It had been open six weeks when it got the Michelin star. At six weeks, a restaurant is a newborn. Newborns wail and struggle to breathe. They’re cracking open their first panic attack. Nine months in the flotation tank of the mom spa, then—blammo—the landlord shuts off the water and fairly traumatically evicts them into a drafty world that has no clue about mood lighting.
It’s old food critic wisdom that restaurants need six months to get running and ready for real analysis. Crew members will have lied on their resumes, narcissists will find themselves bored, the strangely emotional demands of diners will break newbies. It’s a fresh organism dedicated to executing nightly public theater, and it takes time for all the parts to learn how to operate as a fluid whole—develop mutually beneficial roles, nail the timing, speak the unspoken language.
Granted, the team at Lilo in Carlsbad aren’t newcomers, and they’ve had way more time than they ever wanted to plan this out. Plus, the partners—restaurateur John Resnick and chef Eric Bost—helped earn their restaurant across the street, Jeune et Jolie, a Michelin star (and they run its raved-about sister restaurant, Campfire, down the block).
Photo Credit: Elodie Bost Analog music helps set the mood in here.
“We’re lucky,” Resnick says. “About 80 percent of the people on our team, we either worked with immediately or they came back because they were excited about this project.”
The project is a 22-seat, tasting menu–only restaurant featuring Bost, longtime chef de cuisine Dusan Todic, wine director Savannah Riedler (formerly of Post Ranch Inn and two-Michelin-starred Saison), and beverage director Andrew Cordero (Jeune et Jolie and Campfire). It’s four years in the making. When a 10,000-square-foot building became available on State Street in 2021—the last of its kind on one of Carlsbad’s most up-and-coming drags—they jumped at it. The plan was to build a massive all-day restaurant (Wildland, now open) and, behind it, tiny Lilo, where they could showcase what their vision of the ultimate San Diego dinner experience could be. It’s the kind of James Beard Award and Michelin bait that ambitious restaurateurs dream of and makes basic sense when they have a chef-partner like Bost.
“Campfire and Jeune—from the time leases were signed to opening doors—took about 12 months,” Resnick says. “So I kind of felt like, alright, 18 months should be doable.” He pauses. “It was not.”
Photo Credit: Kimberly Motos Your meal begins in the serene courtyard.
At that time, the pandemic was still slowly releasing its chokehold. Supply chains had been shot with a billion tranquilizer darts. Building two restaurants at a time while exhibiting a noble American amount of ambition was no picnic. The week after the project finally broke ground, the construction lead on the project—“the only person more essential to the buildout than us as owners,” Resnick says—departed. A fun idiosyncrasy of construction in North County is that most contractors live 40 minutes away and prefer freelance gigs closer to home. So, finding help was hard. Plus, a new ordinance had been passed in Carlsbad since Resnick opened his first two restaurants.
“I was down in Baja having lunch when I got an email about needing a ‘minor site development plan,’” Resnick remembers. “I was like, ‘Well, it’s got the word minor in it; it’s probably not a big deal.’ That one thing added nine months to the project.”
Project costs ballooned. Hems were hawed. The buzz on this project had been loud, and now the scene wondered and whispered. I ask Bost and Resnick if there was a time they considered giving up or drastically reducing the vision.
“It came up, yeah,” Resnick says. “At the end of the day, it was a ‘the only way out is through’ type of thing.”
They thought they’d launch in July 2023. The doors opened in April 2025.
Photo Credit: Elodie Bost A tartlette made with vin jaune, or “yellow wine,” a dry French white aged for years under a film of yeast.
For Bost, the unveiling of that restaurant was especially redeeming. In 2020, he’d lost what felt like everything. He’d spent 20 years working his way through some of the world’s best kitchens: Le Cirque, The Ritz-Carlton in St. Thomas, Alain Ducasse, and both The Lodge at Torrey Pines and The Inn at Rancho Santa Fe in San Diego. He hit the top when he was named executive chef for Guy Savoy, launching the famed French chef’s elaborate Vegas restaurant and then overseeing his places in Singapore. In 2017, ready to do his own thing, he returned to SoCal and spent two years developing the idea for his dream restaurant. He finally opened his unpretentious tasting-menu place, Auburn, in LA in 2019.
The world’s best chefs came to eat: René Redzepi of Noma, Grant Achatz of Alinea, Savoy. It was widely, widely loved. Then, on the day of Auburn’s one-year anniversary, all LA dining rooms were ordered to shutter due to Covid. They tried takeout and all the things, but money ran out and it didn’t work. That chapter, the one he’d written in sweat and blood and life savings, was closed. He’d reached the top, and now he needed a job.
Photo Credit: Elodie Bost After a courtyard amuse-bouche, you take a seat at the chef’s counter for 16 or so more courses.
“I had worked so hard for so long, and it felt like my whole world collapsed,” Bost says.
Down here in San Diego, Resnick had lost a rudder, too. His longtime partner—chef Andrew Bachelier, who opened and ran Campfire and Jeune et Jolie—left to be with his family during the pandemic. So Resnick reached out to Bost and brought him back to San Diego. A few months after his return, I took my family to Jeune et Jolie. I’d never tried Bost’s food, and it was a revelation. I wrote a nearly unhinged rave for SDM.
Jeune was awarded its Michelin star a few months later and has retained it for four years. Lilo is the duo’s second star, and it seems destined for at least one more.
“Five years after I lost Auburn, we’ve reached a success that, at the time, seemed impossible,” Bost says.
Photo Credit: Elodie Bost Lilo’s delicate île flottante (“floating island”), meringue suspended in a pool of crème anglaise.
