The Brief

As you make your way down Pioneer Boulevard, the first thing you notice is the signage.

On a single strip mall sign, Bollywood Dance is stacked above a European Tailor, above Tacos Birria, above Nilly’s Burgers, above a Nepali and Indian Grocery. Five businesses, five communities, one address.

These shopping plazas are a microcosm of a corridor that has been quietly reshaped by successive waves of immigration over the past 40 years — Filipino, Korean, Gujarati, Mumbaikar, all putting down roots in the same strip malls, the same blocks just off Pioneer Boulevard.

Long known as Southern California's Little India and quietly becoming something more, for $15, you can eat very well here.

This is Cheap Fast Eats: Artesia.

Jay Bharat

Jay Bharat at 18701 Pioneer Blvd. — one of the oldest South Asian restaurants in Southern California.

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Gab Chabrán

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LAist

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One of the oldest businesses along the Artesia corridor, Jay Bharat was founded in a garage in 1985 before opening its brick-and-mortar location on Pioneer Boulevard in 1988. It was founded by Usha Master, driven by her passion for Gujarati home cooking reminiscent of her childhood in Kothamdi, Gujarat.

Just three years later, Jonathan Gold paid them a visit for the L.A. Times, putting both the restaurant and the corridor on the map. When he reviewed Jay Bharat in 1991, dinner for two ran between $5 and $10. More than three decades later, the prices have barely moved.

For this particular visit, I was there to try the Undhiyu Puri ($9.49), a Gujarati winter vegetable medley. Despite it being the middle of summer, I was craving its comforting flavors — raw banana, unripe plantain, purple yam, baby eggplant, pigeon peas, green mung beans, and flat green beans, seasoned with fenugreek leaves, coconut, green chilies, cumin and a touch of sugar. The name itself tells the story: "undhu" means "upside down" in Gujarati, a reference to the traditional method of slow-cooking the dish in an earthen pot buried underground. Even in July, it tastes like winter in the best possible way.

The Undhiyu Puri at Jay Bharat — a Gujarati winter vegetable medley served with five golden puffed puris.

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The beauty of the dish is its nuance — so many different flavors and textures hitting different parts of the palate with each bite: the sweetness of banana and yam, a hint of heat from the green chiles, the satisfying resistance of pigeon peas and mung beans keeping things interesting. The restaurant encourages you to eat with your hands, so grab a puri, tear it open, and drag it through the dark spiced base. Wash it down with a bottle of Parliament Jaljeera— a carbonated cumin-and-tamarind drink that cuts right through the richness of the curry.

Honest Restaurant

The Honest Special Bhaji Pav at Honest Restaurant — a Mumbai street food institution with roots in Ahmedabad, Gujarat, and the only SoCal location of an 18-state chain.

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Honest has the footprint of Denny's and the street-food soul of King Taco. What started as a family cart in Ahmedabad, Gujarat, in 1975, now spans 18 U.S. states and four countries — and Artesia is currently the only SoCal location.

Step inside and the history is right there on the walls — black-and-white photos of men in plain '70s attire, a message from the founder, flat screens cycling through the day's specials.

Try the bhaji pav ($14.99) — specifically the Honest Special, which arrives loaded with cashews and raisins folded into a rich, spiced vegetable curry, served alongside two rounds of pav. Resembling a dinner roll, the soft, pillowy bread is as much a part of the dish as the bhaji itself — lightly toasted in Amul butter, the iconic Indian dairy brand, with a slight crisp on the outside that gives way immediately. Tear it, dip it, repeat.

The exterior of Honest Restaurant on Pioneer Boulevard.

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The savory depth of the curry builds with each bite, the raisins and cashews adding a sweetness and body that keep pulling you back in. What might read on a menu as simply "curry and bread" is anything but — a full meal and a journey through Mumbai street food culture, by way of Gujarat, all for under $15.

Nilly’s Burger 

The single burger and chili cheese fries at Nilly's Neighborhood Burger Shop — a Filipino-owned spot on Pioneer Boulevard doing classic L.A. diner food near the heart of Little India.

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Gab Chabrán

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Nilly's Neighborhood Burger Shop started in 2020 as a Filipino-owned burger pop-up doing classic American diner burgers — and it delivers. It’s located in a strip mall on Pioneer Boulevard that also houses a pho restaurant, a coffee shop and an Indian restaurant.

