Even on the coldest days the heat inside La Espiga Real is overwhelming. The tiny bakery, no bigger than a cramped one-bedroom apartment, sits on a retail-dense corridor of Sunset Park bursting with sidewalk displays and crowds of its residents seeking groceries, discount clothing and a quick bite. The neighborhood sits in the shadow of Industry City, six million square feet of jet-black edifices that loom over the pre-war homes and small businesses that are the center of life for the immigrants who live here.
Displays of packaged goods crowd the entry, from familiar types of beans to more obscure of Mexican ingredients like tequesquite, a mineral salt that looks like crumbles of parched dirt. A bakery at the far end is obscured by metal trays and carts and is the source for the continuous warmth and a comforting sweetness in the air.
The store’s co-owner is known by her employees as Doña Rosa, a term of respect that means something like ma’am. She is a small woman, her wispy grey hair neatly held back, who looks even smaller behind the meat counter where the cash register and weighing station are. At 54 she still has powerful arms suited for baking. She waves her hand toward the ceiling.
“We usually have piñatas up there for holidays,” she says using her arms to show how big they are. They are usually shaped like stars with red, green and white streamers hanging from the points for both a festive and patriotic effect.
Her real name is Rosa Contla and she immigrated from Mexico 30 years ago. Contla and her husband started La Espiga Real in 2007 to address the needs of the growing Mexican population. It was a perfect fit for Contla, who helped manage a bakery while still in Mexico and worked at other markets after she immigrated. The two now have another location in New Jersey, where they bring in most of their dried goods and meat and cheese products.
“When we first opened, we didn’t have too many places around here that we liked,” Contla said in Spanish. “Now there’s a lot more, but that’s changing, too. Little by little you start seeing new things.”
It is her one full day a week, a Monday, and she is taking inventory, reorganizing products and helping behind the counter. She is a diligent and proud tour guide, pointing at every type of dry ingredient and pulling trays from the racks that occupy the entire back end of the store to reveal fresh pastries of a spectrum of shapes. She says the name of each one. Conchas. Orejas. Mantecadas.
“Anything, any event, we can make it,” Contla said flipping through her sample book of cakes. The page is open to a pristine white cake with two pillars holding up a single round tier with a plastic bride and groom to top it off. The only caveat to her “anything and everything” claim is that the made-to-order cakes are all tres leches.
“It’s the one we all like,” she laughs referring to the Mexican tradition of celebrating with a tres leches cake.
Contla has a late lunch around 3 p.m. She slips out the door and into the one directly next to it to a place called Tres Cabras, or Three Goats, at least the fourth business to occupy the space while La Espiga has been around. There is stiff competition for customers, the main avenues packed with a range of Mexican groceries and restaurants hoping to attract the large Latino population.
She orders three carne asada tacos with salsa and all the usual dressing of cilantro, green salsa and onions. It’s the only way to eat tacos, she insists, a combination. She remembers eating them when she lived in Mexico. When she receives her plate she quickly wrings out the lime over the sizzling beef and sits in one of the few metal seats. She doesn’t plan to be away from the market for that long.
Tacos are a favorite meal for a quick respite, she says, laughing as she recalled the many times she stopped by the taquero, a taco monger, on her way home from school, digging up her last spare pesos for the day to indulge in a trio of carne asada tacos. They were symbols of slow summer evenings at her uncle’s house and a brief lunch between sightseeing when visiting in other towns. Now they are reminders of home sandwiched within a hectic day running her business.
Contla considers herself lucky. Much of her family is here. “Of course I miss Mexico, but my family is here so it’s almost like being back home.”
She scoops up her final taco now piled a little higher with onions and cilantro, the edges of the golden tortilla unable to form a tight scoop. She savors this one taking smaller bites and taking care to get all splatters of salsa from the plate. After her last bite she pulls a napkin over each finger to remove any salsa that may come back to haunt her if she touches her eyes later. She may not be at her market every day anymore, but her lunch ritual remains. Three carne asada tacos, salsa, cilantro and onions. Just like home.
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