The Arrival
A college textbook on architecture that perfectly explained my childhood also explains the physical experience of Lilo. As a pre-internet teen in suburban North County, if I wanted social interaction outside of school, I went to the indoor mall then known as North County Fair. The odyssey started in some remote hinterland of the parking lot (malls were jammed in the ’80s). You’d traverse the sweltering asphalt acreage in the irrational Escondido sun, broiled from underfoot. The exterior of North County Fair was no eye candy, just beige stucco with fancy retail logos. You’d finally arrive, hot and sweaty and uninspired, and open the doors to the mall… and a wave of air conditioning and lights and joy and music would save you. You never wanted to leave, and your estimation of this mall had some messianic-capitalistic undertones. Turns out this is an actual form of architectural strategy and psychology.
Lilo is the same. (Okay, not exactly.) It’s in Carlsbad, for chrissakes, where even concrete is somehow charming. But the emotional experience of entering feels shockingly transportive. It’s tucked in a parking lot behind its sister restaurant, Wildland. Your journey includes pilgrimaging across the 50 feet of asphalt under temperate, marine air toward a tall, soft, slatted wall of curved wood that looks like it’s got a skincare routine, embossed with small black letters that say “Lilo” in a retro sans-serif font (in the constantly fonted psyche of modern humanity, a nice font is the underrated eye Prozac). You turn the corner into the courtyard and… salvation. Pleasure vertigo. A billowy tree billows. A handful of tables speckle the courtyard, which feels like it should have an earthen sauna with steamy rocks and Wim Hof sipping shrubs in an ice bath. You could stay here forever.
Photo Credit: Elodie Bost Each of the restaurant’s 22 seats offers front-row views of the whole choreographed show.
This is where the meal starts, with a trio of amuse-bouches and a welcome cocktail or zero-proof creation. It’s the naturalist decompression chamber. Then you enter the single dining room through a massive wall of glass, Mos Def or Lou Reed or Nina Simone playing on the reel-to-reel. “Dining room” is the wrong phrase. It’s essentially just 22 barstools at a U-shaped counter that surrounds the chefs and drinks people. They’ve trapped themselves into this experience.
You’ll be fed approximately 16 courses over the next couple hours. And you start to see the theater evolve. The crew is trained and guided on 73 sequences of service, under which are about 350 subnotes and thoughts on how to enhance the guest experience and handle the unexpected free radicals of placing 22 humans in a glass box. There are notes on how to open the door, where to stand when it is open, how far apart the seats should be (19 inches), how to pull out the chair (not a small feat; it’s all heavy, one-of-a-kind barstools). Ironically, the goal of these obsessive guidelines is to undo the roboticism of the formal restaurant experience.
Photo Credit: Elodie Bost Gougères—savory pastries made by mixing choux dough and cheese—get waffled at Lilo.
“The whole point is for our team to not have to think about it,” Resnick says. “Things will fail during service, and if you have to think about how to handle it, you’re not going to be able to be in the moment and connect with our guests and just have fun. You don’t want a guest to notice that all the chairs are lined up and spaced out exactly 19 inches apart from each other. But they are. The whole point is, ‘How do we make this feel super effortless and lovely for the guest?’
“I’m the kind of person that, when I leave a restaurant, no matter how exceptional it was, a couple weeks or years later, I really don’t remember what I ate—but I remember how I felt. I was really excited about doing something that made you feel like you were having a special evening but you could be yourself. You wouldn’t have to be on your best behavior or feel like you had to be contrived to fit into what we were doing. We want it to feel communal, like we’re all doing this together—a chef’s counter can do that a little bit, I think.
“Just have fun. There’s good music playing. You can come in and laugh and have this rad night, and it’s also one of the best meals of your life. That’s the hope, at least.”
Photo Credit: Elodie Bost Spot prawns, a California delicacy, come to the restaurant straight from the boat.
The Feel
So, how does it feel?
You get the sense that, if your chi was dirty here, the staff would figure out how to wash it in botanical water hauled from a natural spring noted for its good omens, then clarify that omen water in a centrifuge and mix it with a cocktail shrub that’s been calibrated to the type of chi you possess.
There’s a dish that Bost and Todic created at Jeune et Jolie as part of the dreaming and R&D’ing for Lilo. It is one of the best things you’ll ever eat—ultra-local Californian and lightly Asian (both central tenets of how they cook); unexpected; bordering on weird; both a challenge to what we expect of food and an embrace of its base, comforting flavors.
Photo Credit: Elodie Best Orgeat ice cream, crowned in caviar.
It’s the orgeat ice cream with ossetra caviar. Orgeat is a cocktail ingredient that tastes like candied almonds and orange blossoms. The key to the dish is a celery root bushi, made from curing celery root in a mixture of brown sugar, tamari, and salt for two days. Then the root is smoked over almond wood for another two days. The chefs spend another couple days completely drying the root. They finally shave it over the top of the dish with a drizzle of freshly pressed almond oil (they make it daily in-house). It takes the standard idea of fine dining— caviar and crème fraîche—and puts a little Michelin-starred Ben & Jerry’s into it.
“That dish was from way back in the process, when we thought we were going to open earlier,” Bost says. “We had orgeat ice cream on the menu at Jeune for a time. I was just ruminating about what the food at Lilo would be. I knew we were going to have a caviar course at Lilo, and for some reason, I just made the connection with the ice cream. I grabbed one of these big Japanese ice cubes we had at the bar, dropped the quenelle of ice cream on that, put caviar on top, and took a bite. It was jammy, sweet, salty, fun. And I’m like, ‘Dusan, this is what I think the food should be, you know? It’s thoughtful and incredibly delicious, a little playful. Now how do we do things like this through 17 courses?’”
Photo Credit: Elodie Best Roasted California squab (a young pigeon).
