Topline:
A hued twist to traditional Mexican fare brings success to a taquería on 1st Street owned and operated by long-time Boyle Heights resident Yesenia Castro. Say hello to Pink and Boujee.
Come for ... the abundance and creative use of the color pink, which finds its way into every facet of the experience. The food is pretty good, too.
Where is it? 1908 E. 1st St. It's open Tuesdays-Sundays from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m.
Walking along the 1st Street Corridor heading East, a bright pink building stands out from all the rest. Its name and tagline — Pink and Boujee, “Not your average taquería” — are sure to get people to look twice.
This story originally appeared in Boyle Heights Beat, which is an LAist partner newsroom.
Once inside, if the smell of tortillas hechas a mano doesn’t grab your attention, then the bright-colored pink brunch foods surely will. The color pink comes from the dragonfruit and beet used to color many of the food items. But the color is not limited to just the food and the outside building. Inside, the restaurant walls, chairs, booths, and decor are all pink.
The concept first went viral on TikTok with more than 800,000 views when it was still a pop-up food truck in the fashion district in May of 2022. Now with a brick and mortar at 1908 1st Street since February, supporters from near and far are showing up.
“I’ve always loved food. It’s been a very important thing for me growing up,” said owner Yesenia Castro. “When I created Pink and Boujee I wanted to create something that represented a little bit of everything.”
For some customers, the pink aesthetic definitely makes a difference.
“It’s a cute experience to just not go to your regular taqueria, and it elevates it,” said Angel Jaelin, a customer visiting from Seattle, Washington.
“I know it might be hard for people to understand,” said Castro. “I think once you really see the beauty of it and the art of even making something pink that still has the rich flavors, it might change your idea once you try it and once you learn about it.”
The restaurant is Mexican and family-owned, which is important to the 28-year-old.
“We work and try our best to bring good quality things while still keeping traditional flavors and still making it look really pretty and presentable,” she said.
I think once you really see the beauty of it and the art of even making something pink that still has the rich flavors, it might change your idea once you try it and once you learn about it.
For customer Keithy Arabella Orellanam, seeing her generation put a twist on traditional foods is exciting.
“The pinkness is the reason I came last week, but the tacos are the reason I came this week,” Orellanam said. “The tacos are the bomb, I’m not even gonna lie.”
The menu has themed names for its dishes, for example, Boujee Chilaquiles, Pink Taco Trio, and Pink Pancakes. Prices range from $10 to $15. The restaurant also serves non-alcoholic mocktail drinks, like virgin mimosas and rosé, along with aguas frescas. Although tacos and alcohol are the usual pair, Castro wants to curate a different and healthier option.
“We had a girl celebrating a bachelorette,” Castro recalled. “I gave her a rundown of what we can and can’t provide, because people usually want to have mimosas and such. She’s like, ‘Oh my god that’s actually perfect because I’m a year sober.’”
Castro didn’t set out to be a restaurant owner. She attended a magnet high school in Downtown Los Angeles focusing on fashion, business, and electronics. While she was excited to do something creative, she found herself pursuing careers like medicine in order to make money.
“I went to medical school, but that didn’t work out,” said Castro. “I ended up being in sales, and that didn’t work out. That’s when I kind of navigated to the business world. I did a little bit of everything I would say, to prepare me for what I’m doing now.”
The pinkness is the reason I came last week, but the tacos are the reason I came this week. The tacos are the bomb, I’m not even gonna lie.
Caroline Salinas, a content creator and a social media strategist, understands that deviating from the status quo is hard and that’s why she supports Latina entrepreneurs where she can.
“I think with our background, we’re taught to chase careers that are typical,” Salinas said. “So whenever I see someone chasing a dream that is risky, I admire that and I want to support it.”
For Salinas, unique takes on traditional food like at Pink and Boujee allows customers to learn about the journey someone took to add flair to these plates.
“There’s beauty to trying the different subcultures within the Latino cultures,” she said. “It’s also been interesting since social media has kind of gotten bigger since the pandemic, it’s really beautiful to realize that Latinos show up. When one is struggling, someone will make a video and people will show up and save them.”
As a DACA recipient growing up in Boyle Heights, Castro is not new to hard challenges. Pink and Boujee has given her hope about what the future can hold.
