.

Pina and Mojica ride a bicycle to the market--Guadalupe rides sideways on the frame while Pina pedals down the hill along the bumpy trails.

Inside the market, the couple select their groceries carefully. Once outside, they rebag them, double-bagging the heaviest items, and tie the plastic bags together in a chain. Then they drape the bags over both shoulders and around their necks.

Pina pedals the bike as far as he can up the hill, with Mojica and the groceries aboard, before they get off and walk.

450 Dozen Tortillas a Week

Because the supermarket is unable to provide the two restaurants with all the tortillas they need, both are included on the regular route of a corn tortilla salesman who drives from Los Angeles County three days a week. Armando Zarate, who works for a tortilla factory in Hawaiian Gardens, makes his deliveries on Sundays, Tuesdays and Fridays.

Zarate, a former resident of the camp, arrives at 7 a.m. on delivery days, meaning he must leave the factory at 5 a.m. He brings each restaurant 150 dozen tortillas per visit--450 dozen tortillas per restaurant each week.

“It is a long way for me to drive, but it is also profitable for me,” Zarate said. “Each of these restaurants buys more tortillas from me than most of the stores and restaurants on my route. . . . Besides, I used to live here and still have friends here. When I come on Sundays to make my deliveries and collect for the week, it gives me an opportunity to meet and talk with my friends.”

The camp residents eat so many tortillas that both restaurants occasionally must buy packaged tortillas at Vons between Zarate’s deliveries.

“Mexicans and corn tortillas are synonymous,” said Mojica. “But I also keep a few packages of flour tortillas for a group of men from Sonora. They’re like Texans. They prefer flour tortillas.”