Treats on a Stick Are Just the Trick : Latino Pushcart Vendors Offer a Sweet Deal: Frozen Fruit Bars

Mario Castillo was leaning against his pushcart under a shady tree at Echo Park Lake when he was approached by three young boys in Lakers’ T-shirts who wanted watermelon-flavored paletas, Mexican frozen fruit bars that are something akin to Popsicles.

“Well, sorry,” Castillo, 26, apologized in Spanish. “I’m out of that. Got a lot of coconut, though.”

The boys huddled and decided that they would settle for lime.

“Well, sorry,” Castillo replied. “Got a lot of coconut, though.”

The boys eventually settled for coconut bars--six of them--and left. Minutes later, a young mother approached Castillo and asked for a coconut bar. Replied Castillo:

“Well, sorry. Got a lot of strawberry, though . . . .”

Scene Repeated

The scene is repeated countless times every day, perhaps with not as much craftiness, in Latino neighborhoods throughout Los Angeles. Pushcart vendors like Castillo are busier than ever this summer, selling traditional summertime treats like paletas and snow cones, commonly referred to in Spanish as raspadas.

From the Pico-Union district near downtown to barrios in the suburbs, pushcart vendors of paletas and raspadas have become as much a part of Latino neighborhoods as the corner markets that sell fresh tortillas. The vendors’ chimes, announcing their presence, are commonly heard at busy street corners in business districts and in parks.

“On a hot day, a raspada is really nice,” said Izzy Hernandez of Boyle Heights. “They’re fresh and much better than anything sold in the stores.”

The popularity of the treats are such that some paleteros, as the vendors of paletas are called, and their bosses squabble with competitors over choice spots to sell their wares. “Some people are just trying to get an edge,” one paleta manufacturer said. “I sometimes can’t get over how popular these things actually are.”

Anglos Buy Products

The vendors of paletas and raspadas are even having some success among Anglos. One East Los Angeles paleta manufacturer, Frut-A-Mex, for example, reports modest sales among Anglo families who visit Griffith Park.

But while the vendors are ubiquitous in local barrios, they point out that the life of a pushcart vendor is a hard one; vendors include old men who work all year and teen-agers who work only during the summers. What’s more, the vendors are not universally popular and have even been banned in some communities because of complaints by residents and merchants.

The popularity of paletas and raspadas has resulted in a proliferation of pushcart vendors throughout Southern California. Los Angeles city and county officials estimate that in recent years, the number of paleteros has grown from a mere handful to about 3,000 today.

And since 1980, about 50 paleta factories--some of them operating illegally--have sprung up in Southern California, creating an industry that probably grosses millions of dollars each year, said Dick Reed, regional head of the state Health Department’s Bureau of Milk and Dairy Foods Control.

Most of the vendors catering to the booming Latino population in Southern California are Mexican, but their products also appeal to new immigrants from Central America.

‘It Reminds Them of Home’

“Latinos, not just Mexicanos , buy them because it reminds them of home,” said Marcella Mora, whose family operates Delicias de Michoacan, an Ontario-based paleteria.

On a hot Sunday during the summer, workers at Delicias de Michoacan figure that they sell 60,000 of the fruit bars--coconut, incidentally, being the most popular flavor--in barrios stretching from Oxnard to the Mexican border.

Two sets of brothers who sell their wares at Belvedere Park in East Los Angeles, Juan and Tony Ordorica and Jesse and Juan Cruz, say their daily supply of about 130 paletas-- sold for 50 cents each--is usually gone by 3 p.m.

“We wait at the entrance of the (park’s) pool at 1:30,” said Juan Cruz, 10. “We sell a lot of ‘em there. Hey, even the gringos like paletas. “

Paletas, according to those who fancy themselves as experts, are far different from the other ice cream-like bars sold in markets.

“I could go anytime to get an orange Popsicle,” said Elmo Martinez of Pico Rivera as he and his family gathered recently for a picnic at nearby Legg Lake. “But where can you get a pecan paleta? Or a coconut? Or a watermelon one? Only from these paleteros. My favorite is watermelon.”

Business is Brisk

Although vastly outnumbered by the paleteros, those who sell raspadas also find that business is brisk.

Jesus Oropeza and others who sell the snow cones in the neighborhoods near Brooklyn Avenue in Boyle Heights say that they sometimes go through two and three blocks of ice a day. “I start selling at 11 in the morning and I usually need a new block by 1,” Oropeza said.

