Anita Street Market: More Than Just a Store—It’s Home

By a 39-Year-Old Tucson Girl Who Still Believes in Her Barrio

When I think about my childhood on the southside of Tucson, it’s not just the houses or the schools that come to mind first—it’s places like Anita Street Market. That little corner store was more than just a place to buy tortillas and soda. It was where life happened. And hearing now that Anita’s might be struggling to stay open breaks my heart in a way that’s hard to explain unless you grew up here.

I can still remember walking there on hot afternoons, the desert sun burning through my sneakers, a couple of crumpled dollars in my pocket. Anita’s had that old screen door that would creak loud when you opened it, the little bell jingling to let the señoras behind the counter know you were there. The smell hit you right away—fresh pan dulce, tamales wrapped in foil, and the sweet, dusty scent of old wooden shelves packed tight with everything from canned goods to piñata candy.


For a lot of us, Anita Street Market wasn’t just about groceries. It was where you saw your neighbors, caught up on chisme, and felt safe. I remember buying Hot Cheetos and Jarritos with my best friend after school, standing outside laughing and daring each other to chug the tamarindo soda without making a face. My abuela used to send me down to Anita Street Market for last-minute things like cilantro or a block of queso fresco, and it felt like an honor to be trusted with such an important mission.

It’s funny now, looking back, how much those little errands meant. It wasn’t about the cilantro—it was about belonging somewhere. Knowing the people behind the counter knew your name, your family, and probably even what you were about to make for dinner.

Now, hearing that Anita Street Market is facing financial troubles feels like a punch to the gut. So much has changed in Tucson over the years. Big stores moving in, neighborhoods shifting, people forgetting the roots that made this city special. But Anita’s has always been there, like a heartbeat. Losing it would mean losing a piece of ourselves.

I know times are tough. Money’s tight for everyone, and little family-run places don’t have the deep pockets of corporate stores. But I’m holding onto hope. Hope that our community will rally. Hope that enough of us remember what Anita’s means—not just for what it sells, but for what it represents: culture, history, family.


If you’re reading this and you’ve ever bought a soda at Anita Street Market, or run into a tío or a comadre there, or just smiled walking through those doors, I hope you’ll remember too. Shop there. Tell your friends. Support the places that made us who we are.

Because places like Anita Street Market Market aren’t just stores—they’re home. And home is worth fighting for.

Location: Tucson, AZ, USA

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