The Controversy: Death for Food

Some San Diego meat eaters were going to kill animals for food. A vegan activist lawyer staged an international campaign to stop them. That’s how Death for Food became one of the most controversial food events the city has seen in years. It made national news, and resulted in this cover story in San Diego CityBeat.

I’m highly biased in this debate. Months ago, I agreed to collaborate with Death for Food creator Jaime Fritsch because I believe in the educational philosophy driving his project. You can read why here, and read my initial reaction to Pease’s campaign here.

Basically, Death for Food invites omnivores to humanely kill their own dinner. Not for alpha-species thrill or Ted Nugent-esque blood sport. The idea is to reconnect meat-eaters to the life behind their meat, and let the emotions of that process guide their food decisions from that point on. It’s a movement against how meat is currently produced in America: anonymously and industrially.

Vegan activist Bryan Pease started an international Change.org campaign to stop the event, set to be held at one of the city’s most progressive and ethical food compounds, Suzie’s Farm. Without contacting the farm or organizers to see what the event was truly about, Pease made his best guess and portrayed the event very negatively, including the term “torture animals.” The hate mail and hate phone calls flooded into the farm and Death for Food creator, Jaime Fritsch. It caused financial harm to both. Since the protest, Fritsch has been accused of some pretty vile things. Animal abuse. Damaging children (a father brought his son to participate). Profiteering off animal slaughter. Insanity.

What’s been missing in the press coverage of the event is in-depth insight from Fritsch himself. The basic questions: Why invite people to a farm to kill their own dinner? Is that a progressive way to educate omnivores and promote responsible meat consumption? Or is it just sick in the head?

Here is Fritsch speaking about Death for Food, in his own words:

Why are you doing this?

I really don’t like answering this question. When you tell people what your purpose is, you pre-ordain their experience. It defeats the entire concept of Death for Food. Which is—by immersing yourself in the process, you fully experience it and integrate it, instead of having a preacher at a pulpit telling you how to feel. Now I feel I have no choice. My hope for the participants is that they integrate the process of meat back into their lives. That includes knowing about the life the animal lived, smelling the fresh air and the sunshine it gets, knowing it was a living, breathing, sentient being—and then understanding the magnitude of killing it. In my experience, afterward many people will slow down a lot, even just how they physically eat meat. They’ll chew it more, taste it more, think about where it comes from. By doing that, they’ll actually assimilate the food and nutrients more efficiently.

Sounds like some hippy dippy bullshit.

That’s science. When you think about food and concentrate on what you’re eating, you start to salivate and activate your digestive system. And what happens if you’re assimilating your food more efficiently? You need less. I’m not saying people should eat less meat. I do believe that—but I don’t preach that. After experiencing Death for Food, they tend to eat less meat. But not because I or anyone else told them to. Because they experienced killing first hand and felt the magnitude of it. Integration.

Can’t I just intellectualize it? Is it necessary to kill the animal myself?

I feel direct experience is the only way to experience that magnitude. It’s contagious, too—taking that brave step of looking at things and experiencing things in a real way. This is about self-trust. I’m going to jump in and I’m going to figure it out myself. We live in a world where things like the food pyramid tells us what to eat and what not to eat. Religion tells us that humans are innately greedy and bad and sinful and that we can’t be trusted. Science tells us that our bodies are not amazing and regenerative, but unreliable and in need of medicine and technology to regulate and improve them. A big part of what I’m saying is—you can be trusted. If you’re like me and feel a need to eat animals, you can trust yourself to eat them. You don’t need some professional to endorse your decision.

What made you start doing this?

For years I ate only humanely raised, very high quality meat—the best I could possibly find. But it would still come just wrapped up cold. And I started wondering if chicken was ever actually a chicken. If pork was actually ever a pig. I realized there’s a big disconnect between the life of the animal and the meat in the grocery store. One of the most shocking things about Death for Food is when you kill something and you remove the fur or the feathers. It starts to look like meat again. But there’s one key difference. It’s warm. The body temperature is warm. I needed that.

Why is that so important?