Ranil Zalameda lost his job during the pandemic and started doing what he called "backyard burger runs" in Norwalk, selling them on Instagram's close friends feature, a couple dozen at a time. With the help of his parents, he opened a brick-and-mortar location in January 2022 and expanded in October 2025.

Growing up in Cerritos/Artesia, Zalameda attended Gahr High School and would travel with his mom to Culver City, where she worked as a bookkeeper. On the way home, they would stop at classic L.A. restaurants like Johnny's Pastrami and Dinah's Chicken. When he opened Nilly's, he wanted to bring that same spirit back to his hometown.

Nilly's Neighborhood Burger Shop on Pioneer Boulevard in Artesia.

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Start with the single burger ($9) — a four-ounce patty ground in-house by his wife's uncle, not a smash burger but a thicker-style, onions pressed in on the plancha, house-made bread-and-butter pickles, yellow mustard, American cheese, Martin's potato roll. No spread, no ketchup — a quiet act of conviction in In-N-Out country.

Then come the chili cheese fries ($9 small, $15 large). Order the small — it's easily enough for two — and it arrives topped with freshly shredded cheddar, sour cream, raw onion, and pickles. The secret is in the chili itself: pickle juice cooked in, a technique that quietly traces back to Filipino and Mexican cooking traditions.

"I think it's OK to be Filipino, but own an American burger shop. I don't think there's anything wrong with that," Zalameda said.

A new version of the American dream, in the town he grew up in, supported by his family, one burger at a time.

Gangnam Kimbob

The House Special at Gangnam Kimbob — marinated bulgogi beef, fried shrimp tempura, egg, and pickled vegetables, rolled tight and sliced into ten pieces.

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On Norwalk near South St. sits Gangnam Kimbob — a Korean kimbob counter that has quietly built one of the strongest reputations on the corridor. The name is a nod to the affluent Seoul district made globally famous by PSY's 2012 megahit — a wink of second-gen Korean American cultural confidence tucked into a strip mall in Artesia.

Kimbap, or kimbob as they spell it here, translates literally to "seaweed rice" — seasoned rice and various fillings wrapped in dried nori and sliced into bite-sized rounds. Unlike sushi, the rice is seasoned with sesame oil rather than vinegar, and the fillings are cooked, not raw. In Korean food culture, it’s what Korean moms make for school field trips and travel days, a labor of love that carries real emotional weight. That's exactly what Gangnam is tapping into with their tagline: "Fresh ingredients, homemade with love, just like Mom makes it."

Gangnam Kimbob on South St., just off Pioneer Boulevard, and worth the detour.

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The Korean community has been part of the Artesia/Cerritos corridor since the post-1965 immigration wave — drawn here, like so many others, by affordable housing, good schools and freeway access. They stayed because it became home.

The House Special ($12.99) comes with 10 pieces — marinated bulgogi beef, fried shrimp tempura, egg, and a mix of cooked and pickled vegetables — served at room temperature, the way kimbap is meant to be eaten. Each piece is its own small, complete thing: savory, slightly sweet, texturally satisfying. It's a full meal that tastes like a snack.

Kiko's Rotisserie Chicken 

A half chicken from Kiko's Lechon Manok — dark, lacquered skin from the rotisserie, pulled and ready to eat at the orange patio tables out front.

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Gab Chabrán

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LAist

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Just over on the western edge of the corridor, on the corner of Norwalk Boulevard and South Street, sits a towering A-frame building known as Kiko's. On Google, they go by Kiko's Rotisserie Chicken, but their Instagram tells a different story: Kiko's Lechon Manok — lechon means "roasted," manok means "chicken" in Filipino. Same bird, two names, one for the search bar and one for the community.

Whatever you call it, at $13.95, it's one of the best deals around.

Parking is tight, and you order through a window — no frills, no fuss. That's exactly the point. Beyond the chicken, the menu runs deep into Filipino home cooking — dinuguan, kalderetang kambing, chicharrón, leche flan, cassava cake.

Kiko's Lechon Manok — order through the window, eat at the patio tables outside.

