She took a breath before turning to clean the grill and throw away the trash.

After the market closed at 6, the women swiftly broke down the stall. They learned to move quickly in Venezuela, where they had only half an hour of running water each day to wash dishes, take showers, do laundry and stockpile enough to drink and cook with.

Their work done, they packed into Mr. Freire’s truck and handed him a few unsold arepas.

Back at the apartment, once they had carried everything upstairs, Ms. Fernández counted the money. They had made almost $2,800, a net profit of about $1,400 after paying for ingredients, Smorgasburg rent and the van. The tip jar yielded $63 — not a lot, she said, but in Venezuela, it could help. The minimum wage, newly adjusted for rampant inflation, is less than $7 a month.

Most of their profit goes toward expanding Váyalo Cocina. They’ll open a stand at other outdoor settings soon. They’re thinking of starting a delivery-only business.

But that’s far down the line. By 9 p.m., they were beat. They showered and relaxed.

Maybe this Saturday night, they joked, as on so many Saturday nights, Ms. Rengifo would talk in her sleep. In Venezuela, she used to have nightmares about the military and the protests. Here, after a day over the grill, she sometimes sells arepas in her dreams.