Incoming: Black Plague Brewing

The bird has a plan. You stand between that bird and that plan. For the remainder of your ceviche, you’ll identify as collateral damage.

There are many other nearby birds with the same plan, absolutely sucking at trying to be nonchalant about it. The pigeons are by far the boldest on account of what we can all agree just by looking at them is sheer stupidity. They come right up and ask with their red murder clown eyes: “Can bite?”

Pelicans are the silverback gorillas of this bird gang, hulking and alpha. They periodically flaunt the acreage of their wingspan in the same way a schoolyard bully puffs out his chest. One could casually land on your plate and maintain constant eye contact as it slowly enjoyed your fish taco. You share this tacit awareness with it. But it doesn’t approach because there are always a couple off-duty fishermen eating at Mitch’s Seafood. Those salty dogs have been forced to beat the shit out of a pelican or two in their day, and they and the pelican also know that.

The snowy egrets pretend to not really want your food. They seductively lord on the tops of the sportfishing boats moored in front of the restaurant, fully aware of how hot they are—svelte fashion models, Ozempic with wings. They just turn their faces to the wind so that it blows their fabulous hair. They seem to expect tourists to be overcome by their avian Brad Pittness and just throw swordfish sandwiches to them in tribute. They refuse to demean themselves like the gulls do.

The gulls are shameless menaces. The linebackers of seabirds—a lot quicker than you expect given their big butts, full of schemes and microaggressions. They stand at a distance and mad-dog everyone, intimidate with their beaks the color of old bananas. Fear is not a seagull emotion. When they take a plate—and they will take a plate—there is so much flapping and fighting. They desperately bite and claw at fishermen’s stews like zombies who finally caught up to Rick Grimes. We see one that’s missing a foot.

At some point you will hear a baby cry. It’s not a baby. It’s a gull, who has learned to mimic the sound of human babies in distress so that parents feel the great evolutionary ache—and throw fries at the crying.

“Watch out for the crab cakes,” says a server to every person she drops them to. “Those are their favorite.”

The birds have opinions on the menu. And their presence at Mitch’s is better than any Yelp review. Think they’d risk life and limb for some recently unboxed frostbite tilapia down at the local skate rink? Yeah, probably so.

But these birds know the backstory of three longtime local fishing families who own Mitch’s: Brian Kiyohara and his wife, Viola; Randy Toussaint and his wife, Tracy; and namesake Mitch Conniff. Conniff cut his teeth as a young sous chef at Jsix (a long-gone restaurant that was, 20 years ago, a slow-food star under chef Christian Graves). Then he was executive chef of American Angler, the long-range Baja fishing vessel co-owned by Kiyohara.

It was on the Angler that Mitch reportedly looked at the restaurant that was previously in this location—on stilts over the water at Point Loma Sportfishing Dock—and said to Kiyohara, “Wouldn’t it be cool if a restaurant in that space used local fish from local boats and local people like us?”

And that’s how Mitch’s was born. Its doors opened in 2008.

The real story of Mitch’s is the wheelbarrows. Every morning, the crew rolls them along Driscoll’s Wharf down to Tunaville—the market also owned by local fishing families (including Conniff). The shop has a parking spot for local boats, who bring their daily haul there every morning. Mitch’s crew fills the wheelbarrows with fresh fish and wheels them back to the kitchen. Within hours or a day or so, some of it will be lunch, dinner, and bird crack.

There are no reservations at Mitch’s. More often than not, there’s a long line snaking out the door. It moves fast. Their tiny kitchen is remarkably efficient. Locals know to go for breakfast (get the crab avocado toast) or in the off-hours (11 a.m., 3 p.m.—just not noon and 6 p.m.). There’s a small-ish indoor dining room, tables that appear more lacquer than wood. It’s a shrine to local fishers, the wall’s a family photo album of tan locals beaming with pride over a record catch, pleasantly fatigued boat captains, sun-gnarled deckhands. Leave your partner in the line, and go peruse, get a sense for the humans out there in local waters, leaving their families for days and weeks and months at a time to provide. It’s a core San Diego way of life that built this city (tuna money poured the concrete at Point Loma High), once robust and now rare.

The prized seats are on the deck. Thirty or so metal bar stools are ponied up to a small counter attached to the wooden rail. Bendy metal rods cascade from the roof like eyelashes. “They were put in to deter the birds,” a server tells me. “It worked for about a week.”