Bost’s and Dusan’s menu—hyper-local, hyper-seasonal, leaning Californian and Japanese (plenty of koji and fermenting)—evolves constantly based on farmers’ and fishers’ hauls, and whim. For instance, the most recent includes big-eye tuna and Wagyu tartare with yuzu, black radish, ginger, and spruce; gougères filled with comté Mornay, barrel-aged maple syrup, and Iberico lardo; abalone brushed with fermented pepper and guanciale in a broth of chicken and bone marrow; blackened banana with Koshihikari rice, medjool date, shiro miso caramel, and a roasted rice donut.
Each person on staff has an eleven-and-a-half hour shift—first, a meeting to go over every guest and special occasion or need, then a shift meal where work is not discussed, then the show and the post-show wrap. Every dish is assembled at guests’ eye-level, a few feet away, not unlike sushi omakases, except with way more moving parts to the dishes. A different cook or chef or beverage person delivers each dish as it is ready, which means everyone is responsible for the story.
Photo Credit: Elodie Bost Delicate white fish becomes a Daniel Buren painting.
“That actually takes a special kind of chef and kitchen staff, because not every chef got into this to be guest-facing,” Bost says.
I went opening night, part of a crowd of friends and family asked to give as much useful criticism as possible and help Bost and Resnick and their team see it from outside eyes. Day one—the first rough draft—wasn’t perfect, but damn if it wasn’t close to it. One of the best meals you’ll find in San Diego.
It works because of Bost and Resnick and their staff’s decades of thankless experience. It works because Bost is one of the most talented chefs in the city. But it feels somehow casual because of all the detail-gargling and obsession ahead of time—and then, doors open, cue the Jurassic 5, and just be.
“In the beginning, we thought about maybe bringing in a dancer to help with training,” says Resnick. “We didn’t, but there are so many things when you’re in this intimate of a space—when you need to bend down to open a drawer as guests are sitting right there staring at you. It’s all those little things, and sometimes we talked for hours about them.”
Troy Johnson is the magazine’s award-winning food writer and humorist, and a long-standing expert on Food Network. His work has been featured on NatGeo, Travel Channel, NPR, and in Food Matters, a textbook of the best American food writing.
Tokyo unquestionably holds the title as one of the best, if not the best, food cities of the world. But despite the plethora of Michelin-starred kaiseki restaurants and hole-in-the-wall ramen joints, you’d be remiss in walking past glowing signs beckoning you to enter one of the 56,000-plus konbini across the country.
Konbini cafes like Lawson’s, FamilyMart, and 7-Eleven may look like run-of-the-mill convenience stores, but convenience store culture is a completely different animal there. Absent are the sad, floppy hot dogs sizzling sweatily on a rotating wheel of misery. Instead, konbini are stocked with a bevy of hot and cold drinks in every imaginable flavor, meals like tamago sandos (Japanese egg salad sandwiches) and prepacked bento boxes, snacks like onigiri (handheld triangles of rice and seaweed, often filled with fish or pickled plum), and even limited-edition merchandise (not unlike Wawa’s line of merch).
Soon, Hillcrest will get a taste of konbibi culture. Hako Hako opens in front of Uptown Inn by Vantaggio, next to Ramen Ryoma, in early 2027.
Kenji Blouin-Ito, a half-Japanese, half-French San Diego native grew up eating Japanese food at home and during trips across the Pacific. “I remember looking forward to eating bentos on the train,” he says, grabbing quick items to munch on without sacrificing quality or succumbing to cost. When in France, he saw a rise of appreciation for casual Japanese cuisine, “long before it happened here.”
Courtesy of Hako Hako | Photo Credit: @josh_walker.26_genteel
So he decided to bring it here. After AB 626 passed in 2018 to allow different jurisdictions to permit Microenterprise Home Kitchen Operations (MEHKOs), Blouin-Ito launched Foodnome, the first legal marketplace for homemade food in the US. Eventually, the national nonprofit The Cook Alliance took over the project, leaving him open to the next new idea but with the experience of running a food-based business.
“That experience changed how I think about food, not just what makes it good but what makes it work,” he explains. Bento boxes felt affordable in a time of inflation, convenient in a bustling world, and versatile to a variety of palates. When he got the chance to open a konbini himself, he went for it.
His family runs Uptown Inn, a mix of apartments and hotel rooms that’s seen increased food traffic over the past few years. “We had a small space in front of the building that wasn’t being used, and it just made sense,” he says. Hako means “box” in Japanese, a reference to both bentos and small space from where he’ll sling freshly made bentos, coffee, drinks, pastries, snacks, and a small retail selection.
Hako Hako will initially open for morning and afternoon hours, but you don’t have to wait until next year to get a taste of Japanese culture. Blouin-Ito’s concept is popping up at various coffee shops around San Diego, with a few coming up: Easy Does It on September 19 and Cafe Moto on October 17. Until then, practice the art of gaman: patience with grace.
Hako Hakoopens at 819 University Avenue in Hillcrest in early 2027.
Sushi Tadokoro held on to its Michelin star for three years—no mean feat for anyone. But now, the Old Town restaurant is changing things up, eliminating lunch and à la carte service at the end of September before transforming into an omakase-only experience in October. The dining room will close from October 1 through October 22 to make the change, but promises it will be “more intimate. More personal. More focused on each guest and every piece we serve.” Sounds worth the wait.
Bock brought new life to South Park when the German-inspired beer bar opened after a long construction process by owner Brian Jensen (Vino Carta, Bottlecraft). Now, Bock is getting its own shot in the arm with a new in-house kitchen from the people behind Majorette, Love Letters Pizza, and Scrimshaw Coffee. Kurz, or “quick” in German, is already open, serving European-inspired bites like the requisite currywurst, Bavarian pretzel, and schnitzel, along with some newcomers like a pierogi and famous “Majorette burger.” (I can confirm it’s a damn good burger.) Reminder: Bock and Kurz are 21+, so leave the kinders at home.