All meat we touch in a typical American kitchen is cold. When you touch it as you’re eviscerating just after killing it though, it’s warm. There’s still energy—actual caloric heat energy. It just had a heart that was pumping blood. It’s a shattering moment. It looks like meat, but it feels like life. It’s this in-between state. That’s when you associate meat with the live sentient being that it was.

Does the experience end there? Are there repercussions?

I think people come to Death for Food for an initial experience to get them started. We provide participants with resources for procuring locally raised, whole animals and help them meet local farmers and ranchers doing good things. We’re also starting a meat collective in San Diego where people can continue to take classes on slaughter, butchery, charcuterie, etc. It’s not a one-time “Get your Death for Food shot, and you’re good for life!” It’s a highly rewarding path to continue along after the event—to reconnect with the process of your food. On a very basic level, what participants have said about the way they think about and eat meat afterward: More thought, more responsibility, less meat.

Did you expect a protest like the one from Bryan Pease?

No. When I was in Portland, I had significant dialogue with hardcore animal rights activists—guys who have broken into places to set animals free, set fires to places doing animal research. And they were down with Death for Food. They said, ‘If you’re going to eat animals, please take a look. Please be honest with yourselves.’ I actually thought that was what we were going to get. I thought we’d get some heat from people who didn’t understand it, but I could talk to them and explain it.

Did it make you angry? Sad? Vengeful? 

I see Death For Food as a question, not an answer. The Change.org campaign denied people the means to ask that question. I was shocked, because while I know it wasn’t a perfect scenario for animal rights activists—they’d prefer we just don’t kill animals for food at all—my experience has been that it’s a step in the right direction for them. Even though Bryan Pease fundamentally disagrees with what I’m doing on the basic level of killing animals for food, I think he knows I’m not the real enemy. Hopefully someday he will launch a campaign against factory farming and I’ll have his back in that fight. I respect his position that animals have unique personalities and feelings and we should not kill them. I’m not asking him to pat me on the back or anything. Our feelings on fighting animal cruelty overlap in many places but, like he has said, you have to draw a line somewhere. He does, and I respect that.

What sort of people are objecting to the event?

Objections are coming from hardline animal rights activists who believe humans shouldn’t kill animals for food, period. Honestly, I can respect where they’re coming from because I’ve entertained that sentiment myself and still wrestle with it sometimes. One guy told me he signed the petition because he felt like it should be held at a ranch, not a vegetable farm. And you know what? In retrospect, he was right. Suzie’s was not the right venue for Death For Food. From what I can gather, hardline animal rights activists also take the stance that “humane ranching” advocates like myself are even worse than industrialized ranchers because we raise these animals with the same care as pets and then betray their trust when we eat them.

Is this worse?

You really have to ask me that?

Yes.

I don’t think anything could be worse than a factory farm system. It’s hell on earth. The fact remains, though, that I want meat and I want it on what seems like an almost cellular level. I understand the desire to not hurt animals. That’s how this entire project began. For me, the abstinence solution just didn’t work. Treating animals well during their lives—and giving them a quick, as-painless-as-possible death—does work.

What about the more extreme objections to Death For Food? That meat eating is a fundamentally bad thing—both environmentally and health-wise?

Those arguments are based off the factory meat system, with good reason. Death For Food that promotes local, holistic farms that mimic nature and utilize plants and animals to restore functioning, food producing ecosystems. That’s dangerous for vegan activists because it undermines the core arguments of vegan activism. We advocate a deeper connection with food in order to find a resonant system of eating for yourself. Daeth for Food usually results in people eating far less meat, and far healthier meat. We require humane treatment of animals in life and in death both within the project and beyond, when we use our dollar power to purchase ethically produced food. By eating a more reasonable amount of meat and taking part in the process ourselves by sourcing whole animals from local farms, we make healthy meat affordable to all.

And you think activists are threatened by this?

