Where It All Began
La Herencia Linda
When Olvera Street was revived in the early 1930s as a place to honor Mexican culture, Aurora was offered something she had never had before — a permanent stand. In 1934, she named it after her favorite song, Cielito Lindo. A stove, a pot of sauce, a stack of paper plates — and a line that never really stopped forming.
Far from home but guided by memory, she cooked the food she knew: rolled beef taquitos, tomatillos simmering on the stove, and a thin avocado sauce made only with water, chilies, spices, and fresh avocado.But she didn’t start with a restaurant. She started with a wooden carrito.
Every morning before sunrise, Aurora filled that cart with warm taquitos and walked the streets near the railroad tracks and labor corners, selling them to workers beginning their day. No storefront. No counter. Just food — passed from her hands to theirs.
Since 1934, Cielito Lindo has been an institution. A gathering place of friends and family, of community, and a story carried forward by the hands of our family.
It began with Aurora Guerrero — known fondly as Gramma. Born in Huanusco, Zacatecas in 1903, she crossed into the United States through El Paso with five children in tow, and settled in the Palo Verde neighborhood of Los Angeles in the early 1920s.
A Legacy
of Women
As Anna Natalia grew older, her daughter, Marianna, stepped in. She kept Cielito Lindo alive through the shifting decades of Los Angeles — through new freeways, new tourists, and new rules — without ever changing the food that made people line up in the first place. Each morning she unlocked the stand, lit the burners, and ensured the avocado sauce tasted just as it had when her mother and grandmother made it. And every customer was greeted with the same warmth and generosity that had always defined the stand.
Marianna Robertson
After Anna passed in 1999, Marianna’s sisters — Susanna and Dianna — took the helm. Together they ushered Cielito Lindo into a new millennium, bringing fresh attention from voices like Huell Howser and Anthony Bourdain. They traded lard for vegetable oil (briefly — lard just makes the taquitos sing), introduced plant-based meats, and embraced what Susanna fondly called the “chipsters” — the Chicano hipsters of a new generation who came for carne asada fries, soyrizo, and horchata lattes.
Susanna Robertson MacManus
Both Susanna and Dianna passed away in early 2025, only months apart, marking the close of an era. The fourth generation now carries their work forward — preserving the legacy, strengthening our roots on Olvera Street, and rising to the challenges of a new time.
From Aurora’s wooden cart to the counter on Olvera Street, the stand has been held, protected, and passed down by the women of this family. The recipe has not changed. The line still forms. And the story continues.
Dianna Aguirre Robertson
Today & Tomorrow
Today, Cielito Lindo is carried forward by its fourth generation. Aurora’s great grandchildren.
The taquitos are still rolled by hand. The avocado sauce is still made from memory, not measurements. But the work has grown beyond the little stand on Olvera Street.
For decades, much of the cooking has been done in our family’s commissary, where long-time employees—some with us longer than we’ve been alive—prepare everything the same way Aurora did in 1934. Our role has shifted from the stove to stewardship: managing operations, preserving recipes, and protecting what was entrusted to us.
We are now preparing to reopen production and service at our expanded space on 1806 N Broadway—a return to a location we briefly used during the pandemic, now being restored for the future while honoring the past.
And yet, at its core, nothing has changed.
The line still forms.
The burners still light at sunrise.
The recipe still belongs to the women who came before us.
We are simply here to make sure it continues.
