Rose Perez

“After 65 years, San Pedro Fish Market is closing its doors in Long Beach. Please join us in our pop-up location in Alamitos Bay coming soon.” read the flier. 

I stood there for a minute, in line, shocked at what I just read. I’ve been coming to San Pedro since I was young, and it’s always been bustling with people from all over the state. It’s been featured in many YouTube videos and considered a “hidden gem” in Southern California. It’s a place so special to locals not only because of their famous shrimp platter, but also because it sits right along the Long Beach harbor getting a 360 view of the ocean, the carnival cruises and the local fisherman. The port seats about 3,000 people and features many fishermen including those from Alaska. It’s very old and could use a paint job or two, but that’s what makes this place so special. I look up at the employee who handed me the flier and I ask, “Hey sir, do you know why it’s closing?” 

“Yeah, the lease is up in May and this giant company bought this place for a lot more. They’re going to build a mall of some sorts here.” said the employee.

“So, they’re gentrifying the hell out of this place?” I asked.

“Basically,” said the employee as he walked away.

I look over at my friend Nikki as we’re waiting in line, and I remember the two other times we made the 45-minute drive from Los Angeles to San Pedro. We had decided to eat somewhere else after seeing the two-hour line to get in. 

“I’m so glad we decided to wait in line this time.” said Nikki. 

San Pedro is a special place to many families, particularly, the Hispanic community. Every weekend you see mariachi bands ready to sing your favorite song. You see kids dancing and running around, you see the bartender making their famous micheladas and families celebrating birthdays and anniversaries. I look to my friend and say, “We’re going to get the full experience today. I’m buying us two Micheladas and after we eat, we’ll take the 45-minute ferry ride that takes us around the harbor. Then we’ll get fried plantains on our way out.” 

“We have to do it!” she says.

“I’m devastated, but I guess we'll just have to make the best of it today, because this will be the last time I’m ever here” I say.

After a couple of hours, we’re sitting at the table peeling a garlic marinated shrimp dripping with chili-lime juice. I break off a piece of garlic bread, dipped it in the sauce before taking a bite that melted in my mouth. Every bite is filled with years of memories and nostalgia. I look around and can feel the sorrows of people around us trying to take in and cherish every last second this place has left. It’s like watching a dying heart waiting for it to take its last pulse.

I pick up my spicy michelada to give a toast and say, “Fuck Gentrification.”