I hope not, because logistically I think a network of local, omnivorous food systems is the only thing that’s going to feed Earth’s population without completely destroying its ecology. I don’t want to hinder any implementation of that by further inflaming the current vegan vs. omnivore fight. This planet evolved over four billion years around local, omnivorous food systems. That’s just what works for us, environmentally speaking. But removing factory farms from the discussion seems to dismantle every pragmatic argument for a wholesale, global conversion to veganism. I can see how that alone could be a catalyst for a whole new round of arguments. The bummer of it all for me is that I’m 95-percent vegetarian. Ironically, it’s this tiny bit of meat I’m fighting about eating.

It didn’t seem like there was a “tiny bit of meat” set to be served at Death for Food. It seemed like a feast.

Right. It was a family-style meal with many different types of local and seasonal produce, fish and meat. But the idea was you could eat as little or as much as you wanted as an exercise in learning to be your own barometer with what you need in your diet. I tried not to talk about that too much because, again, I didn’t want people to come in feeling like they had to take a half a bite of everything and pretend like they were being “good, responsible omnivores.”

Some vegans have argued that no sane person would willingly kill an animal.

With Death for Food, sane citizens experienced responsible animal slaughter and reported that it was challenging but worthwhile. Most of them also decided to continue eating meat, but do so with more responsible parameters. Is that the action of an insane person? Or are certain parts of life merely challenging, and Death for Food attendees are people willing to face that challenge head on.

You say animals are humanely killed at Death for Food. How so?

We use a process where we blood-let very close to the jawline and position the animal so that the first blood that comes is from their brain. We use a razor sharp knife. They lose consciousness in two to six seconds. I’d compare it to when you’re cut with a scalpel and you don’t even know until you see the blood. When done by a professional, the animal doesn’t even realize what happened.

How do you know that’s the best way, for, say, the lamb that you were going to kill at Suzie’s?

That’s advice from holistic ranchers. The other way is to shoot the lamb in the head. But they have such small brains you can easily miss, causing needless pain to the animal. You also destroy the head, which is a lot of food. Stun guns are also controversial. It mostly works, but it can also just hurt the animal and not render them unconscious. I’ve seen the killing process at holistic, small farms and ranches from Washington to Mexico—and the most ideal method I’ve seen is a professional wielding a sharp knife and going for the bloodline close to the brain.

But you’re having regular people kill their own dinner. Not professionals.

We have a very good support staff with a lot of experience. I’m there with you. That’s to keep you and the bird from injuring yourselves. That said, there is potential for it going wrong. I can’t insulate people from that. Life is messy. Even the best, most humane ranchers I’ve ever met will admit it’s not always a perfect process and that occasionally a humane kill goes badly. In America we’ve taken this sort of hyper-sterile, ultra-safety path to everything. I actually see that as part of a larger problem—the refusal to engage with anything dangerous. The process at Death for Food is not only dangerous for the animal—it’s dangerous for the participants. One of those turkeys could easily break your nose with its wing. It could take an eye out with a claw. Death for Food is a larger idea of going headfirst into life and embracing the challenging parts along with the good parts. Typically when we say ‘embrace life,’ we mean hug your neighbor. Well, part of embracing life is embracing the challenging parts, too. Like holding your loved ones’ hands as they die. Not as they ‘pass on.’ As they die. Or spending time with the terminally ill. Whatever you want to do. Embracing life fully means embracing death. Conversely, denying death means denying life.

People have complained about the cost. They’ve said it’s astronomical and accuse you of profiteering.

The max possible sales for the event was $12,900. There were only going to be 75 attendees. And there were only a handful of higher-cost tickets–$200-$300, where people were able to take the morning class to kill their own chickens and turkeys, and take them home for Thanksgiving. Let’s break it down with our projected costs: venue fee ($1,000); food service staff ($2,000); tables/chairs/linens/wares ($2,200); food ($2,500); beverages ($2,500); harvest chickens ($500); harvest turkeys ($1,000); decor ($200); cooking equipment ($750); kitchen staff ($480); lighting ($250); A/V and sound ($200); harvest station construction ($2,000); photo exhibition ($1,000); wood for fires ($150); contributor flight/hotel ($500); menu printing ($200). That’s $17,230 and we hadn’t even yet budgeted security because I wasn’t thinking we’d need it until things got crazy. It’s also worth noting none of the chefs, speakers, or my event coordinator were receiving a cent. They were all doing this for free.