“We can open doors for other entrepreneurs or other DACA recipients, I just feel like that itself is important,” said Castro. “If I could do that, take up space in the spaces that I have taken up, as an immigrant and DACA recipient, then I know anyone else can do it.”
“To me that is success,” she added. “That is being successful, what you do with your platform and with your power.”
Topline:
Early every Saturday for the last three and a half years, William Campbell, 61, leaves his Silver Lake home to be at the Angels Flight station for the first ride at 6:45 a.m.
Why it matters: Campbell is one of a team of operators behind the proverbial wheel of the two near-identical funiculars — named Olivet and Sinai — that go up and down a 33% angle slope from Hill Street to Bunker Hill in downtown Los Angeles.
The backstory: Campbell is also a superfan and has been researching the Bunker Hill funicular's 124-year history.
Early every Saturday for the last three and a half years, William Campbell, 61, leaves his Silver Lake home to be at the Angels Flight station for the first ride at 6:45 a.m.
Campbell is one of a team of operators behind the proverbial wheel of the two near-identical funiculars — named Olivet and Sinai — that go up and down a 33% angle slope from Hill Street to Bunker Hill in downtown Los Angeles.
“You’re a part of living history,” said Campbell, who is dressed in an orange and black waistcoat and bow tie, and wears a bowler hat with a monarch butterfly on top. There’s a reason for that, he said mysteriously.
Today, I am the first rider. Soon after, I am joined by a family visiting from Texas.
“I was just looking at a local tourist place, and I just saw this small, cute railway,” said Michael Nguyen, who was alongside his mother and sister. “I was like, oh, this looks interesting. And I saw that you can actually go on it. I was like, OK, that’s pretty dope.”
Masterminded by lawyer, politician and engineer Col. James Ward Eddy, the Angels Flight “hillevator” opened on New Year’s Eve 1901 as a way for people to travel up and down Bunker Hill, which was then the place where the city’s wealthy population lived.
The journey took them down to the streets and stores below and from 1917, Grand Central Market, with the first passengers paying just a penny fare for what was billed as the “shortest railway in America,” traveling just 298 feet.
When he’s not working his weekday full-time day job investigating animal cruelty and abuse, Campbell spends his spare time looking through online newspaper archives for any information about Angels Flight.
Originally located by the 3rd Street Tunnel — at the end of the block from where it is now — the train has been through several changes, as has Bunker Hill itself.
“All the wealthy people moved to Beverly Hills, and Brentwood, and Bel Air, and beyond. And all their wonderful Victorian mansions were turned into boarding houses, and it attracted a lower income, more diverse population, which resulted in blight and crime — at least according to the city,” Campbell said of Bunker Hill's transformation.
City officials authorized Bunker Hill to be all but razed in the 1950s and '60s, and Angels Flight was put into what was promised to be temporary storage for a year or two, despite protests from singer Peggy Lee and others.
Angels Flight Railway
351 S. Hill St., Los Angeles
Daily, 6:45 a.m. to 10 p.m.
A round-trip ticket is $3, which is orange and has a souvenir portion. A one-way trip is $1.75 or $1 for TAP cardholders.
William Campbell works there every Saturday and will happily talk to you if he can.
You can find out more about Campbell's wildlife interests and win a prize in Angels Flight quizzes via Instagram.
The year was 1969. And it took nearly three decades for its return. Angels Flight welcomed passengers again in 1996 to its current location after test runs were made with cases of beer and soft drinks weighing 9,000 pounds. The cable cars were rebuilt exactly as before, but with modern safety requirements, such as Sinai having wheelchair space.
A 2001 accident in which one person died and seven were injured saw another long closure until 2010, and there was a derailment in 2014, which saw another short shuttering. But Angels Flight has been running ever since 2017, save the odd mechanical problem.
Campbell describes himself as a cheerleader for Angels Flight, and you can easily see why. During his shift he pins up a 1904 photo of the city’s landscape taken from an 80-foot-high observation tower at the original location, so people can compare it to the skyscraper skyline of today.
“At one time you could see all the way to Catalina,” he noted.