The swordfish sandwich is just about perfect and a mission statement of the place—humble and simple, like fishing. A big-ole torta, a grilled filet not cooked to sawdust like American restaurants once did, with tomato, tartar sauce, and cilantro. It shouldn’t taste as good as it does, but clean local fish cooked well on bread is satisfying in an essential, basal way. Plus, that tartar sauce blows lesser tartars away. Conniff swaps out the pickle and onion for garlic, fresh parsley, and cilantro, so that it tastes closer to an herbed Baja crema. It should be criminalized and governed by people who make laws to atone for the lack of our own self-regulation.

The bowl of mussels and clams are the can’t-miss of Mitch’s—somewhere between French moules marinières, New England steamers, and Baja shellfish pots. The science: As shellfish steam, they release their own briny liquor, meaty ocean broth in a shell. The chef’s job is to complement that gift without clobbering it. Mitch’s uses white wine for acid and leeks (a milder, sweeter, more flavorful onion), Dijon, and butter. Their clams and mussels are bigger than normal, which brings stronger flavor, making that broth one of the best in the city, sopped with the baguette.

From the cold case, get the shrimp aguachile with housemade chips—a small bowl, green as radiator fluid, the chili water a light-pain blend of habaneros (the best tasting chili by a long shot), serranos, lime, and the soft, fat glove of avocado. They also serve a campechana—a Baja mariscos specialty with shrimp, Dungeness crab, octopus, and oysters in cocktail sauce and clamato. Important note here: Don’t eat either of these dishes right away. They come out fridge-cold (there are laws about storing raw seafood), which muzzles the flavor. Order them to sit. After 20 minutes, dig in.

The crab cakes get mixed reviews, but ours are delicious. They lean cake more than crab, which isn’t what you’d expect from a fisherman-chef’s stilt house, but that’s personal preference.

You’re going to order the fresh fish plate, blackened, because you’re good at ordering. It’s the truest expression of fisherman and fish. And what you’ll receive is a shockingly spartan plate—a paprika-crusted filet, a ramekin of slaw, some herb pistou. It is excellent, even if the universal governing body of wooden-spooned grandmas would suggest it needs a rice, a tater, a proper side dish.

My argument is that the slaw is side dishing. Coleslaw is, by and large, the great American fail. Most restaurants treat it like the younger sibling their parents made them bring along on a date. At Mitch’s, they treat slaw with respect. Starts with traditional cabbage, but then gets both fresh orange and lime juice, jicama, grilled corn, and cilantro. It’s Baja meets San Diego picnic food.

If, as dictated by the most basic laws of food criticism, I needed to find quibbles with Mitch’s, fine. I’ll be that guy who walks into a runaway hit dream of three local fishing families and pretends everything isn’t entirely perfect. I’ll express them in wishes.

I wish the baguette with the clams and mussels was lightly charred. The broth is nearly sweet, and sweet loves a good burn.

I wish there was an obscene amount of slaw with the fish plate. It’s that good, and the plate looks a bit bare.

I wish there was one housemade sauce in the condiment basket. You’ve got Heinz, Tabasco, Tapatío—all of which are fine and should stay. While I realize the kitchen is limited and the line of customers is eternal, Mitch’s would go up an even higher notch if there were squeeze bottles of one killer original dressing—housemade crema, a mojo, macha, or just an unending supply of that garlicky tartar. It feels a tad crimey to go through all this effort to source local fish and cook them well, and then top it with a sauce that has no San Diego or Baja or Mitch in it.

I honestly didn’t expect Mitch’s to be as good as it still is. Everything we ate (except maybe an octopus taco with tentacle bits fried into nubs) was good to excellent. The constant onslaught of locals and tourists and the excruciating intricacies of operating a business in California should have exhausted the will to live by now, let alone cook.

There’s a reason the birds are still outside, with crimes in their eyes and menu preferences.

Ask any local, human or shark—San Diego summer doesn’t really start until August. After June Gloom lifts and children file back into the halls of academia, our coastline comes to life with more space on the sand and a water temperature that finally rises above muscle-clenchingly frigid. 

What better way to welcome Local’s Summer than by celebrating the bounty of the sea? At least, that’s what the gang at Puffer Malarkey Collective (PMC) figured when they launched Dockside Night Market four years ago. 

