Mi restaurante. My restaurant. It's real.

I came to LA from Oaxaca when I was 16. Didn't speak English. Worked in other people's kitchens for 19 years. Dishwasher, prep cook, line cook, sous chef. Every restaurant I worked in, the owner got rich off recipes that tasted like my grandmother's food. Worse, actually. I saved for 7 years. Every tip. Every overtime hour. My husband drove Uber on weekends. My kids ate rice and beans four nights a week so we could save. Last Saturday we opened Casa Rosa in East LA. We served 84 people on opening night. My mother flew in from Oaxaca. She cried when she saw her mole recipe on the menu. I still can't believe this is real. The girl who crossed the border at 16 with nothing now has her name on a restaurant. To every immigrant working in someone else's kitchen: your food deserves your name on the door.