There is also a display about near-forgotten Bunker Hill folk artist Marcel Cavalla, and Campbell gives away Angels Flight bookmarks, stickers and maps, all of which he researches, designs and prints out of his own pocket.
One of his projects, old advertisements from 1901 to the 1940s, is displayed in the panels above the seats, and was installed a couple of months ago.
There's everything from old Market Basket supermarket ads, to Barbara Stanwyck shilling for Lux toilet soap, to a standard power mower from John Bean manufacturing, to one for the Catalina Carrier Pigeon Service, which operated from 1894 to 1902, taking messages from Avalon to Bunker Hill.
And the monarch butterfly on his hat? That’s related to his Angels Flight “holy grail,” the one question he can’t definitively answer: why were they painted orange and black?
With that, Campbell grabs his binoculars and sees there are passengers waiting for a ride up, so I get into Olivet and wave goodbye as I travel down to Hill Street.
Topline:
A new group called Neighbors Helping Neighbors has been helping Eaton Fire survivors clear burnt lots of overgrown weeds.
Why now: The volunteering effort is not just to tidy things up – but to clear lots of fire fuels as the region enters fire season.
Backstory: The group is founded by Antoinette “Toni” Bailey-Raines, who grew up in Altadena and whose parents and sister all lost homes in the fire.
Read on ... to learn more about the group and how you can help.
A group called Neighbors Helping Neighbors has been clearing overgrown weeds for free on fire survivors' empty lots in Altadena.
They’ve finished 10 with many more to go. They’re keeping at it not just to keep things tidy, but to avert another disaster as the region enters fire season — and their efforts are spreading. More than 200 homeowners have signed up, after hearing about the group from its Facebook page and through word of mouth.
“I'm 5 feet 2 inches tall, but there were weeds 6 and 8 feet tall,” said Antoinette “Toni” Bailey-Raines, the ringleader. She is also a co-founder of Altadena Talks Foundation, a nonprofit started in the wake of the Eaton Fire.
Bailey-Raines lives in San Dimas but grew up in Altadena. Her parents and sister all lost their homes in the Eaton Fire.
“I went to my parents' lot one day,” she said. “I loaded up the back of my car with my lawnmower, my blower, my rake, because I wanted to make sure their lot was cleaned up.”
It took seven hours, but she figured all that overgrown vegetation can't be good for Altadena with the fire season just around the corner.
And just like that, the idea for Neighbors Helping Neighbors was born.
The very first lot, just south in Pasadena, was cleared in mid-April. Bailey-Raines said the property was getting notices from the city to clear the lot or face escalating fines. Pasadena conducts brush clearance inspections every spring and summer.
Toni said the family had moved to Mississippi after the Eaton Fire.
“You lost everything, and then somebody's gonna tell you they're gonna give you a fine because you have weeds on your lot and you're not even here to see that?” Bailey-Raines said.
That day, she rounded up a group of nine people, including her son and his friend. A neighbor across the street was suspicious at first, but eventually told her, "You have me for about an hour." He stayed for two.
The job took less than four hours.
On May 13, dozens of volunteers showed up in Altadena to clear seven lots in one morning.
One of them — a 14,000-square-foot lot — belongs to Sarkis Aleksanian and his family. He had reached out to Bailey-Raines in late April, after learning about the group from a neighborhood WhatsApp chat.
“I was looking into cleaning up the lot and really daunted by the prospect,” he said. “I was worried that the lawn would dry up and be a problem.”
Aleksanian and his wife were on hand to help out. It’s the one thing that Bailey-Raines requires — for the homeowners to be there.
“I've asked them that if they're able-bodied to be here and help,” she said. “You're here. You're encouraging people, and you're helping on your lot. [Sarkis] was doing everything from weed-eater, to chainsaw, to whatever, and that's what it's about.”
“It was just remarkable, I tell you,” Aleksanian said. He said he recognized some of the volunteers that morning — folks he sees in the community.
And he did encounter someone he knew — a high school acquaintance from years back. “It's neighbors helping neighbors, just like she called it, you know?” Aleksanian said.
His lot was finished in 90 minutes.
With a growing waitlist, what is needed are people and equipment — from gloves and trash bags to the hardware.
“I have six brush cutters and two chainsaws and a couple trimmers, but I need, like, triple that at least,” she said.