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Gab Chabrán

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After a quick five minutes, your order arrives — advertised as a half chicken, but by the amount you're presented with, you'd swear it was a whole. Large pieces fill a full-sized Styrofoam container, the skin dark brown and lacquered crispy from the rotisserie. Pick it up piece by piece and dip into their signature lechon manok sauce — a traditional Filipino sauce made from chicken liver, vinegar, brown sugar, and garlic, thinner than gravy but with a deep, savory punch that cuts right through the richness of the skin. A few bites in and you'll be strategizing about how to get the rest home.

This story first appeared on Long Beach Post.

From his veranda on the Peninsula, VR Venkataraman gets a front-row seat as wave after wave fueled by Tropical Storm Rachel slams the bulkhead and sprays upwards, more than two stories into the air.

For now, his defenses are holding.

In recent days, city officials and work crews reinforced the bulkhead with 12-by-2 boards and added vertical columns supported by wooden braces, riveted into the boardwalk at the angles Venkataraman determined would provide the most support. He’s not an engineer, but he’s acting like one to protect his Seaside Walk home.

“I did the geometry, figured it out, taught the crew how to do it, and did one with them,” said Venkataraman, a former doctor who now owns an Indian-Mexican fusion cafe. “I’m a human being with adequate knowledge and experience of life. That’s all.”

He is one of many Long Beach Peninsula residents taking swift, creative action in an attempt to save their homes after high surf and tides from multiple storms have eroded beaches and battered properties along the coast. On Saturday, though some residents expressed frustration that there wasn’t more preventative action ahead of this fall’s extreme weather, they said they appreciated how the city has sprung into action and partnered with them to salvage whatever they can. Venkataraman praised Jake Heflin with the fire department and Cory Forrester of Parks, Recreation and Marine for their work to help him harden his property, as well as the support provided by Councilmember Kristina Duggan.

“It’s a process of learning,” Venkataraman said.

On Saturday, city crews continued to shore up beaches where sand was washed away as surf driven by Hurricane Marie pounded the Peninsula last month. By morning, sand berms were piled up ahead of high tide. Other emergency repairs included pumping water off streets and filling in the exposed bulkhead with 1,000 sandbags. Storm drains appeared clear and were able to receive water from flooded streets.

“In an emergency, we act. We spend the money we need to. We protect life and safety, but then we record all of those costs,” City Manager Tom Modica said at a press conference Saturday afternoon.

More than $1 million in one-time costs has already been spent so far, he said. The city will aggressively pursue funding from other sources as it undertakes a seven-part plan for near- and long-term resiliency, Modica said. The city is currently in conversation with the governor’s Office of Emergency Services, he added.

More than $1 million spent so far

Venkataraman was not prepared last month when high surf rushed into his ground floor and dumped more than a foot of sand, rubble and shells into his crawl space, he said. He was forced to rip out several feet of drywall and air out his home with 66 heaters and 18 humidifiers from Home Depot.

His first floor was still torn up when powerful waves charged by Tropical Storm Rachel arrived at his door again this week. But this time, he knew he had to take quicker, preventative action. He reinforced the planter on his lower level with wood and sandbags and bolstered the bulkhead with various supports.

Though he and his family evacuated and are staying in another home they own, he has been returning to his Peninsula residence during high tides to check on the reinforcements and evaluate what else needs to be done.

He said he now hopes to reinforce the bulkhead on the ocean side, adding 2-by-4 planks for stability. And he said he will continue to periodically tighten the rivets on the support beams, as they loosen with each wall of water that crashes down.

Caught off guard by Hurricane Marie

Other residents have also stepped in to buttress the bulkhead. On Friday, the sand berm protecting 62nd Place washed away, and waves “brought the whole ocean and sand down the street,” said Marc Moore, who lives there. Once the water had receded, he started picking up 10-foot pieces of wood and digging them into the sand near the bulkhead — a DIY solution in the hopes of taking a bit of power out of each swell. “Every wave you can stop might protect somebody’s home,” he said. He added the city should have done more to avoid this current disaster, but now they were fully activated and working closely with residents.

The worst may be yet to come

Some residents said they were anxious for what was to come throughout the weekend; the National Weather Service issued a coastal flood warning, and a high surf advisory on Sunday as rainy weather set to arrive threatened more damage. Flooding impacts could be the most significant the region has seen this season, according to the NWS.

Eight properties were red-tagged as too dangerous for residents to remain, and several structures noticeably creaked and sagged as the waves continued to hit. City officials said they expect the coastal erosion and property damage to worsen on Sunday and throughout the El Niño season.