The popular Japanese dessert chain Warabimochi Kamakura already has 70-plus locations in Japan, Australia, China, Thailand, and the U.K. (to name a few), but is finally opening a location in Convoy District at 8322 Clairemont Blvd. After a successful pop-up test run at Asa Bakery, Warabimochi Kamakura will bring its signature warabimochi (a traditional simple, jelly-like dessert), plus tea like matcha and hojicha, as well as soft serve as soon as October, but possibly November. (Although warabimochi is sometimes considered a summer treat, I’m pretty sure I can make an exception for autumn.)
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Have breaking news, exciting scoops, or great stories about new San Diego restaurants or the city’s food scene? Send your pitches to [email protected].
Beth Demmon is an award-winning writer and podcaster whose work regularly appears in national outlets and San Diego Magazine. Her first book, The Beer Lover's Guide to Cider, is now available. Find out more on bethdemmon.com.
Two San Diego Wine Pros Are Betting Big on Tinned Fish
With Sosal Line, Heidi Greenwood and Juerie Masters are importing traceable seafood from small producers and building a global pantry business along the way
Courtesy of Sosal Line | Photo Credit: Madison Daube
No matter your job, it’s helpful to find some sort of joy in it to avoid going completely insane. Some people savor the variety of personalities when dealing with customers. Others find comfort in the predictability of closing a bar after last call, counting tips and wiping counters. Perhaps achieving Inbox Zero really gets your blood pumping, or shipping a new product design sparks joy.
For Heidi Greenwood and Juerie Masters, work doesn’t get better than logistics and operations.
“[We] both love all the unsexy parts of supply chain and backend management,” laughs Greenwood. Tracking outbound orders? Ensuring compliance? Managing inbound freight? Stop me if this is getting too hot for you!
Not enough people think about the unsexy reality of running a business before launch, but effectively and consistently keeping an eye on operations separates successful companies from out-of-business ones. Both Masters and Greenwood already own their own businesses—Greenwood is behind the wine zine Campestre Mag and runs the online wine shop Esquina, and Masters co-owns Clos Wine Shop and Fintastic Provisions in University Heights with her husband Paul. Apparently, these gigs weren’t enough to satisfy their collective yearning for spreadsheets and inventory maintenance.
So, they decided to start another business together—Sosal Line, a San Diego-based import and distribution company specializing in global pantry items. The pair launched Sosal Line at the beginning of 2025 and currently only sell three brands of tinned fish, but Greenwood says they plan to expand their offerings as they discover other small or family-run businesses that share their values.
“We want to work with brands and with products that really have a sense of place and actually tell a story—not just the product, but the people behind it too,” she says.
Masters and Greenwood are both Korean-American and named this burgeoning business after Haenyeo, the legendary free-diving women of Jeju Island in South Korea. Traditional Haenyeo equipment and garb include oribal (swim fins), yeoncheol (lead belts to help them sink), and the company’s namesake sosal, a hand-held fishing spear (sometimes called jaksal).
The average person, if sitting completely still, can stay underwater for up to a minute and a half at most. Haenyeo can hold their breath for up to three minutes while actively foraging, harvesting, and swimming. Scientists say these diving women spend more time underwater than any other group of humans on earth. Not badass enough for you? The average age of Haenyeo is around 70.
Courtesy of Sosal Line | Photo Credit: Luke Schmuecker
“Fishing is a strong heritage for Koreans, and it’s the same here in San Diego with the Portuguese settlers,” Greenwood explains. (We aren’t the tuna capital of the US for no reason.)
Sosal Line carries 100 percent traceable, wild caught fish from Galicia in Northern Spain and the Pacific Northwest, all family-owned companies who don’t compromise on sustainable practices. Tinned fish has never been more popular—or more debated—but there’s more to it than cute labels designed for maximum Instagram reach. “I want to know who I’m purchasing from,” says Greenwood. One of their suppliers, Craft Fish Co., which is based in San Diego but fishes in the PNW, is run by JJ and Jessica Gerritsen. JJ catches, Jessica packages, and it’s a business relationship on a first-name basis. “You can’t find that when you’re working with some nameless brand.”
San Diegans can find Sosal Line products at local retailers like Clos/Fintastic (obviously), allmine in Oceanside, Always Hungry Grocery & Goods in Carlsbad, J. Brix Wines in San Marcos, Collins & Coupe/Tablespoon in North Park, and Green Acre in La Jolla. They’re also available in select retailers in Northern California, Oregon, Arizona, and strangely enough, South Carolina. Expanding its client base is, of course, a goal. But not at the expense of quality or joy of discovery.
“I would love to see people try food from different cultures and be excited about it,” says Greenwood. “Maybe make them want to travel to experience different areas of the world.”
Beth Demmon is an award-winning writer and podcaster whose work regularly appears in national outlets and San Diego Magazine. Her first book, The Beer Lover's Guide to Cider, is now available. Find out more on bethdemmon.com.
The folks behind Oddish Wine and Lost Cause Meadery are partnering with Bica to open an all-day cafe, coffee shop, wine bar, and restaurant near La Mesa Village
La Mesa: a bucolic, hill-dappled city long regarded as a somewhat frumpy, never quite trendy bridge between the urban cool of Mid-City and the rural sprawls of East County. La Mesa’s population clocks in at around 4 percent of the city of San Diego’s—fewer than Chula Vista, Oceanside, Escondido, Carlsbad, El Cajon, Vista, San Marcos, and Encinitas, in that order. It’s home to a killer Oktoberfest, one of the best charter high schools in the state, and a theatrical mayor who tools around town in a golf cart (and so far, hasn’t cut any arts funding or closed public bathrooms).
