Regina Gamboa still remembers the moment that changed everything: a Muslim woman handing back a can of pork during a pandemic food distribution, and Gamboa’s sudden realization that she didn’t even know what was in the boxes they were giving out.

“I really I felt bad that I may have offended her beliefs,” said Gamboa, executive director and co-founder of Project 1:1, the nonprofit that runs the Magnolia Project food pantry.

That encounter led Gamboa to a stark conclusion.

“We just wanted to kind of be out of the norm on the way we treated people that came in for food, and not just give them food,” she said. “We wanted them to choose their food.”

In January 2023, after two and a half years of planning, Gamboa and her husband, James Gamboa, opened the Magnolia Project off Palm Avenue in the southern border town of Imperial Beach, California, with a radical premise for a food pantry: treat people shopping for groceries exactly like shoppers at a regular store.

And upon first glance, it’s apparent they succeeded.

Walking into the Magnolia Project feels less like visiting a food bank and more like entering a small Trader Joe’s. Shelves are neatly organized with uniformly packaged goods, as fresh flowers from Costco donations await shoppers up front.

“It was very intentional,” volunteer Trisha Rivera said of the store’s aesthetic. “It’s so people feel loved and not humiliated, that they can walk in and pick what they want. It’s just like a store.”

Unlike traditional food pantries that distribute pre-packed boxes, the Magnolia Project operates on an appointment-based system serving approximately 60 families daily. Clients shop for themselves, choosing items that fit their dietary needs, religious beliefs and cultural preferences.

“They shop for things that they want, shop for things that they need,” said volunteer Hada Rolon. “We, as soon as they walk in, we talk to them by their name. And when they’re ready to leave, we say goodbye to them by their name.”

The pantry receives deliveries from food rescue programs, hospitals, Smart & Final, Northgate Market and Costco. Volunteers spend their first three hours sorting donations, repackaging bulk items into uniform brown packages and arranging displays.

Shutdown scare

Their approach has taken on new significance as food insecurity has surged across San Diego County. Even before the recent crisis, about a quarter of San Diego County residents lacked reliable access to three healthy meals a day, according to the San Diego Hunger Coalition.

“We have a lot more people walking up wanting to come in and shop,” Rivera said, describing increased demand since a federal government shutdown halted millions of dollars of aid for people receiving food benefits such as SNAP and EBT.

The Trump administration’s decision to withhold SNAP benefits from 42 million low-income Americans — including 5.5 million Californians — during the recent government shutdown created widespread anxiety in early November. The Supreme Court on Nov. 11 extended its order blocking full SNAP payments. However, the Senate approved legislation to reopen the government, and the House voted this week to end what became the longest federal government shutdown in history.

The chaos placed unprecedented strain on food banks and pantries throughout the region. In San Diego County alone, about 400,000 residents use CalFresh, totaling $74 million in benefits every month — and all of them briefly faced uncertainty about whether their November payments would arrive.

Magnolia saw the uncertainty’s impact firsthand.

“People were getting irate with my volunteer phone, the lady who makes appointments there,” Gamboa said. “They were saying, ‘What do you mean we can’t get an appointment? We need food.’”

‘It touches your heart’

The pantry operates entirely on volunteer labor. Nobody receives payment. Volunteers work two shifts — 9 a.m. to 1:30 p.m. and 1 p.m. to 5 p.m. — on Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays and Saturdays.

Rivera and Rolon have volunteered for nearly four years, since the pantry opened. Despite the physical demands, they describe the experience as energizing.

“When you volunteer here, even though you’re on your feet and you’re carrying boxes and you’re getting dirty, it goes by fast. We put music, we’re all dancing, we’re all having a good time. I mean, it just feels like family,” Rolon said.

The emotional rewards come from direct interactions with shoppers.

“When our shoppers leave, I’ve had many times, go ahead and just express, ‘Hey, I wouldn’t have had strawberries. Hey, I wouldn’t have had this. Thank you.’ And they cry,” Rolon said. “It touches your heart.”

Fabiola Jimeneza, a Nestor resident who visits the pantry monthly, appreciates how the model accommodates her disability. She walks with a limp and uses a cane.

“I don’t have to stand in line for a lot of time here,” Jimeneza said. “I can drive up, shop, talk to people and go home with food. Otherwise, in a long line, I will be in pain after an hour.”

Despite receiving assistance, Jimeneza also gives back, donating fruit from her home trees.

“This place helps a lot of people, and I also have an opportunity to contribute,” she said. “I have fruit trees, and I donate every chance I have. Like, today I brought guavas that I’m pretty sure the community will love, because I have brought them before, and people love them.”

For Jimeneza, like many shoppers Magnolia serves, it’s about the volunteers.

“The people who volunteer here are so understanding, they always try to help,” she said. “They offer the best food they can with compassion and care and I’m always just so grateful to come here.”

A philosophy rooted in personal experience

Gamboa’s commitment to dignity stems from her own past struggles and those of her husband, who grew up on welfare. As a 19-year-old single mother, she briefly relied on welfare and food stamps — an experience that, combined with her husband’s background, gives them both an intimate understanding of financial hardship.

“I know what it’s like to struggle. I have had times where I’ve had to plug into a neighbor as a single mom working at Walmart, but having to choose whether I paid the electric bill or the water bill for the month,” Gamboa said.

That history informs every aspect of the pantry’s operation, from its no-questions-asked policy to Gamboa purchasing food out of her own pocket to fills shelves when donations fall short. Their aim is simple, she said: to treat every visitor with respect.

“I don’t care what you look like. I don’t even care if you cuss me out, because that’s happened many times,” Gamboa said. “Our main focus is to feed you. Let’s feed you. Let’s treat you like a human being. Treat you with dignity and respect. If you can’t give us anything back at all, we don’t care. We just want you to know that you matter to us.”

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