Author: Haley Gray
The old man shuffling down York Blvd. is comically overdressed. Even under the oppressive Los Angeles heat, he wears long pants and a sports coat. Today he moseys down a swept sidewalk, past a glittering “micro park” reminiscent of Gaudi’s Park Guell in what was recently just another parking space. “Was that here last time?” he wonders to himself. He passes at least three new art galleries. Mustachioed men in cut-off jeans, bra-less twenty-somethings with strange hair cuts and conspicuous tattoos charge past him.
His shoulders are drawn forward, his old spine feebly collapsed into a hunch. Unable in his old age to take long strides, his pace has been reduced to modest amble, but he is patient. He appears indifferent to the strange new crowd passing him by in his Highland Park neighborhood. He is headed towards Elsa’s panderia to buy some sweet bread.
I imagine this man in his heyday: tall and lean–a sun-kissed specimen able to coax a smile out of even the shyest muchachas and scoffing mujeres. In those days, the relentless heat was no match for his flippant vivacity. Highland Park was his playground of choice–but only during daylight. At night even he, young, strong, and charming, had to retire indoorsThe world of York Blvd. was different then.
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Elsa’s Bakery has endured it all. Opened more than 40 years ago, Elsa’s is a bedrock of York Blvd. It was most recently owned by the Vargas family, who operated the panderia for more than 40 years before selling the business to Edmundo Rodriguez.
“It was like a war outside,” Rogriguez said of Highland Park in the seventies and eighties.
“All these gangs were right there on the edge, and where they fought was Highland Park…It was heavy gang times then,” Highland Park native Jackson Browne said in an interview on “Whoopi.”
For nearly half a century the Vargas family watched over the corner of Ave. 51 and York Blvd, taking it upon themselves to preserve the culture of Mexican sweet bread in their corner of L.A. through their quaint, traditional bakery.
Rodriguez described the former Elsa’s as an unlikely intersection between the fine art of bread making and an outdated, old-country little store.
As the Vargas’ aged, the market for Mexican sweet bread changed. In its heyday Elsa’s served a huge market of mass-produced, economy orders for other retailers. When stores like Vons and Ralph’s began to open their own in-store bakeries, Elsa’s became obsolete to its most important customer base. The family tried to fill in the gaps by selling things like Ramen and ketchup. The bakery transformed from a booming diamond in the rough to a drab, dying panderia and half-hearted attempt at a convenience store. Struggling to keep the business afloat, weary after more than four decades of operating a store on this hairy stretch of York Blvd. and tired in their old age, the Vargas’ wanted to retire. But they held out.
“They saw what was happening,” Rodriguez said in reference to the recent influx of trendy shops and cafes on the stretch between Avenue 50 and 52. “Their fear as the change began to happen was that this shop would be turned into anything but [a Mexican bakery]. Especially Mr. Vargas was very adamant about not wanting a yogurt shop or a shoe store or vintage shop here,” Rodriguez said.
A new chapter
Edmundo Rodriguz first became acquainted with Elsa’s Bakery when he came to the bakery to verify data for a doctoral dissertation on the culture of sweet bread in L.A. He was familiar with Highland Park long before that, though. His son graduated from Occidental College in 2001 and opened For Me and My Kids thereafter, a second-hand women’s and children’s store on Avenue 51 shortly thereafter.
“I was nervous about him living off-campus,” Rodriguez admitted while reflecting on his son’s college days. “Highland Park at that time was sort of part of that communities at risk, vandalism and those things, tagging was evident. Because I was involved with schools I knew about issues related to schools and communities–gang issues, drug issues,” Rodriguez said.
He was skeptical when his son told him he would buy a store in the troubled area.
“I was wrong, he was right,” Rodriguez said. He decided to open Showtime, a used show furniture shop between Avenue 50 and 51 on York. A jack of all trades, Rodriguez also spent some years as a set dresser for various productions, including “Grey’s Anatomy.” Showtime was his project to sell off the many beautiful pieces he had collected over the years but couldn’t use himself. His real dream was to open a cafe in the area with his son. The pair had been looking at other spaces on York, less suitable to a cafe.
Enter the Vargas’.
Rodriguez got to talking to the old couple through his visits regarding the doctoral dissertation. Appreciative of the quality of the Mexican sweet bread, Rodriguez returned to Elsa’s several times. Eventually Mr. Vargas offered him the chance to buy the business.
“I grew up Mexican bread, I knew the history of it. One thing led to another, and my son and I decided to buy it with this vision,” Rodriguez said. They would reinvent Elsa’s as an authentic panderia and contemporary coffee shop.
The facelift this father-son duo has given Elsa’s is quintessential of the “revitalization of York” movement. Once drab, understated and vandalized, the front of Elsa’s now glows bright lime green and lemon yellow–and its clean. Cute tables and purple chairs line the sidewalk out front, inviting passersby in.
“People think its anything but a bakery,” Rodiguez chuckled.
Growing pains
But Rodriguez acknowledges the troubles with this sudden injection of cash into a neighborhood whose economy has been hobbling along for more than a generation, whose residents cannot afford rapidly swelling rent or soaring property taxes. Not everyone would describe the changes in this patch of Highland Park “revitalization.” Many prefer the term “gentrification,” defined by Random House as “the buying and renovation of houses and stores in deteriorated urban neighborhoods by upper- or middle-income families or individuals, thus improving property values but often displacing low-income families and small businesses.” “Gentrifier,” as one York business pointed out, is more often than not conflated with “racist.”
According to real estate website, redfin.com, the median price of homes in Highland Park has gone up 21.1 percent in the last year, while the number of homes sold has decreased by 3.4 percent in the last year.
Rodriguez is wise to the injustice of gentrification. He decries real estate vultures who see a changing market, come in to buy cheap properties or foreclosed homes from locals who can no longer afford to live in the gentrifying area and then flip them at a huge profit.
But he does not think this means there is no room for the new, artistic community in Highland Park. He recalls a time before the Avenue 50 to 52 stretch was the trendiest neighborhood in L.A., when 50/50 was not an avant-garde gallery but a seedy motorcycle bar, an institution of blood spilled, weapons drawn and drugs traded. Today the debauchery on York is of a much more charming nature. And with the burgeoning art scene, prosperity is finally spilling into a historically marginalized community. Rodriguez welcomes the new community members–if they have come to stay.
“If they’re there because they want to be a part of the fabric of the community, and co-live, that’s great,” he said. “One of the risks I see when there is gentrification taking place, it doesn’t matter what place, what city, is that it needs to be orchestrated in a way that is inclusive of the people that live there and the people that are coming to live there.”
Rodriguez loves to see new couples in the community, taking walks together or with their kids. He welcomes Occidental students, noting what a great study space his cafe is (yes, his renovation of the storefront has included a beautiful new espresso machine and free WiFi). He greets the Elsa’s patrons who have been getting their sweet bread here long before Rodriguez was the proprietor with equal delight.
The door swings open and a tan, old man in a sports coat enters. He glances over to see Rodiguez chatting with another customer.
“Hola,” Rodriguez calls with a friendly smile.
The old man nods in acknowledgement.
“Ay estan las conchas.”
The man shuffles over to the inconic glass case filled with pan dulce of all shapes, sizes and colors. He helps himself to an empty tray and piles up his favorite sweet breads.
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