My first experience cooking with a Food Not Bombs outside of the East SF Bay was in the Silverlake neighborhood of Los Angeles. There is a co-op there called Aglago (“Ag” as in the elemental symbol for silver, and the Spanish “lago” for lake). They started cooking at 2:30pm, setting up an EZ-up, and chopping on folding tables and cooking on an outdoor stove in the backyard. The remnant posts of the back fence still stand, but the fence itself has been taken down to reveal a garden and a beautiful view of hills on the other side.
Just as I suspected before going on this trip, people everywhere are very much the same. Several folks at the L.A. FNB reminded me of those I had left behind in Oakland. You have your general radical-y, anarchist-y, bicycle-y people that FNB tends to attract. And yay for that. Contrary to what I had thought possible, there is an anarchist community in L.A. There is also a thriving bicycle culture. In fact there are several diy bike repair spaces in L.A. (Bike Kitchen, Bike Oven, and Bikerowave being a few).
There were about six men and three women cooking, including myself. I was given a Map For An Other L.A. while there, and met a man named Noen who plans to start a vegan bicycle catering collective.
Chop, chop, and a lovely veggie dish, salad, rice, and pinto beans. Also, bread and scones.
First, food was served in Pershing Square, right in Downtown. We all carpooled or biked there. About 8 folks helped to serve alongside the children ice skating at the rink built in the park every year. One FNBer described Pershing Square as L.A.’s “concrete park.” He was certainly right. Not much greenery to that park. About 50 people lined up to get served, and many of the cooks ate, too. I was told by an FNBer that several servers had been arrested by the LAPD some years ago. Later, they sued and won a settlement that helped to fund new equipment like pots, pans, and utensils. Since then, the LAPD is not allowed to interfere with FNB servings.
After all were served, everything was packed up again to be moved down the street to L.A.’s skid row. I was warned to prepare myself: skid row is where the missions and shelters of L.A. are concentrated, and where crack is used quite openly on the sidewalk. As we neared, the amount of trash strewn on the street rose exponentially. Another FNBer told me that people throw their trash on the street after all the feedings at the missions and soup kitchens. It didn’t seem to me that folks would have any other option at any rate, since there were no public trash cans. In skid row, we served over 100 people.
It felt good to be part of that again, and to see how similarly this non-formal organization runs in another city.
