The Brief

Exide — a now-shuttered battery recycling plant in the city of Vernon — spewed lead into thousands of homes in Southeast Los Angeles County for decades. Despite growing up in the area, Marvella Muro did not learn about the plant till she was an adult.

She recalled an environmental justice symposium at East L.A. College, where a group of students shared that they had elevated levels of lead in their blood. Muro said she worried about her health, her loved ones, and the potential of having lead-ridden soil surrounding her home.

The session stayed with her. Years later, Muro became a curator at Self Help Graphics & Art, a community arts center in Boyle Heights. When the Getty announced that the next theme of its giant, cross-site arts event — PST ART — would be “Art & Science Collide,” Muro knew exactly what she wanted to do.

She and her team reached out to local artists. With the help of community members, they put together “Sinks: Places We Call Home.” The exhibition opens Saturday at Cal State L.A. and depicts how toxic pollutants have impacted local residents’ health and quality of life.

“This exhibition is very L.A. focused,” Muro said, “but [the issue is] something that really impacts communities nationwide.”

Art rooted in history

The exhibition takes its name from “Geographies of Race and Ethnicity II,” an essay by social scientist Laura Pulido. In the essay, Pulido says:

Muro said she thought this was fitting, because polluters often treat low-income communities of color as dumping grounds.

The exhibition opens with a collection of pieces that highlight the natural beauty and potential harms of living in L.A. County — everywhere from Frogtown to Signal Hill.

Marvella Muro, the curator of the exhibition, contributed a letter she received from the Department of Toxic Substances Control regarding contaminated soil in her home.

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Eric Jaipal

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Self Help Graphics & Art

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In one section of the exhibit, a giant timeline of Willowbrook, an unincorporated community in South L.A., traces the history of contamination in what is now Magic Johnson Park. Visitors learn about the construction of a 120-acre “Tank Farm,” where companies like ExxonMobil stored petroleum products.

The company later sold the land to a developer. And on it, the developer built a housing complex that was “touted as an oasis for working-class Black families,” Muro told LAist. Those families were later displaced, after enduring cancer, leukemia, miscarriages, and other health issues.

Beatriz Jaramillo, an artist who earned her MFA at Cal State L.A., captured this history on nine translucent white curtains that hang from the ceiling of the exhibit hall.

Ahead of the exhibition, Jaramillo spent years researching the Willowbrook neighborhood. She also spoke with local residents, including members of its community garden. With their help, Jaramillo created another art piece: a large mirror surrounded by dozens of small planters. Jaramillo made each planter by hand, and community members selected the plants that were placed inside them.

Jaramillo's "In-Nature" includes 36 terracotta planters made by hand.

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This part of the exhibition, Jaramillo said, “invites people to reflect on our own contribution to the environment, on how we can collectively work together to improve our community.”

When the exhibition closes, she added, the Willowbrook community members will take the planters home.

Art connected to action

Maru Garcia had made art pieces about Exide’s impact on Southeast L.A., but the work left her feeling frustrated. “It's very important, of course, to bring attention to a problem,” she told LAist, “but I thought that was not enough . . . I was just describing something, but not really able to help in any sense.”

Garcia, who has degrees in chemistry and biotechnology, saw “Sinks” as an “opportunity to finally be in the community, and do something more hands-on.”

She also participated, with Muro, in Prospering Backyards, a group of scientists, artists, activists, and community members developing an alternative method for reducing lead in contaminated soil. (Currently, California’s Department of Toxic Substances Control remediates the soil in Southeast L.A. by removing it and replacing it with new soil. The contaminated soil gets transported elsewhere.)

Through Prospering Backyards, Garcia learned about the potential benefits of minerals known as zeolites, which suck up the lead. Garcia also learned about the ways in which soil contamination has impacted Southeast L.A. residents’ day-to-day life.

“A lot of people stopped gardening,” she said. “They also felt really bad about letting their children play in their yards.”

The sculptures in Maru Garcia's "Boiling Rock 3" are supported by steel poles that will slowly reveal the words "Madre" (Mother), "Alive," and "Home" as they dissolve.

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For the exhibition, Garcia made multiple pieces inspired by her work with the community, including three 6-foot tall pillars composed of soil, zeolites, mulch, and clay. These represent the palm-sized columns of earth that they extracted from community members’ homes during the course of their research.

“Through this project, we are really trying to heal this relationship that we have with our soil,” Garcia said. “Instead of seeing it as a source of contaminants, as something that is attacking or affecting us, I want us to remember that soil is like a mother, it's a source of life.”

After fighting Sacramento for years, Huntington Beach finally approved a plan this week to allow for significantly more housing.

State law requires California cities and counties to plan for enough housing to meet the expected demand, with an emphasis on low-income units. For years, Huntington Beach has fought its allocation of some 13,000 new homes. But the city lost its final legal battle earlier this year.

The last stand?

The City Council voted 5-2 to approve a draft housing plan at its meeting earlier this week. Councilmembers said they had to comply with the court order, but would continue to fight for local control over housing and zoning decisions. “There’s still a couple moves on the chessboard on this one,” said Mayor Casey McKeon, without elaborating.