Still, Venkataraman and his neighbors remained hopeful and focused on action.

“It may be a losing battle,” Venkataraman said, adding he is not ready to give up. “I’m a warrior. I will fight until the bitter end.”

Police officers in cities across the U.S. are quick to extol the virtues of real-time crime centers as a game changer that helps them find missing children, monitor large events from the skies and scope out dangerous scenes before putting an officer in harm's way.

Hundreds of police departments have one of these central hubs, which have existed for years. But many are now being powered with AI software, such as Fusus, from the public-safety technology giant Axon.

Fusus, by Axon's own description, is a "rapidly deployable real-time crime center in the cloud." It functions like the brain of a crime center, synthesizing the data it pulls in and allowing police command centers to watch an entire city from one place.

Flock cameras, the automated license plate readers (ALPRs), have faced intense backlash in recent months amid stories of abuse. Yet privacy experts say they're just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to police surveillance.

"I have been watching the debate about Flock with a little bit of puzzlement," says Andrew Guthrie Ferguson, a law professor at George Washington University. "Because real-time crime centers have not just ALPR cameras and sensors, but video analytics and drones and essentially a way to create a visual single-pane-of-glass vision of what's going on in a city, with time machine capabilities where you can go back and investigate crime."

How AI-powered software fuels real-time crime centers

Tools like Axon Fusus, which is a leader in this type of software, also pull in footage and data from police body cameras, law enforcement dashcams, 911 dispatch, gunshot detectors and surveillance cameras, including sometimes those of private businesses that opt in.

Its use is growing fast. In 2024, the technology news site 404 Media reported that just over 100 law enforcement agencies had deployed Fusus, which was then its own company and was acquired by Axon that year. The number of law enforcement agencies using the tool has more than doubled since then, according to Axon.

Police officers in departments that use Fusus told NPR that the tool serves as a time-saver and a force multiplier for their agencies.

"We could put analysts in a room and have them access 40 different systems," says Benjamin Weir, a captain with the Oklahoma City Police Department. "But that slows them down. So the biggest leveraging factor for a real-time information center to be productive is to have software that can incorporate all these things into one usable area."

Quincy Whitner, a lieutenant with the Greenville County Sheriff's Office in South Carolina, says Fusus helped his department find a man who shot a police officer and fled the scene, by combining city surveillance footage with license plate data.

"Instead of having to go to a million different systems, a million different places to find answers, we can get it in one platform in one place somewhat instantaneously," says Whitner.

Privacy concerns when surveillance is easy

But that push-of-a-button mentality is exactly what makes privacy experts nervous.

Rachel Levinson-Waldman, director of the Liberty and National Security Program at New York University's Brennan Center for Justice, says even a few decades ago, there were more hurdles to overcome when police officers wanted to surveil members of the community. They might have to physically follow someone or do a stakeout. It took time, staffing and resources.

"In addition to all of the things that you would want in place requiring some kind of criminal predicate to launch it, there is just this kind of organic friction that imposes some constraints," she says. "As that friction gets lifted, it becomes easier and easier to do investigations, to look at people and even to pull up broad-scale information."

Police told NPR that they understand those concerns but that the good — the potential for stopping and solving crime — outweighs the bad — the potential for misuse and mass surveillance.

"I understand people's concerns, but if you're not up to no good, we're not looking at you. We are looking at people who are committing crimes," says Michelle Iezzi, deputy director of the Operational Intelligence Division at the Montgomery County Police Department in Maryland.

Axon did not respond to multiple requests for comment. But CEO Rick Smith said on the latest earnings call that the company strongly values privacy: "We just have to be thoughtful and understand those concerns and say, 'Look, this is a tool to amplify human ability, not to replace human judgment.'"

But there is broad potential for abuse when a police department is always watching, privacy experts say; surveillance technology can sweep up innocent people by mistake, and it can enable targeting.

"What happens if there is a government that wants to silence a particular group or even a particular person? And you just built the architecture of surveillance that makes that super-easy," says Ferguson, the George Washington University law professor.

Courts are moving slowly in deciding when or if this kind of surveillance crosses a constitutional line. In the meantime, Ferguson says, lawmakers could act by limiting how long data is stored, for instance, mandating regular audits or restricting surveillance near sensitive sites like abortion clinics or immigration courts.