But any area that’s only 20 minutes from downtown San Diego and under 20 miles to Mission Bay will only stay under the radar for so long. Slowly but surely, bits and bobs from San Diego’s cultural tastemakers have been popping up all over town. Dark Horse Coffee and the boutique Small Batch both opened in La Mesa in 2018. Stella Jean’s and Pop Pie are coming later this year. Native Poppy is building its new headquarters and studio this fall. After a year in business, the new owners of JK’s Greek have established themselves as one of the best Greek restaurants in the county.
Next year, La Mesa will get one of its most ambitious projects yet. Billy and Suzanna Beltz, owners of Lost Cause Meadery and Oddish Wine, are pouring everything they have into renovating a 5,000-square-foot building between the Village and MacArthur Park to open a wine/beer bar, coffee shop, all-day cafe, and wine shop.
The concept doesn’t have a name (yet), and Bica in Normal Heights will come on as a partner to run the restaurant aspect and coffee program (which also won’t be called Bica. Still lots of naming decisions to be made). But the Beltz’s vision is to create something in La Mesa that doesn’t exist yet—a community gathering space open from morning until night that’s family-friendly, creatively designed, and well… cool.
The building has been around since the 1940s, first operating as a neighborhood market, then butcher shop, secondhand children’s store, electronics store, dry cleaners, and bike shop. The Beltzses say they plan to keep the “soul and character” of the space as much as possible, highlighting original details like a barrel-shaped wooden roof, brightening up the corner building by utilizing the large front windows, and eventually building an outdoor dining/drinking space and kid-friendly area—a must for the neighborhood’s plethora of young families. They tapped all locals for the design and build: Tecscape Design, design consultant Carly Miller-Chen (who owns Ayi boutique in South Park) to create the space, and local contractor CLTVT.
Courtesy of Oddish Wine
Starting in the morning, the space will offer coffee and light breakfast items before transitioning to lunch and dinner menus, plus a full bar that will feature Oddish and Lost Cause products as well as other local wines, beers, ciders, and other beverages alongside an aperitivo program and low-ABV cocktails and spritzes. Food-wise, they plan to install a wood-fired oven and rotisserie, but expect more menu details to be revealed closer to opening.
There will also be a small retail space focused on natural wines and ciders from places like Raging Cider & Mead in San Marcos and other San Diego and Baja California makers. But don’t expect run-of-the-mill options from the guy who makes weird wines and mead, the oldest alcoholic beverage in human history (hardly TikTok trend material). “We have a unique perspective… Hopefully we can expand some palates and minds in the process,” says Billy.
Community is the heart of the project, more than food, more than drinks. “We have a young family. [Bica owners] Manny [Da Luz] and Charlie [Knowles] have families,” says Billy. Suzanna adds: “People want a space that they know they’re going to get really amazing food, really fun drinks, but they can also feel like they can bring their kids during the weeknights.” It won’t be North Park 2.0, although many families now living in La Mesa came from various neighborhoods across Mid-City (like the Beltzes). It’s filling a void. It’s something they can build from the ground up. And just maybe, it’s something that will surprise people who have yet to discover La Mesa’s potential.
For as long as I can remember, my favorite animal in the world has been bunnies. (You’d think I would have been cured of the notion after adopting an adorable, but absolutely diabolical rabbit in my teens, but alas, it did not.) If you, too, love gazing at cute little cotton tails and velvety-soft ears, then join me for Bunnies & Brunch on Saturday, September 26 at Hilton San Diego Gaslamp Quarter’s Wild Hare Bar Garden. (I had no idea that downtown San Diego was once home to a robust rabbit population in the mid-19th century, but today I learned!) Yes, there will be a bunny petting farm from 11 a.m. to 1 p.m. Take a number, pal.
Keeping with the animal theme, there’s a new snake in town. Serpent & Stone, a Greek-inspired restaurant and lounge opened this weekend at 750 Front Street with Mediterranean classics like falafel, Greek meatballs, skewers, Greek salads, and mythology-inspired cocktails like “The Aphrodite” (pea-flower-infused Ketel One vodka with passion fruit, Madagascar vanilla, Passoã, lime and champagne). If you didn’t make it to Mykonos this summer, this sounds like a decent alternative.
Mat Robar, Jesse Pine, and Winslow Sawyer launched Pure Project in 2016 with the idea of centering a brewery around sustainability, rather than leaving it as an afterthought or bonus. Most recently, they released Closed Loops, a collaborative murky IPA with Societe Brewing Company and Dalum Beverage Equipment, the latter of which installed CO2 capturing machines at both breweries earlier this year. Since February, Pure Project has recaptured and reused over 74,500 pounds of CO₂ emissions, keeping all of that out of the air and staying on track to hit over 119,000 pounds by the end of the year. The hazy IPA brewed with Tropical Fusion, Mosaic, and Strata Cryo hops is now on draft and in to-go four-packs at all five Pure Project locations, and I’ve got to say, it’s really nice to see environmental enthusiasts doing their part.
Cheerio, California English. The Sorrento Valley British restaurant launched by celebrity chef Richard Blais will close permanently at the end of September. May your prime rib “proper roast” and Scotch eggs live on in another realm somewhere.
Listen Now: The Latest in San Diego’s Food and Drink Scene
Have breaking news, exciting scoops, or great stories about new San Diego restaurants or the city’s food scene? Send your pitches to [email protected].
Beth Demmon is an award-winning writer and podcaster whose work regularly appears in national outlets and San Diego Magazine. Her first book, The Beer Lover's Guide to Cider, is now available. Find out more on bethdemmon.com.
Implementing a farm-to-table model hardly deserves acknowledgement these days. It’s not a stretch. It’s not innovative. “It’s the bare f**king minimum,” says Herb & Sea‘s executive chef Aidan Owens.