Many descendants of Mexican immigrants recall tales of raspadas being sold in parks, at bus stops, markets, church plazas and other public gathering areas throughout Mexico.

“That’s all my grandfather would talk about,” recalled Manny Calderon, 61, who grew up in Pacoima. “So when summer came, we naturally waited for this old guy--I don’t even remember his name now--to come around and make fresh raspadas. They were the best.”

There are two types of paletas : Those made of a water base or a milk base. Water-based paletas , such as watermelon, lime and pineapple, have a fruitier taste while those with a milk base--such as banana, mango and pecan--have a rich, creamy flavor that is unequaled, aficionados say.

Shuns Haagen-Dazs

“I’ll take a mango paleta anytime,” said Bob Aguiree of South Pasadena, “especially over that Haagen-Dazs stuff.”

Armando Liceaga, owner of the Eastside’s Frut-A-Mex brand of paletas, said the process of producing the fruit bars--from chopping up the fruits to freezing and wrapping the final product in a clear, plastic wrapper--takes less than 10 minutes to complete.

Naturally, Liceaga thinks his company, which has 20 employees and about 200 pushcart vendors, makes the best paletas in Los Angeles.

On a hot day, though, some people hungry for a paleta don’t seem to care about brand names--Delicias de Michoacan, Frut-A-Mex, El Pinguino, El Michoacano, El Paraiso and Paletas Zacatecas to name a few. They just have to have one.

“I’m not sure people look to see what brand I’m selling,” one paletero for the San Bernardino-based El Paraiso brand said. “If they’re in the mood when I came by, they’ll buy from me. If not, they’ll buy some other kind later in the day.”

Skill Required

There is some skill involving in selling raspadas and paletas . Oropeza and most of his compatriots in the raspada trade use bike horns or whistles to attract attention.

Most paleteros rely on ringing a bank of chimes attached to the three-wheeled carts. The ringing of the chimes in the world of paletas is the equivalent of shouting “Get your peanuts right here!” at the ballpark.

The constant clanging, however, can get on some people’s nerves. To avoid arguments over excessive noise, some use the bells sparingly and instead try some soothing words to entice would-be customers.

Gregorio Lopez, 25, occasionally coos a seductive “Oh come on, you know your little one wants a cocoa” to mothers as he makes his rounds in Boyle Heights. But more often than not on a recent afternoon, Lopez got a lot of stern looks from women for his sales pitch.

The business of paletas and raspadas is not songs and chimes and quick sales.

Paleteros, acting as independent contractors, get 40% to 50% of the daily receipts. The rest go to the paleta companies or the distributors who furnished the fruit bars and the pushcarts.

A paletero selling 200 bars at 50 cents apiece, for example, would clear $50 for a day’s work. Raspada vendors, who generally work for themselves, do not fare much better.

“It’s not enough to live on,” said paletero Jose Amaya, 37, of East Los Angeles. “I do the best I can to make ends meet.”

Pushcart vendors also are not welcomed in some Southland communities. Some cities, such as Lynwood, Santa Ana and Anaheim, have adopted ordinances that either restrict or prohibit the activities of paleteros.

Some residents have complained that vendors--many of them illegal immigrants--have become nuisances by creating traffic problems and causing litter. Others have contended that the vendors should carry some visible kind of identification to guard against strangers wandering in the neighborhoods.

And on some Los Angeles streets, police officers will move against vendors, who are licensed but nevertheless have incurred the wrath of shopkeepers who complain of lost business.

But the vendors, aware that they are not universally loved, seem determined to ply their trade as best they can.

Popular Man

Regardless of the temperatures, raspada vendor Oropeza is a popular man in the neighborhoods around 1st and Soto streets.

Young and old alike scurry after the native of Aguascalientes, Mexico, affectionately called “Chuy” by those who know him, as he slowly pushes a wooden cart through the neighborhood. Sometimes, he doesn’t have to say a word. A quick toot of a bicycle horn that he carries is enough to attract customers.

“What flavor do you want?” he asked one young girl in Spanish. The youngster, apparently too shy to voice a preference, meekly pointed at a bottle of cherry syrup. “My favorite,” said Oropeza, a 60-year-old grandfather.

He splashed some syrup on a cup of finely shaved ice and presented the youngster with a 25-cent raspada. The youngster tasted the raspada, and giggled her approval.