How I Learned to Be Armenian Amid Shelves of Pickled Shallots
Generations of Armenians in Los Angeles Have Taken Solace in Markets That Remind Them of the Homes They Had to Flee
I dreaded Saturday mornings when I was growing up. That’s because while other kids were waking up to watch cartoons or making movie plans with friends (so I imagined), I was ritually dragged into the Armenian markets of Los Angeles by my mother, who bought food as if it was a competitive sport.
“Get up, we’re going shopping,” she would say. She never meant at the Vons or Ralphs grocery chains, where you could buy waffles and milk. She meant at one of the markets in Glendale or Burbank or …