When I arrive at the Encinitas restaurant, I’m ready to talk sustainability, farm-to-table stuff, with Owens. “Did you see the chin on that?” he says of the extra big jiggly chin on the sheephead that just arrived with the day’s fresh catch. I did. It was Jay Leno adjacent.
I learn quickly that he somehow oozes both charm and stone-cold honesty. Maybe he could construct a new dish with chin goo, like he did when he had a bunch of tuna scraps and voila’d it into a smooth and crowd-pleasing ‘nduja. “I want to know what’s in there,” he says.
Courtesy of Herb & Sea
The instinct to look closer, to dig into what others might discard, says a lot about the chef’s approach. I guide him back to our topic, but he has something else on his mind. “We’re overcomplicating food—what happened to just cooking good food and having fun with it?”
Owens grew up on a farm in Byron Bay, Australia, where sustainability wasn’t a concept you chat about so much as a way of life. Think dirt roads, backyard chickens, pulling vegetables straight from the ground, and a mother who believed that if you couldn’t pronounce the ingredients on a package, you shouldn’t eat what was inside.
Food wasn’t precious or performative. Making it was what you did because you were hungry and that’s still what inspires Owens today. “I like to cook good food because I like to eat good food,” he says.
His approach to sustainability at Herb & Sea began so naturally that it felt just like instinct. “I was just like, ‘Let’s order food from the people who live and work here,’” he says.
Courtesy of Herb & Sea
And why wouldn’t he when lives in San Diego? Cities all over the world vie for our goods. Our tuna is sent overseas. Our spiny lobsters hit dinner plates in China and Japan. Not to mention California’s producing a third of the country’s vegetables and three-quarters of its fruits and nuts.
“Why would we outsource when it’s all here?” Owens asks.
Sustainability, in this context, is about cooking what exists in abundance, nearby, right now. “I love the local fish here. It’s f**king delicious and San Diego citrus, I mean, it is so f**ing good,” he says.
Instead of importing ingredients, Owens also looks for nearby alternatives. “You can find really cool things in the local waters,” he says, pointing out that stingray cheeks taste similar to scallops.
Courtesy of Herb & Sea
Whatever he finds in that sheephead chin might just be the next substitute for marrow. But to make this work, it means getting diners amped up about the slightly unfamiliar.
Tasting menus, where diners are completely in his hands, become an opportunity to gently push boundaries. “I’ll serve mackerel, because people think they hate it,” Owens says, noting that the abundant local fish can have some fishiness. “But when it’s fresh, it’s arguably one of the best fish in the ocean.”
He also tweaks the language on the menu so people might feel more compelled to give dishes a try without preconceived notions. He might use “lengua” instead of “tongue.” “Whelk” instead of “snail.” When he puts “stingray throat” on the menu, he disarmingly calls it “skate.”
To reduce waste, scraps aren’t always discarded but rather turned into something new. Sometimes they’re smoked, cured or fermented. Apples going bad turn into apple ponzu. Lemons turn to marmalade, which stretches their usefulness far beyond peak season. “And it’s super tasty on our pizza,” he says.
What makes the food even richer, is the relationships he’s built with farmers. Though it didn’t always feel natural, Owens sought personal connection first. He recalls approaching a fisherman at the Tuna Harbor Dockside Market. “I was awkward,” he says. “I went up to him and said, ‘I like your fish.’”
Owen’s is now so close to his suppliers—like fishermen Ryan Sebo and Joe Daly—that he gets texted pictures of fresh catches right as they flop on the boat. The messages always ask if he wants first dibs. “I say yes to a lot of fish,” Owens says, noting that Herb & Sea can go through 2,000 pounds of seafood a week.
Courtesy of Herb & Sea
The next evolution of sustainability, in his view, will be chefs working directly with producers such as his alliance with Sebo, cutting out middlemen and purveyors where possible. “It will put more money in the pockets of the people doing the work,” he says.
It will mean that chefs can’t just know their local farmers and producers, but they’ll choose to work with the ones who have the best practices. Dining and sustainability will become much less about the final plate. “It will be more about the impact that plate has on the Earth,” he says.
Ultimately, he believes sustainability doesn’t need to be loud. It doesn’t need hashtags. It just needs to be honest.
“We aren’t saving lives. We’re feeding people good food,” he says.
And yet, in feeding people well—simply, thoughtfully, responsibly—something meaningful happens. Guests leave satisfied. Ingredients are respected. Local ecosystems are supported and food returns to what it has always been at its core: nourishment, pleasure, and a quiet reflection of the place it comes from.
Midway through my phone conversation with Shannon English, owner of The Delicate Squash, I hear an alarm shrilling in her background.
“Sorry, I’ve got to pull some cookies out of the oven right now!” she apologizes. After a few beats, she picks the phone back up and laughs. “I feel like I’m bouncing around all over the place.”
After hearing her run through a list of her professions and current hobbies, I’d have to agree. English runs The Delicate Squash, a gluten- and dairy-free bakery; teaches cooking demos; pops up at farmers markets; wrote a book of poetry (Deep Water came out this month from Beyond the Veil Press); hosts a monthly open mic night; dipped her toe into ballet; recently joined a running club; volunteers at local farms; and finally, teaches at a play-based, nature-based preschool.
I’m tired just talking to her.
Surprising no one, English seems to have unlimited energy and enthusiasm for all this work, notably in education. Early childhood education is one of the most pivotal times for nurturing lifelong learning, but she also aims to educate the public on how to eat cleaner, feel better, and support your local food systems. She started The Delicate Squash in late 2023 after discovering she has a chronic illness, going through the typical standards of care and even strict elimination diets, to no avail.
Courtesy of Shannon English
“I’m not going to say I found a diet that has ‘cured’ me, but I have found that taking a more mindful approach to a lot of things, including diet, has made symptoms far more manageable for me,” she says.