He says those conversations should be happening before a tool ever is used.

Copyright 2026 NPR

Once a year Crenshaw Boulevard comes alive with music, food and celebration at the Taste of Soul Family Festival. What organizers bill as Southern California’s “largest free street festival,” now in its 21st year, takes over nearly three miles between Obama Boulevard and Stocker Street on Saturday, Oct.17.

Come on in, it’s free

Crowds fill Crenshaw Boulevard at Taste of Soul.

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And “free” is the operative word.

“At Coachella, it's $500 a ticket. At Taste of Soul, you come free,” said Pamela Bakewell with Bakewell Media, the festival's organizer.

Danny J. Bakewell Sr. — chairman of the organization and Pamela’s brother — pitched the festival to then-L.A. Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa.

“He went to him and said, ‘Look, if they can do these things in New Orleans, then why can't we do it in Los Angeles?’”

Tiffany Haddish with Danny J. Bakewell Sr. at Taste of Soul 2025.

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That first festival in 2005 drew about 25,000 people, according to organizers. Now, some 350,000 people attend every year.

A world of vendors

Organizers say the festival has become an economic boost for small businesses in Southern California, featuring over 100 food vendors of serving a variety of cuisines.

A food vendor cooks at Taste of Soul 2018.

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“It's the biggest event that I do all year,” said Brian McMillan, owner of The Kobbler King in South L.A. “People place orders after the event. They taste the cobbler;  it sets us up for Thanksgiving.”

McMillan has been a vendor at Taste of Soul for 20 years.

Montell Jordan performs on the KJLH Music Stage at Taste of Soul 2025.

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“You got food from all over. I have a friend from East Africa; his food is some of the best food I've ever had, and it's extremely healthy,” McMillan said.

And plenty more to see

Visitors and staff at the Watts Healthcare tent during Taste of Soul 2025.

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McMillan said he relishes seeing different generations of neighbors and customers come by to say hello and get some cobbler.

“It's like a family reunion, and I think that's very important because you don't see that with too many festivals at all.”

Long Beach is famously surrounded by a breakwater to protect its harbor, but that massive barrier hasn’t been able to shield homes on the city’s Peninsula from hurricane-charged swells recently.

Over the last few weeks, strong waves have repeatedly stripped away sand, broken through a boardwalk bulkhead and threatened to collapse beachside homes by clawing away the sand underneath them. All of this keeps happening in a narrow stretch of homes along the Peninsula, mostly between 62nd and 69th places.

Those few blocks are vulnerable to swells coming from the south because of an opening in the breakwater and jetty that allows boat access to Alamitos Bay.

In order to protect those homes, Long Beach typically builds a sand berm to block waves. When waves rip it away, the breakwater keeps it from washing out to sea, and it instead piles up to the west near downtown (a phenomenon called littoral drift.) The city spends $1 million to $1.5 million a year on trucking that sand back to the Peninsula and rebuilding the beach.

This year, it hasn’t been enough.

El Niño’s warm waters have supercharged high tides. That, combined with hurricane-driven waves coming up from the south, has stripped so much sand away from the Peninsula’s beach that the wooden bulkhead under the coastal boardwalk has been exposed.

At high tide, breakers now slap directly against the wood, repeatedly splintering it.

The city is hoping to soon start a $11.4 million dredging project to gather enough sand to rebuild the beach and protect the boardwalk, but that can’t happen while it’s getting pounded by the surf.

There may be some relief soon. Hurricane season in the eastern Pacific runs from mid-May through November. Hurricanes later in the year are much more likely to form in the western Pacific — as opposed to the southeast — and the federal breakwater that shields Long Beach’s harbor blunts the swells that originate from the west. That’s why much of California’s western coast may still see dangerous waves through the winter, though Long Beach is usually safe.

To bolster the Peninsula’s defenses, Long Beach is now considering a $6.8 million plan to build a rock revetment — a wall of boulders that would sit behind the beach as a backup.

This aerial view of the Peninsula was included in a city report on ways to replenish its sand.

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But for a long-term solution, officials say it may cost $150 million to $350 million for a full habitat and shoreline restoration — funded partly by state mitigation credits.

It’s the kind of project that would take massive amounts of approvals and planning and likely some delays. The city council, for now, has approved $30,000 to look into it further.