What’s next?

The state housing department still has to approve the city’s housing plan, so more back-and-forth is likely. It’s also unclear whether Huntington Beach voters will ultimately have to approve the plan. Voters passed a measure in 2024 requiring public approval of major zoning changes in the city.

The city of Long Beach on Wednesday unveiled early mockups for new lighting, historical markers, murals and a plaza that will mark the neighborhood along Broadway as a cultural district for the LGBTQ+ community.

The district, designated by the City Council in 2024, will stretch 1.4 miles, between Alamitos Avenue and Temple Avenue, in an area that’s historically been home to many gay bars and other LGBTQ-focused businesses.

The borders of Long Beach’s new LGBTQ+ cultural district.

Right now, the city does not have enough money set aside to fund a redesign of that whole stretch and initially focus on two blocks between Hermosa and Junipero avenues using $3.3 million they’ve so far socked away, Public Works Department spokesperson Jocelin Padilla said.

In the initial phase, the city will add color-changing festoon lighting between Hermosa and Junipero Avenues, wraps and banners on streetpoles, and murals. There will also be a Pride Plaza, situated at the corner of Junipero Avenue and Broadway, with historical markers and educational signs that draw on the city’s LGBTQ+ history.

Designs for the site, officials say, are based heavily on existing districts in San Jose, Chicago and Montreal.

Padilla said there is no date set yet for the work to start, though the city hopes to begin in early 2027 and finish sometime in 2028. A survey was launched this week to garner feedback on the proposed designs. Early renderings of the plaza, Padilla said, were intentionally vague, so that people could give further input on how it should look.

Long Beach unveiled proposed designs for a new Pride Plaza on Broadway as part of an LGBTQ+ cultural district on June 17, 2026.

Future phases will look to add foliage, decorative crosswalks, plaques, signage and construct a memorial to those who died from the HIV/AIDS epidemic. It would be similar in design to memorials built in New York and Chicago.

This comes as multiple city-run surveys and workshops in October 2022 and 2023 found that many feel the area is poorly lit at night and doesn’t have enough tree shading in the day. There was also a high demand for murals, parking spaces and bike lanes.

City planners say the location, which includes Bixby Park near its center, is best suited for the district given its density of LGBTQ+ shops and bars, and as the location of the city’s yearly Pride parade.

“This corridor has long been a place that served as a home for gathering space and a source of pride for all the LGBTQ+ community,” said Councilmember Cindy Allen. “This corridor carries a powerful history of community advocacy, celebration, business, and resilience.”

“Together we are building a district that reflects your voices, honors your history, supports local businesses, and celebrates who you are, not just during Pride, but every single day,” Allen said.

You can see more renderings and give feedback here.

Think of pretty much any country, and you can likely find its cuisine in Los Angeles. But when we saw that Belgium was lined up to play Iran on Sunday, June 21, at SoFi Stadium, it gave us pause. Is there a Belgian restaurant in L.A.?

It turns out the answer is complicated. Liège waffles — the dense, caramelized, pearl-sugar version of the Belgian classic — have a real foothold here, with spots like Belgium Waffle Haus in the San Fernando Valley. There's also FRitēS-FReaK, an Orange County food truck devoted entirely to Belgian-style double-fried fries, piled high with toppings like fried egg and bacon.

But a full Belgian dining experience, the kind with mussels and frites and a wall of Trappist beers, is harder to come by. For that, you'll need to drive about 40 miles south down the coast, where Brussels Bistro — with locations in San Clemente and Laguna Beach — pays homage to the cuisine of the distinct but tiny country that's the size of Maryland.

Walk into the San Clemente location, and a marquee above the bar spells out a kind of Belgian shorthand — WE ♥ BELGIUM, CROQUETTES, WAFFLE, FRITES — more mood than menu. Near the entrance, a replica of the Manneken-Pis — one of Belgium's best-known symbols, the naked young boy happily urinating into a basin — sits on a shelf dressed in the Belgian national team jersey, an American flag planted beside him.

Chef-owner Thomas Crijns came from Ottignies, outside Brussels, in the early 2000s to consult on the Laguna Beach location — and never left. He runs the restaurant alongside his wife Carol, who is French-born with Persian heritage, a combination that will make the June 21 match particularly interesting in their household. When asked to describe the food of his home country, Crijns quickly quips: "Belgian cuisine is like French cuisine but with less pretension."

A World Cup match plays above the bar at Brussels Bistro, alongside a deep list of Belgian beers including Chimay, Duvel and Kasteel.

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The menu reads like a love letter to Belgian culinary tradition — mussels, waffles, and carbonnade à la flamande, a Flemish stew made with beer and mustard — alongside a draft list that includes Chimay, Duvel, Rochefort and Delirium Tremens.

But the dish Crijns is most proud of is one most Americans have never heard of. The shrimp croquette is a staple of Belgian brasserie culture, made here with North Sea shrimp — what he calls "the caviar of the North Sea" — flown in every Thursday from a Dutch supplier.