Same goes for rechargeable batteries that power these tools — which Bailey-Raines juices up with generators they bring on-site.
A number of organizations — including Neighborhood Survants, Altagether, Project Passion, My Tribe Rise, Dena Heals — have granted money and donated equipment and manpower. Bailey-Raines has also put in her own money.
“My dream is one Saturday morning to have 500 people and that we clear a whole street, a whole block — so that this list of 200 can go down, and as others hear about it, they get on it, and we as a community do this as neighbors to help one another,” she said.
Topline:
NASA plans to open the contract to manage the Jet Propulsion Laboratory in La Cañada Flintridge to a competitive bidding process, according to a memo the lab released Friday.
The backstory: Since NASA was established in 1958, Caltech has managed JPL for the federal space agency "through a contractual relationship that has been regularly reviewed and renewed," according to Friday's memo. NASA began its regular process of evaluating the contract last year.
Why it matters: JPL has been through several rounds of layoffs in recent years. The lab and the university are leaders in civilian space science, with missions that have sent spacecraft into Earth orbit, to Mars and as far from Earth as any man-made object. The lab is also a major employer in the region and hosts massive classes of interns from around the world. The news about the contract was first reported by the Los Angeles Times, which said opening the contract to bidding is a first in JPL's history.
Why now: NASA administrator Jared Isaacman said in "a long letter discussing organizational changes" to staffers Friday that the space agency intends to issue a request for proposals for management of JPL. "This process will take several years, and I do not anticipate it having any impact on the projects underway or the location of the facilities," Isaacman wrote. "It does, however, provide an opportunity to evaluate management costs, overhead burdens and ideally find ways to get after the science faster and more affordably."
What's next: Caltech's contract runs through the end of September 2028. "This announcement comes as no surprise," Caltech's president and JPL's director wrote to staffers Friday. "Caltech is well prepared with a team established last summer to ensure we are positioned for success, and we will respond to the request for proposal (RFP) once released."
Topline:
There’s a day for everything, and Saturday is World Turtle Day. This is the story of how humans helped a vulnerable native California turtle.
The backstory: Southwestern pond turtles in the San Gabriel mountains were almost wiped out by the Bobcat Fire in 2020. But biologists rescued 11 adults that were held at the San Diego Zoo until 2024, when they were released.
The baby boom: But then something happened that scientists didn't expect: "One baby, two baby, three baby, four baby. Fifteen babies later," is how a wildlife care manager at the zoo described it. Yes, the rescued turtles had laid eggs in their temporary home, and the hatchlings were emerging.
A new generation: Once they'd grown a bit, the zoo released the young turtles into San Gabriel River where they belong in April.
Read on ... for more about this conservation success story.
After fires and floods, Southern California’s only remaining native freshwater turtle recently got a boost.
Just last month, 15 southwestern pond turtle hatchlings were released into the San Gabriel River — a major milestone in an effort to restore the vulnerable turtle population.
But this wasn’t a typical raise-and-release scenario.
These turtles’ parents went on a harrowing journey before they were born.
In early September 2020, amid a heat wave and dry weather, a tree branch hit a Southern California Edison power line, igniting the Bobcat Fire.
The fire eventually scorched more than 180 square miles — mostly forest in the San Gabriel Mountains. For comparison, the 2025 Eaton Fire burned about 22 square miles.
As the Bobcat Fire spread, biologists grew worried. The fire was burning in the West Fork of the San Gabriel River, a biodiversity hotspot and refuge for bears and mountain lions, the federally protected Santa Ana sucker fish and the mountain yellow-legged frog.
It’s also home to the largest remaining — and possibly only — population of southwestern pond turtles in the entire watershed. Their exact numbers aren’t known, but it’s likely less than 200.
The small, shy turtles grow to about 8 inches and range from Baja California to just south of the San Francisco Bay. They spend most of their lives in streams, rivers, lakes and other watery environments. They primarily eat small insects and plant matter.
The California Department of Fish and Wildlife lists them as a Species of Special Concern, and they're being considered for federal protections under the Endangered Species Act.
“Because this hadn’t burned in decades and decades and decades, there was big concern about debris flows,” said Robert Fisher, a biologist with the U.S. Geological Survey.