Despite being born and raised in San Diego, Lillian Dang (the event’s co-producer and marketing director for PMC) says she didn’t know how abundant our local seafood scene was until she left and came back. “We are spoiled here,” she says, pointing not only to our plentiful produce from local farms, but also our sea-borne treasures. 

When she and her co-producer Lucien Conner (PMC’s director of operations) brainstormed over what they felt the city’s food scene lacked, they realized: “What’s missing is an event that really celebrates the local seafood,” explains Dang.

Dockside Night Market is meant to be a “San Diego summer party on the pier,” she says, bringing together local fishermen and local chefs to highlight the fruits of the local seas. Chefs from some of San Diego’s best restaurants clamor to be a part of the 15-chef-max roster, including Travis Swikard (Callie and Fleurette), David Sim (Kingfisher), Aidan Owens (Herb & Wood), Chianne Mallari (Herb & Sea), Tara Monsod (Animae), Jacob Ruck and Eric Bost (Jeune et Jolie), not to mention Mabel’s Gone Fishing, Bica, The Lion’s Share, Nine-Ten, Marisi… you get the idea. 

Part of the intrigue is not knowing exactly what seafood will appear—in past years, there’s been uni, bluefin tuna, halibut, black cod, but it ultimately comes down to what’s fresh and what’s available. And with a chef lineup like that, it’s fun to imagine what sorts of surprises await. (If you’d like a small hint, there are calendars of seasonal availability in the area.)

The one-night-only annual event takes place at Tuna Harbor Dockside Market on Tuna Harbor Pier (598 Harbor Lane), the same spot as the weekly fish market every Saturday from 8 a.m. until 1 p.m. or sellout (it’s usually the latter). VIPs get in at 6 p.m. and general admission is 7 p.m., and 100 percent of all ticket profits go to support the San Diego Fishermen’s Working Group, a 501(c)(3) nonprofit created to support the best interests of the region’s commercial fishermen. There’s also four cash bars and a live DJ (but leave the kids and pets at home).

“I think this is an event that can only happen in San Diego,” says Dang. Our city’s culinary cache is on the rise, and our proximity to some of the best fishing waters in the world make it a pretty dynamic duo. “It’s curated, it’s intimate, it’s all the things,” she promises. 

Dockside Night Market takes places on Thursday, August 6, from 6 p.m. to 10 p.m. at Tuna Harbor Dockside Market.

San Diego Restaurant News & Food Events

Beth’s Bites

• The future of one of San Diego’s quintessential restaurants is up in the air. For 50 years, Kearny Mesa’s 94th Aero Squadron has slung its signature champagne brunch buffet, lunch, and dinner from a WWI-inspired restaurant and events space that looks like it was dropped straight from the French countryside. Recently and without fanfare, the restaurant added a message to its website that reads “Our restaurant is closed until further notice. We apologize for the inconvenience.” Mysterious, alarming, and vague—one can only hope it takes flight once more. 
• Apparently July is “National Pickle Month,” and if I’d known sooner, I would have celebrated accordingly (by stealing all the leftover pickles from people’s plates at lunch). I’m already deeply devoted to TNT’s pickle pizza any month of the year, but Town and Country Resort in Mission Valley is joining the briny fun with two specials at the lobby bar Monkeybar through the end of June—the Monkeybar Spicy Pickletini (vodka, spicy pickle juice, dry vermouth, the the resort’s housemade Riki Tiki hot sauce) and the “What’s the Big Dill” pizza, a not-terribly-creatively-named pie with mozzarella, red sauce, dill pickles, bacon bites, and a dill garnish. I’ll admit I haven’t had a pickle pie with red sauce before, so I’m interested in checking it out for that novelty alone. (Have you tried either? I’m genuinely curious how they are, so drop me a line at [email protected] to let us know!)
• Since 2009, restaurateur Tracy Borkum’s Urban Kitchen Group restaurant collective has operated places like Cucina Urbana, The Kitchen at MCASD, and more, racking up local likes and an IYKYK reputation for solid food at decent prices. Now, all three of her Cucina locations (San Diego, Newport Beach, and Irvine) are offering new price-conscious specials that help ease the financial stress for people who just want to eat some damn good food without going broke. One example: for $145, their Sunday Supper special feeds four people with a family-style Italian feast of focaccia, salad, a whole spatchcock chicken, veggies, polenta, a choice of Rigatoni Bolognese or Bucatini Amatriciana, and tiramisu to finish things up. For a casual pizza and wine night, their happy hour bar special from 2 p.m. to 4 p.m. gets you a margherita or pepperoni pizza, plus a bottle of red or white wine for $45. Simple? Yes. Savings? Also yes. Scrumptious? Undoubtedly.

