By Daniel Alvarenga
The first time I saw white people in a pupusería was on my first trip to San Francisco's Mission district in the mid-2000s. Growing up in inland Southern California I had never in my life seen a nuclear White family venture into the hood to have the fried, flat delicacy of my people. As they walked in, my Salvadoran-American guides to The City scoffed something about “displacement and invasion” under their breaths – this wasn’t a scene of first contact.
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