Morning at the Los Angeles Fruit Terminal

By Saskia Vogel
Illustration By Holly Wales

Morning at the Los Angeles Fruit Terminal

“Que onda, my brother?” Felipe, the Mexican produce salesman says to the Chinese wholesaler who sits in front of his warehouse, surrounded by piles of chiles. “’Sta ‘ueno, guey,” replies the wholesaler in produce industry Spanglish, and slaps Filipe a high five. In the same breath, they discuss college ball and the price of lychees.

“This guy’s known me for 20 years, since I was a teenager walking the market,” Felipe says. “That means when the lychee supply is short, my buddy will kick me down a few boxes, and I’ll still be able to supply my customers,”

Above the rows of warehouses, the Los Angeles skyline glows against the violet sky. It is 2 a.m. At the Los Angeles Terminal Markets, and business has just begun. Major supermarket chains, restaurants, local grocers and thrifty consumers come here to buy cheap fresh produce. Agents known as bird dogs—the spies of the industry—keep close watch on the color, shape, size, price and availability of items, reporting back to wholesale and distribution companies via cell phone and picture messaging.

Legions of men in baseball caps dolly bunches of sugar cane, tall as pygmy palms, to display stands on the walkways—which are more like forklift speedways. Drivers barely give a tiny courtesy beep as they maneuver around the toes of men who crowd displays of bell peppers and kumquats.

Local growers used to sell their crops from their horse-drawn wagons on what was once called the Plaza, near Olvera Street in Los Angeles’ historic core. In 1901 the city deemed the daily market a public nuisance and moved it to a vacant lot on Ninth and Los Angeles streets. Today, over 100,000 trucks per year serve this 29-acre market, delivering from over 30 states and 25 countries. 60 percent of California’s produce is trafficked through here, and the market yields over $1 billion annually. Considering the Golden State grows over 40 percent of the nation’s produce, this is no small operation.

As 8 a.m. Rolls by and thousands of commuters swarm the freeways, the Los Angeles Terminal Market is dead. A rotting sweet and sour medley thickens in the warm air. Market culture is much the same as it was a century ago, but as L.A.’s demographic became increasingly multicultural, so did the produce selection. Instead of tiptoeing over fallen apples, oranges and potatoes, contemporary market-goers also negotiate their way around fingers of buddha’s hand citrons, sugary mango flesh and juicy lime pulp freshly squashed by the last truck en route to a supermarket near you.