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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].

When Rigo Munoz opened a weekends-only taco stand on Market Street in 2018, at first, he was just hoping to sell his tacos to however many customers he could. That low-key, word of mouth approach worked well for a couple years. Very well. 

“Then, the line started,” he laughs. He began to double his sales week after week, until an influencer from Tijuana paid them an undercover visit in 2024. Munoz was hanging out in his backyard the next Monday when his phone started pinging and ringing off the hook. “So I go onto my social media and there, lo and beyond, the video already had 10,000, 12,000 views in like, less than an hour,” he says. The next day, there was a line of customers waiting for him before he opened at 5 p.m. The Chula Tacos revolution sparked there. 

Now, he’s ready to open his third location on August 1 at 4994 Newport Avenue in Ocean Beach. It wasn’t an easy or straightforward path—the city shut down his original location citing too much noise and traffic. But Munoz was looking ahead, already in talks with a restaurateur to take over his space at 1719 Palm Avenue in the Nestor neighborhood of southeast San Diego. From the time he got shut down to getting the keys of his first brick-and-mortar was less than two days. 

The second location in Chula Vista caught fire on Valentine’s Day and is slated to reopen later this fall (689 H Street). Munoz says he also plans to open a fourth location somewhere between the Ocean Beach and Morena Boulevard areas, but has aspirations for more.

“I’d like to become the In-N-Out of tacos,” he says. He’s actively looking for places that could support either a drive-thru or the typical fast-casual taqueria style, but no matter what, he’s going to keep his menu simple. 

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Each location has the same menu, except labio, which are ox lips, and beef intestines. They’re top-sellers at Palm Avenue, but might not translate as well to the OB crowd, he says. But guests can still get their fix of vampiro tacos, tacos de trompo, and from-scratch horchata and jamaica. 

Chula Tacos is best known for its kekas (pronounced keh-kuhs), which are extra-large quesadillas stuffed with your choice of meat. “It’s a hefty thing,” Munoz promises. It’s such a trademark that he filed for a patent, which is still pending. 

Building a taco empire has been a long time coming. Munoz first started making tacos at age 12, and has operated a number of cafes, delis, and other businesses on both sides of the border ever since. “We’re a family business,” he says. He’s been trying to hit that mother lode for years—and all it took was one video to light the fuse.

The newest location of Chula Tacos opens August 1 at 4994 Newport Avenue, Suite A in Ocean Beach. Hours of operation are 11 a.m. to midnight daily.  (Opening date subject to change.) 

San Diego Restaurant News & Food Events

Beth’s Bites

• Everyone (clap) watches (clap, clap) women’s sports! (Thunderous applause!) San Diego’s first women’s sports bar, One of Us, opened this week in the former URBN Pizza space in North Park. I stopped by the preview and can confirm the Big Ass Fan is still there, but now there are tons of TVs lining the walls ready to broadcast women’s soccer, basketball, volleyball, and all the other sports events you could ever dream of. (And yes, they’ll be showing the men’s World Cup on Sunday, because I guess people watch men’s sports, too.) 
• Rolando’s ears must have been burning, because a month after interviewing chef Coral Strong of the now-closed Garden Kitchen, Campus Burgers announced plans to turn the formerly hyperlocal farm-to-table restaurant into a spot for affordable smashburgers. I’m sure the local college kids will appreciate the $1.99 smashburger special—although let’s face it, in today’s expensive times, everyone is ready for a wallet-friendly outing. 
• A few months ago, I gave Navore Market’s farm-to-front door delivery service a try and as a longtime former CSA subscriber, I have to admit it felt nice to leave the produce purchasing to the pros. But as of July 12, you can now head to Navore’s second community pickup hub at Mission Valley YMCA (5505 Friars Road) every Sunday from noon to 4 p.m. Having a centralized drop-off point makes it easy for farmers, and buyers don’t have to commit to a subscription—sounds like a farm-to-table win to me. 
• Keeping on with the farm-to-table news, the 4th annual Oceanside Sustainable Food Festival is scheduled for July 25 in downtown Oceanside, bringing 50-plus vendors together for a day of global food and drink, artisan products, home goods, live music, and more. The event usually draws in a couple thousand people, so might I suggest arriving close to the 11 a.m. kickoff for the best chance at maximizing your nom?