Even people with dietary restrictions deserve a little treat from time to time, but she had a hard time finding anything that tasted good and made her feel good. Thus, The Delicate Squash was born.
All of her baked goods avoid gluten and dairy, and use natural sweeteners like coconut sugar or maple syrup as well as herbs, fruits, foraged flowers, and other natural flavorings. Her signature cookie, the “Delicate” cookie, is a sea salt dark chocolate cookie that’s soft, a little salty, a little sweet, and made with oatmeal to keep it gluten-free. Other crowd favorites are thumbprint jam cookies with jams made from scratch with change seasonally; breakfast pastries like orange, dark chocolate and cardamom scones; brownies; orange and black sesame banana bread; seasonal pies; and custom and seasonal cakes (currently, the late summer flavor is a dark chocolate coconut milk ganache with berry jam).
English says some people are surprised she can produce such a variety of goods with the dietary restrictions she adheres to. “A lot of feedback I get is ‘I could never do that,’” she says. But if she can do it, she assures me that anyone can. “I like to say ‘practice makes progress, not perfection.’”
Her advice? Focus more on being present than presentation, and don’t be afraid to experiment to keep things interesting. And if that doesn’t work, you can always hit her open mic night to ask for tips.
Escondido is getting in on the listening bar phenomenon. On September 5, musicians Mat Rakers, Kevin Capacia, and Billy Petty will open Plot Armor, a Japanese-style vinyl listening bar that Rakers says they aim to feel “curated and intelligent.”
“Currently, there are not a lot of ‘cool’ spots in Escondido,” he says. Backed by The San Diego Music And Art Company and The Escondido Music And Art Company, Plot Armor will soon offer sake, wine, beer, and soju cocktails, plus Japanese non-alcoholic options and cold brew. Eventually, they’ll add Japanese-inspired snacks, but the focus will be creating a small place (very small—the seating capacity is 20) where vinyl junkies can come listen, linger, and libate.
Courtesy of Fairmont Grand Del Mar
Beth’s Bites
Ocean Beach has a new watering hole. The Jetty opened in July at 4934 Voltaire Street (where Voltaire Beach House used to be), and while I don’t think OBceans were hurting for where to get a drink, the more the merrier.
Chinese restaurant powerhouse Chef Fei is finally making it to the U.S., opening a spot at Westfield UTC mall on September 5. Known for Hunan-style stir fry dishes, it’s often lauded as one of the most consistently solid chains in the world—in fact, in 2018 chef Fei Lianghui took home the highest honor a Chinese chef can earn, the China Golden Chef Award. Again, I don’t think mallgoers were hurting for great places to slurp some noodles, but there’s always room in my heart for more stir fry.
In past years, Fairmont Grand Del Mar didn’t exactly jump to mind when I looked for different Día de Muertos celebrations around San Diego. That changes this year, when the five-star resort will debut its first Día de Muertos celebration on November 1. Michelin-recognized chefs like Javier Plascencia (Erizo, Animalon), Roberto Alcocer (Valle), Drew Deckman (Deckman’s En El Mogor), and more will come from both sides of the border for one night only, with proceeds going to Fundación Tijuana Sin Hambre. Get ready for what will undoubtedly be San Diego’s most upscale take on the Mexican holiday.
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Beth Demmon is an award-winning writer and podcaster whose work regularly appears in national outlets and San Diego Magazine. Her first book, The Beer Lover's Guide to Cider, is now available. Find out more on bethdemmon.com.
Basque grandmothers have not been making it for centuries. If you’re a millennial, there’s a strong possibility you’re older than the dessert itself. Yet somehow in less than 40 years, the Basque cheesecake—a half-pudding, half-cake creation with a top that looks like a mistake—managed to ooze its way onto menus all over the world.
It became the undisputed dessert star of San Diego’s restaurant world this year. So we invited 19 of the top restaurants, pastry chefs, and bakers to bring their best to the San Diego Magazine office for a blind taste test to find the best in the city.
First, a little history and context.
In 1987, after failing to find a job as an electrician, Santiago Rivera started working as a bartender at his parents’ unassuming pintxo bar La Viña, in San Sebastián, Spain. He was a naturally curious, self-taught cook who spent his free time testing recipes, tinkering with ingredients, and tweaking techniques.
So when it came to the cheesecake—which hadn’t changed much since its invention (a rudimentary version was served at the first Olympics in Greece 4,000 years ago, and the modern New York version in 1872)—he got radical with it.
He removed the crust (partly just to speed up the process because time is money for a small business). Without the crumbly crust, the experience was far creamier, less granulated. Then he cranked the oven to 400 degrees, nearly 100 degrees hotter than the normal baking temperature.
The result? The top became deeply caramelized, almost burnt, while leaving the center luxuriously soft and loosely set. The restaurant became a legend because of this breakthrough in the dairy arts, and his father never let him stop making it after that.
Now, 67 years after the restaurant’s opening, La Viña stands out for the unceasing line spilling onto the street, and the remarkable amount of curd cultists standing nearby, hovering over cream-smeared plastic containers. It’s the kind of scene that makes you stop and think: What the hell are they eating?
Now, the blind tasting. To keep things fair, the contenders were divided into four categories: Restaurant Traditional, Restaurant Flavored, Bakery Traditional, and Bakery Flavored. (It’s a tad unfair to pit a baker who specializes in the one glorious thing against a restaurant that cooks dozens of things.) Each entry was served blind and judged on texture, flavor, and number of vaguely inappropriate food moans.
The logistics were chaotic, to say the least. Our fridge—not a walk-in, sadly—was packed to the brim. Each cake was sliced, secretly labeled, and shuffled onto plates while the team gathered in the conference room. The whole shebang was not in any way sponsored by Lactaid, despite our various attempts to convince them of this ripe marketing opportunity.