So you would’ve lost over $4,000.

I don’t think so. People support this project. Donations come in, vendors politely refuse payment or give me a big discount to show support. I bet in the end I would have at least come close to breaking even. I guess I just trust life like that.

If this is about education and not profit, couldn’t you silence critics by becoming a nonprofit?

It doesn’t matter to me if Death for Food is labeled a nonprofit. It’s a negative profit. It hemorrhages money.

There were accusations that you weren’t using USDA-approved meat, and that’s partly why the event was canceled because that would be illegal.

My top priority is using the most humane, best meat possible. I wouldn’t put on an illegal event. If there were questions of the legality, I would have properly addressed them.

Have you heard from people who attended the first event and how it affected them?

Dozens. People tell me it changed their lives.

Food is a notorious diva to photograph. The wrong lighting can make José Andrés’ paella look like a jaundiced grain bowl. You could be staring at the best sandwich of your life, but shoot it from above and—hey, congrats on that abandoned piece of lettuce bread. A cottage meme industry has been built around the hilariously bad photos on review sites that make Michelin-star food look like Michelin tires.

Especially in a visual modern media world, food culture depends on great photographers capturing the painstaking work in equally deserving ways. We asked four of San Diego’s top food photographers for their favorite shot from another year of documenting what we eat.

Kimberly Motos

Birdman Sandwich at Chick & Hawk

Getting this kind of shot takes a bit of yoga. Asana yourself into the corner, hold your breath, pray that a chef on the move doesn’t back into your light stand.

“You’re stepping into someone’s workspace during their busiest moments, so it’s a balance of being present to get the shot and being invisible to not slow anything down,” Kimberly Motos says.

The subject here is the Birdman sandwich from Chick & Hawk—hot fried chicken thigh, tangy slaw, kimchi comeback sauce, sweet and spicy pickles, potato brioche bun—getting a hearty dousing of its difference-maker seasoning. Motos captures the parts of the process that diners don’t usually see: the chaos behind something that looks so simple.

Lucianna McIntosh

Oysters + Jewel of the Sea Martini at The Fishery

“I love this image because it feels like a moment you want to step into,” says Lucianna McIntosh. A warm, sunny day at The Fishery in PB with oysters, caviar, and martinis. Yes, please.

The little details—the glass sweating a little, the direct afternoon light creating stark shadows, the oyster glistening on the tray—are the main characters. Instead of trying to overly control the setup, McIntosh “followed the light and lines that draw you in more,” she says. “This was one of those moments where everything lined up on its own for a second. I love it when the shadows end up being just as important as the food itself.”

Eric Wolfinger

Herb-Roasted Golden Chicken at Fleurette

La Jolla native Eric Wolfinger—who won a James Beard Award for Tartine Bread, one of the most stunning bread books of all time—says he doesn’t have a signature style. His style is a conduit.

“I see my job is to translate the chef’s point of view into something you can feel,” he says.

For this shot, Fleurette chef Travis Swikard had one directive: cuisine du soleil (“cuisine of the sun”). With a spread of leeks vinaigrette, herb-roasted golden chicken, and beets, Wolfinger wanted to create a scene that felt straight out of the French Riviera, relaying the light, bright style of Swikard’s new spot.

Some bonus additions here: Extra lights—to add lots of warmth—and a clipping from an olive tree.

Dee Sandoval

Espresso Ice Cream at Lucien

Timing and light are everything in food photography. In Lucien—La Jolla’s tasting-menu-only restaurant with moody ambiance—a single strobe flash creates the ideal spotlight.

Dee Sandoval says she uses the “natural, just-plated energy” of the dish to “create a portrait of moment and craft.” That’s why this Mostra Ghost Bear espresso ice cream—with San José dark chocolate mousse, soy-miso caramel, and koji shoyu chocolate sauce—looks like it might dissolve halfway to your mouth.