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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].

There’s a place in heaven for a steakhouse that remakes chicken nuggets but uses Jidori instead of whatever glum bird is proffered in the children’s section. And then they top it with caviar. That, plus an editor with an obsession-level ranking of chai in Carlsbad, and a whole fish from one of San Diego’s OG top chefs who has mercifully returned to the kitchen. These are the very best things we’ve found from another month of eating professionally in San Diego. Go get some.

Stake Chophouse & Bar

Caviar Chicken Nugget

One of my favorite experiences at Stake in Coronado is that—if the patio is chilly enough to warrant heaters—they’ll surround you with towers of flame. Paired with the retaining wall of heat against the glass railing overlooking Orange Avenue, there is so much surrounding fire that it feels like dining in a much nicer version of the Elmo meme, in which the nasally puppet’s whole world has amusingly arsoned.

Three things you have to get here: first, the Wagyu popcorn (kernels popped in melted Wagyu beef fat, salted with paprika); second, the Snake River Farms Wagyu skirt steak (its Gold grade means incredibly high marble), one of the best steaks in the city; third, the Jidori chicken nuggets with herbed crème fraîche, pickle, and a perm of caviar. A childhood food, deliciously adulted. —Troy Johnson

Flying Pig Pub & Kitchen

Tri-Tip Sando

It’s been 15 years since married folk Aaron and Roddy Browning opened Flying Pig Pub & Kitchen in a hidden south Oceanside hovel—using vinyl records as placemats, the decor an assortment of welded metal weirdities. One thing has always remained: Pork is their native tongue.

This sandwich pries open long-dormant pleasure receptors in most alive human bodies. Brandt Beef tri-tip is rubbed with its “Pig Spice” (hint: good paprika and celery seed do wonders), sleeps for 24 hours, then is seared and rested for an hour—sliced and seared again, placed on a mini baguette wet with fresh chimichurri and smoked tomato aioli, then topped with melted aged provolone, grilled peppers, onions, and gremolata (parsley, garlic, lemon zest). Order two, or be prepared to fight. —Troy Johnson

Valentina

Pan Tomaquet

Pintxos are Basque-country bar snacks, finger foods for Real Sociedad games. The appropriate utensils are a couple of fingers and a toothpick. But Valentina’s in Leucadia are done with just enough culinary school ambition (not too much, fuss has no place in pintxos) from exec chef Enrique Ñol, who worked at the estimable Wrench & Rodent.

Its tomaquet (tomato bread) could be underestimated as a stacked pile of quality ingredients, but it’s undeniably great—toasted pan de cristal (light, airy, Catalan “glass bread”) dressed with tomato, garlic, salt, EVOO, and a layer of one of the world’s greatest meats: Cinco Jotas Iberian jamón. Eat it with a minor winefall of porrón, and ask for Todd—a certified sommelier and one of the most knowledgeable food minds in the local scene. —Troy Johnson

Ironside Fish & Oyster

Whole Fish

Get the whole fish. Doesn’t matter the catch, just trust that chef Jason McLeod’s got you. When CH Projects opened Ironside in Little Italy in 2014, the restaurant group took over the old Farkas furniture store and turned it into a replica of an ocean liner, tapping McLeod (a chef who’d earned two Michelin stars in Chicago) to oversee its menus.

It quickly became a San Diego staple for seafood. After leaving for a few years to help concept and launch some big-name restaurants in Vegas, McLeod is back again getting his hands dirty in the kitchen. And his fish? They come in fresh from local fishermen who he’s established relationships with over the years. So yeah, get the whole damn thing. —Nicolle Monico

Steady State Roasting

Indian Summer

I have a running spreadsheet of chai rankings in Carlsbad. The chai that stays on the highest shelf? Steady State’s gingery, nutmeggy Indian Summer with an almond milk base and fresh nutmeg shavings on top. Juiced ginger gives the drink deeper, warmer notes, but not so much spice that your throat closes on the first sip.