Four golden, breaded croquettes arranged on a white plate over a bed of fried parsley, with a lemon wedge and a dollop of sauce on top of one croquette.

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The croquettes arrived four to a plate, golden and perfectly formed, the exterior giving way to a creamy molten interior where the tiny shrimp created a texture unlike anything I'd had before — something close to squid, but more delicate. The kind of dish that makes more sense with a Belgian beer in hand and a side of frites within reach. The match, though, is a more complicated proposition in the Crijns household.

A taste of Belgium, one tap at a time, at Brussels Bistro in San Clemente.

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Carol would know better than most. Her uncle runs a Persian restaurant in Irvine, part of an Orange County Iranian community of nearly 37,000 — a concentration that rivals many a concentration that rivals many larger cities

On June 21, she expects fans from both sides to fill the restaurant.

"I'm gonna do everything I can to bring as many family members," she said. "To tease my husband as much as I can."

"I'm grateful that the tournament allows us to put aside our differences and bring people together."

Coming from almost anyone else, that might sound like a talking point. Coming from a French-Persian woman married to a Belgian chef, watching Iran play Belgium at their own restaurant — it sounds like something she's earned the right to say.

For the Iranian diaspora in Los Angeles, the feelings around Iran's World Cup participation have been complicated. Monday's game between Iran and New Zealand ended in a 2-2 draw at SoFi Stadium. Now, Iran prepares to face Belgium at the same stadium on Sunday in a match that continues to carry weight well beyond the scoreline.

For Sahar Shomali, who owns Kouzeh, an Iranian bakery located in the Miracle Mile neighborhood, those feelings live somewhere between the oven and the morning news.

Kouzeh takes its name from the Farsi word for a clay jar. A small row of them sits on the bakery case that greets customers when they walk in. On the wall above, a laminated National Geographic map of Iran hangs alongside a small illustration featuring an Iranian saying: "What comes out of the vessel is whatever's inside it."

Sahar Shomali didn't plan for the name and the saying to connect. She just liked the way Kouzeh sounded.

Barbari is one of Iran's most beloved breads — a long, oval flatbread with a golden, slightly crisp crust and a soft, chewy interior. It’s as common in Tehran as a baguette is in Paris. And for Shomali, it was the one thing she couldn't stop thinking about after she left and arrived in the U.S.

A selection of breads at Kouzeh, including barbari (far left), kelaneh (the folded triangle), and several sweet breads tied to specific Iranian provinces.

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Growing up, she lived a 10-minute walk from a barbari bakery, and her father would go every morning before breakfast, coming home with two pieces still hot from the oven. There is a running understanding among Iranians, she said, that you never make it home with the bread whole. Someone always tears off a piece on the walk back.

Kouzeh, an Iranian bakery on Wilshire Boulevard in Mid-Wilshire, opened earlier this year.

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"I really missed that," she said. "Especially the barbari. That was my thing."

When she got to Los Angeles, she went looking for a replacement— and found Persian bakeries making barbari that were, to her, not the real thing. So she did what she calls the opposite: went to culinary school, and spent years moving as far from Iranian cuisine as possible, taking every Californian and French restaurant job she could find.

"So that I could just learn everything that I didn't know," she said.

It worked. In 2018 she left her last pastry chef job and applied everything she'd learned to make barbari. Once she felt she’d cracked it, Kouzeh followed.

Shomali doesn't just stick to barbari. She offers 25 very different breads, some sweet, some savory, each tied to a specific Iranian province. Standouts include kelaneh, a savory Kurdish flatbread with an herb filling — scallion, parsley, cilantro — pillowy soft with a slight char, somewhere between a flour tortilla and a scallion pancake. The kakouli bakhtiyari, made with grape molasses and flavored with fennel and fenugreek seeds, walks the line between sweet and savory. And eashly koukah, a festive bread from Tabriz filled with ginger and turmeric paste, rounds out a case that spans nearly the full breadth of the country.

The bakery case at Kouzeh, where each bread and pastry is labeled with its city or province of origin.

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Gab Chabrán

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None of the breads come from family recipes — Shomali built each one through research, conversations with friends, a single bread book her cousin sent from Iran, and a culinary background that lets her reverse-engineer a recipe from a description alone. The shelves lining the walls tell a similar story: Saba Jams, small-batch preserves made by a childhood friend now based in San Francisco; torshi from Nicole's Kitchen; goods from ZoZo Baking — all Iranian women food makers in California that Shomali sought out personally.

"I called them all up," she said. "I said, I have shelves, and I want Persian goods on those shelves."

While having little interest in sports or the World Cup, Shomali's heart lies with her home country. Every morning, before the bread goes in, she checks the news from Iran — a ritual her customers share.

Even mid-rush, Sahar Shomali makes time for the regulars who keep coming back.

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"We stress about it together, we grieve about it together. But people still show up and buy bread."

It's not lost on her, the duality of how she and her community feel torn between the country they adopted and the one they came from.

"Both of my countries are at war," she said. "I can't take sides in either one."