Scientists hoped the turtles would be able to ride out the fire itself by staying in the water, but any rain after would likely lead to a deluge of mud, trees and other burned materials. That would be akin to an avalanche for the turtles in the river, and it had the potential to wipe out the entire population.
Once the flames died down, Fisher and a team of biologists, in partnership with the California Department of Fish and Wildlife and U.S. Forest Service, trekked to the home of the pond turtles.
“It was a moonscape,” Fisher said.
They waded through ashy, murky waters, eventually collecting 11 adult turtles.
There’s a day for everything these days, but World Turtle Day (May 23) has surprisingly local roots.
Susan Tellem and her late husband, Marshall Thompson, coined the day in 2000 after founding a turtle and tortoise rescue 10 years earlier at their home in Malibu.
“When I first started helping turtles, there were hardly people helping the needs of turtles,” Tellem told LAist. “We decided to help educate people internationally so that turtles can live a longer and happier life.”
The turtles were taken to the San Diego Zoo, where the plan was to hold them until their mountain habitat recovered enough for them to return.
By 2024, the San Gabriel Mountains were looking far better — biologists even found some pond turtles that survived major debris flows.
But right before the turtles were set to go back home, scientists got a surprise.
“Just before we were getting to release, we found a baby turtle, which is amazing,” said Brandon Scott, wildlife care manager of herpetology and ichthyology at San Diego Zoo Wildlife Alliance. “You don't know how long it's going to take to restart that process of them actually being able to breed, with the stress and it's a new habitat.”
The turtles and the new baby were all returned to their home in the San Gabriels. But then came another surprise. And another.
“We just continually, every day, started finding a baby in that habitat,” said Scott.
Female southwestern pond turtles lay and bury their eggs in late spring or early summer. Juveniles emerge months later, only about the size of a quarter.
Fifteen babies later, conservation staff were shocked and pleased.
Their goal for the 11 rescued turtles was to make sure they could thrive before being released back into their habitat. “But in the process,” Scott said, “yes, we made it comfortable enough for them to breed.”
The new generation of southwestern pond turtles was released in April near the spot their parents were rescued from in the San Gabriel River.
Such rescues of vulnerable wildlife are becoming increasingly common in the face of more catastrophic fires. All but two of the biggest fires in recorded history have been in the last 20 years.
Fisher said a similar rescue of pond turtles had occurred only once before, after the 2009 Station Fire in the San Gabriels. That time, the turtles were quickly returned to their habitat.
That rescue, in part, inspired the U.S. Geological Survey to work with the San Diego Zoo to build a conservation habitat for southwestern pond turtles nearly two decades ago. And the Bobcat Fire became the first time it was used for wild rescues, Fisher said.
Ironically, the Bobcat Fire could eventually help the local population, Fisher said.
“We’ve known about [the population] for decades, but it’s not really thriving,” he said. “So this helped give it a head start. And because the fire was so intense, it opened up a lot of habitat.”
With less tree canopy and more sunlight, the cold-blooded reptiles could thrive in warmer waters and on sunnier rocks.
Southwestern pond turtles have lived here for millennia, but invasive species and habitat destruction have nearly wiped them out. They’re currently being considered for protection under the federal Endangered Species Act.
Nonnative turtles — such as red-eared sliders, many of which are abandoned pets — are outcompeting them in their habitats. And native pond turtle hatchlings are easy prey for invasive animals such as bullfrogs and crayfish.
On top of that, pollution in our atmosphere is driving longer, hotter droughts, which dries out the streams and rivers where they live. Worsening “weather whiplash” means more dangerous mudflows after fires, which can wipe out entire aquatic animal populations.
But the new generation is key.
“Because the site was so forested and hadn’t burned in so long, we don’t think they were having good success at breeding,” Fisher said. “Now we think we’ve really enhanced the population by putting more animals out there, especially young animals.”
Scott and Fisher said the saga has inspired preliminary conversations about formalizing breeding efforts to support the population. The little turtles' myriad threats have yet to let up, so they’ll likely need more help in the future.
But at the moment, there’s a little more hope — at least 16 hatchlings and 11 adults' worth of hope, to be exact — for California’s only native freshwater turtle.