Too often, coffee shops advertise authentic chai, then uncork that carton of sugar-bomb concentrate from an artisanal wholesaler called Costco. This is the real deal; it’s mildly sweet, a little more spicy, and in my opinion, best served hot. If I could order a keg of it, I would. (Can I?) —Emma Veidt

San Diego has lost a number of ambitious concepts lately—Vulture and Dreamboat in University Heights, Wildflour Delicatessen in Liberty Station, Deckman’s in North Park, Matsu in Oceanside. All have different reasons for closing (some outgrew their space, some overshot their costs), but none of them suffered for quality. Ditto for the next casualty. On July 19, Cellar Hand in Hillcrest will close its doors. 

Unlike the other closures, there’s actually a silver lining. The Perr family, who owns both Cellar Hand and Pali Wine Co., announced they will relocate Pali’s tasting room from Little Italy to take over the vacated Cellar Hand space.

Cellar Hand opened just over two years ago with a promise to source 100 percent of their produce locally. Ambitious, but admirable. Logan Kendall, the original executive chef, launched with a menu centered around lots of funky fermentation, tinned fish preserved in-house, a bevy of fun dips like labneh and whipped tahini, and a ridiculously fantastic pork chop from Thompson Heritage Farms. Wine Enthusiast named the 120-seat eatery one of the top 50 wine-focused restaurants in the country in 2025—not a shock, considering the mega wine chops behind the project. 

Following Kendall’s tenure, chefs Ashley McBrady and then Sable-Tanya Wentwoord took over the reins, keeping things rolling with expanded brunch offerings, chef’s dinners, and all the usual accoutrements of a hyped spot. Before joining the Pali Wine/Cellar Hand team, Wentwoord worked and staged at multiple James Beard Award–recognized and Michelin-starred restaurants in Boulder, Colorado (Frasca Food and Wine); San Francisco, CA (Coi, Che Fico); Providence, Rhode Island (Persimmon); and Fredericksburg, Tex. (Southold Farm + Cellar). She will continue to head the food program at Pali Wine Co. 

Bad luck or bad timing, the reasons behind closing Cellar Hand don’t really matter. But I, for one, will really miss that pork chop.

Still, Cellar Hand’s loss is Pali Wine Co.’s gain, or at least a small balm on the sting of closure. The tasting room in Little Italy opened 10 years ago, bringing its Central Coast wine and vibes to an area smack in the middle of a craft beer boom. When it came time to renew the lease, the Perrs say the landlord did the landlord-y thing and tried to nearly double the rent. (Tale as old as time—just ask Wildwood Flour.) 

Rather than suffer a double-whammy, the Perr family instead decided to shift their focus (and finances) to the heart of their businesses: wine. And despite losing a very cool rooftop patio in one sizzling hot neighborhood, they are gaining a pretty prime spot in a different sizzling hot neighborhood with a not-too-shabby patio of its own accord. (One more silver lining: no more jet noise from the airport!)

By moving Pali Wine Co. to where Cellar Hand used to be, they could at least keep a toehold in San Diego, says Nick Perr, managing partner. His family has made wine in Santa Barbara county for over two decades, with 10 of those years in the San Diego market—an investment they refused to lose. “That’s why it’s impossible to separate our winery from our San Diego community,” he explains, adding that the new location will allow Pali Wine Co. to offer programming designed around the nearby Hillcrest farmers market.

Guests can expect the same wine selection, wine club perks, private tastings, and similar food offerings Pali Wine Co. offers in Little Italy to transfer to Hillcrest. And maybe, if we’re lucky, they’ll bring back the pork chop (please?) 

“We are extremely proud of what we accomplished at Cellar Hand,” said Perr in a statement. “Running an independent restaurant with real values is hard, and we gave it everything we had.”

Cellar Hand will permanently close on July 19. Pali Wine Co. will cease operations at 2130 India Street on July 19 and will move to 1440 University Avenue.

Pali’s new location in Hillcrest will soft open on August 12 with a grand opening on August 22. Operating hours will be Wednesday through Friday, 2 p.m. to 10 p.m.; Saturday, noon to 10 p.m.; and Sunday, noon to 9 p.m. Happy hour will run Wednesday through Sunday (hours to be determined).