Though set up outside the open doors of an emptied van, this was less a mobile operation than an encampment. In fact, the lady in charge had a pot on the boil — you might just see it to the right of the sugarcane — whose glistening, dark brown contents were familiar from colder climes. The proprietress may have called them "labapen," the name of this tropical variety in Haitian Creole, I later learned. It was difficult to make out her accent, but I understood readily enough when she offered a sample: chestnuts.
N.E. 2nd Ave., Miami
(From an autumn 2012 visit)