The judging became gloriously unhinged. We heard it all, from “I don’t care how the cheesecake gets in my mouth, it just needs to happen,” and “Is it supposed to be this jiggly?” to “Kind of a baby throw-up situation,” “Straight cheese,” and “I’m getting vague socks there.”
But four Basque cheesecakes stood out among the rest, earning themselves the title of Best Burnt Basque Cheesecake in San Diego.
Courtesy of Mesa Agricola
Restaurant: Traditional
Mesa Agricola
A restaurant for the people. Rosarito native chef Juan González and Megan Strom are the ideal married couple to be running a farm-to-table joint. She’s been a farmer for decades, selling top-notch produce to some of the best restaurants in California—which is how the two met. A couple years ago, she started working at the small organic farm in Valley Center run by Mike Reeske, who had spent decades breeding the perfect heirloom beans for SoCal’s climate. He recently retired, and gifted those strains to Strom—who grows them (and other crops) for their tiny Escondido taco/burrito shop specializing in guisados (Mexican stews).
A Basque cheesecake in a taco shop? You bet. Juan’s got family roots in Spain and has cooked in Spanish kitchens.
Mesa Agricola’s winning Basque is by far the most “burnt” of all contenders—so much so that an Instagram follower declared it a mistake. But as Chef Juan notes, there’s an art to hitting the sweet spot where “the bitterness of the char balances the richness and sweetness without turning it into ‘chicharrón.’” Plus, char is a core charm of Baja cooking. It’s the perfect Basque for the people who prefer setting their campfire marshmallows fully on fire.
Photo Credit: Casiel Sanchez
Restaurant: Flavored
Moe’s Steakhouse
With red leather booths and a retro steakhouse vibe, Moe’s in Mission Beach is a good cheat day destination. The menu is flavor maximalism—dry-aged steaks, housemade pastas, brown liquors, and sides like the lobster truffle mac ’n’ cheese. Pastry chef Eli Peralta (whom some might remember as the creator of The Patio on Lamont’s “Twisted Elvis”—a peanut butter-banana brûlée stunner) brings that same intensity to the dessert menu.
Baked at sister restaurant Molly’s (6 feet away), his Basque is served on a bed of caramel with walnut brittle and a dollop of whipped cream, an indulgent recipe that converted the pastry chef himself. “I wasn’t crazy about cheesecakes,” Eli admits. “Then I started making different flavors, and I started to like them.” He’s not the only convert: During our blind tasting, one judge likened the cake to crème brûlée, concluding, “I don’t even like crème brûlée, but I like this.”
Courtesy of Muse Cheesecakes & Bakery
Bakery: Traditional
Muse Cheesecakes & Bakery
Every creative pursuit starts with a muse—and Lada Sadovnyk’s has been the Basque cheesecake for years. In Ukraine, she baked them for friends and family gatherings, never imagining she would one day build an entire bakery around them in the US. “When we moved to San Diego,” she explains, “I kept thinking, ‘What can I do? What do I really love to do?’”
The answer is pretty fantastic.
After obsessing over proportion and techniques, chasing that molten center and deeply caramelized top, what began as an online recipe evolved into something entirely of her own.
She moved from her home kitchen to a rented commercial kitchen close to Sports Arena. The orders kept coming, and so did the pressure. “At one point, I was thinking about divorcing my husband,” she says with a laugh (while sitting next to him). The grind paid off: Today, Muse Cheesecakes bakes roughly 1,200 cheesecakes a month and is planning to open its first brick-and-mortar home in Pacific Beach.
For our competition, the expectations met reality. Muse has made a quick name in San Diego as the Basque to beat. In a blind taste test, there’s no bias, no reputational shine to sway a room. The response on reveal: “Oh, of course.”
Photo Credit: Casiel Sanchez
Bakery: Flavored
Bite Cheesecakes & Bakery
Husband-and-wife duo Alex and Anastasia Kiperband pulled off the number of failures (and then some) that are required of any search for the best recipe. After adjusting baking temps, sugar rations, and experimenting with different brands of cream cheese and heavy cream—they finally landed on something worthy of a business license.
“When we started this business in America, we were really nervous,” Anastasia says, co-owner of Bite Cheesecakes & Bakery.
Once they won over those first customers, their confidence grew enough to start tinkering. When Dubai chocolate took social media by storm, they developed their own version, making the pistachio paste from scratch before layering the buttery kataifi pastry beneath a glossy chocolate shell to create its signature Dubai Chocolate Basque Cheesecake.
“In a lot of situations, we’re converting cheesecake haters to cheesecake lovers,” they say. “That’s probably the best feedback that we get.”
Camila Ibarra Gallego is a CaliBaja native pursuing a master's degree in culinary journalism at the Basque Culinary Center. Shaped by the culturally rich, bicultural megaregion, she's passionate about sniffing out stories that connect people, territory and culture through food. When she's not tumbling down internet rabbit holes, you can find her pretending to be a wine connoisseur at a local wine bar or nose-deep in a good book.
Growing up, Laika Nur, MD, Scripps Clinic sports medicine specialist, loved watching beach volleyball when the Association of Volleyball Professionals tour came to her hometown of Chicago. A talented volleyball player herself, she remembers sitting in the stands all day, and once, even got a couple autographs. Years later, Dr. Nur was attending a professional event focused on women’s sports, and the discussion turned to a new professional women’s volleyball league. The general manager and coaching staff for San Diego’s team, the Mojo, happened to be in attendance, and Dr. Nur took the opportunity to ask them if they needed a team doctor. Flash forward to the Mojo’s inaugural 2024 season, when Dr. Nur officially became the team physician. Click here to read more about Dr. Nur and how she incorporates lessons she learned on the court into her practice.
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