Miguel Sanchez’s cart was parked on the northwest corner of 26th and Sawyer, a few blocks from the pink stucco arch that spans the street proclaiming bienvenidos a little village. A green cafe umbrella was lashed to the white wooden cart, which Sanchez built himself a decade ago, and plastic bags filled with chicharrones dangled from its sides, fastened with clothespins.
Sanchez makes about $100 a day at the cart; working nearly every afternoon and evening, and picking up some painting and carpentry jobs on the side, he supports his family of six. But he lives under the near-constant threat of being fined by the city. What he’s doing is illegal in Chicago, and as demand for his food grows in the spring, so does the likelihood that he’ll be slapped with tickets for anywhere from $200 to $1,000.
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In the interest of protecting public health and safety—and of generating revenue—the city licenses all sorts of businesses that sell food to the public, including restaurants, hot dog stands, ice cream trucks, and peddlers who œlicense pushcart vendors who sell foods that have been “prepared” in some way—even by as simple a process as being sliced with a knife. To qualify for a retail food license a pushcart vendor like Sanchez would need someplace to wash his hands and utensils and a way to keep food at a temperature that prevents spoiling.
More than 80 percent of association vendors described selling as their “main economic activity” in a survey conducted last year by Sandra Morales-Mirque, a researcher at the University of Illinois-Chicago. People turn to street vending for three primary reasons, she says: difficulty finding formal work, the need for a flexible schedule, and the need for extra income. Morales-Mirque emphasizes that the research was “preliminary” and plans to follow up this summer by surveying vendors outside the association.
“How [are customers] going to come in here if they already ate out there?” asks Natalia Pulido, owner of El Fandango, a restaurant across the street. “Your own friends comment, ‘I ate over here because I don’t have to tip the waitress,’” says Mariano Pulido, her son and business partner. “Street food is good for hard times. I understand. But it affects us too. It’s just not right.”
Ticketing continued off and on, but the aggressive crackdowns seemed to end, and the vendors didn’t stay organized. While some remained in business for years, others only sold for a short time before finding other work. Still others joined the association for help with a single ticket and then drifted away.
Right now the vendors are studying the issue and starting to get organized again. Organizers are talking with vendors and waiting for the results of Morales-Mirque’s expanded study. Then, with help from the Chicago Workers’ Collaborative, they’ll present their case to a handful of aldermen, hoping to find a champion.