I peel myself off my couch, crack my back, and force myself to the bar (23 years old, by the way). It’s a Friday night, and my smart watch is already informing me my body battery is critically low.

Nevertheless, party we must.

Because, to be fair, one of the best things about going out—dive bar, velvet-clad cocktail lounge, or anywhere in between—is the performance of it all. Watching a bartender shake and stir like it’s choreography, finishing the drink with a sprig or petal placed just so, feeling like your collection of mixers and spirits is worth pouring into the Holy Grail.

One of the worst things about going out, though? Being out.

So I thank God for the home bar.

No lines, no cover, no shouting your order over someone named Kyle who just discovered the AMF. No $19 cocktails that taste suspiciously like juice. Just me, my apartment (where I can play whatever music I want), and the quiet confidence of knowing I can make something decent without putting on real pants.

A home bar, I’ve learned, doesn’t have to be impressive. It just has to be intentional—a few bottles you actually like, some tried-and-true tools, and at least one drink you can make without Googling. That’s it. That’s the barrier to entry.

To create the ultimate home bar collection, we tapped the folks at San Diego cocktail supply shop Collins & Coupe to give us some of their recommendations. Pick and choose what you need, and start cocktailing.

The Must-Haves

Shaker Tin

You won’t get very far in your cocktail-making-journey without shaker tins. Boston shakers (two pieces, tin-on-tin) and cobbler shakers (three pieces with a strainer and cap) are the most classic styles, but if you want to avoid the tins getting stuck (or creating a mess on the floor), Boston shakers are the way to go.

Essential: 28-ounce Koriko Weighted Boston Shaker Tin

“Koriko Tins by Cocktail Kingdom are the gold standard for every bar worth their salt. Every new bar we help outfit with tools insists on this brand and model,” says Collins & Coupe co-owner Gary McIntire.

Splurge: Sertodo Solid Copper Boston Shaker Tin Set

“These are handmade, 100 percent solid copper and will last a lifetime,” McIntire says. “Because they are solid, there is no plated finish to wear off, and they will only look more beautiful with age.”

Bar Spoon

According to the pros, don’t even bother getting bar spoons shorter than 12 inches. One foot long is the magic length to get the best stirring results: “Rule of thumb is at least 50 percent of the spoon should be out of the glass,” says McIntire.

Essential: 12-inch Stainless Steel Bar Spoon

Splurge:

Sugar Skull Bar Spoon
Cocktail Kingdom Enamel Lucky Cat Bar Spoon

Strainer

Pulp in your orange juice? We’ll allow it. But in your cocktail? Smooth and strained is optimal. You have two choices here: Hawthorne strainers have a spring that attaches snugly to shaking tins; julep strainers have no tabs or springs (originally created to drink mint juleps before straws became commercially available).

Style Choice:

Bull in China Julep Strainer, Brushed Stainless Steel
Barfly Two-prong Heavy Duty Hawthorne Strainer

Jigger

We’ve all seen those seasoned bartenders with the arm tats and haughty demeanors who can assemble perfect drinks with their eyes shut. The rest of us, however, need training wheels. Jiggers—those hourglass-shaped measuring tools—make consistent cocktail-making easy, although cheap versions tend to be inaccurate. Don’t skimp out on these.

Essential: Superfly Jigger

“Heavy-duty and made of one piece,” McIntire says. “We use [this jigger] in our classes and at home. It comes in a bell-shaped version and a Japanese version, which is tall and narrow.”

Splurge: Bull in China Japanese Jigger, Mother of Pearl

Glassware

“Glassware is always essential to the cocktail experience,” says McIntire. The martini glass is an avatar for American hair-loosening for a reason: sleek, viciously “V,” and highly spillable (danger always looks good). To start, look for a coupe glass (the fancy cat bowl-looking thing), a highball (glassware with posture), and a rocks glass (the blue collar hero).

Style Choice:

Milo Crystal Rocks Glass by Viski
Savage Coupe by Nude Glassware
Meridian Highball with Gold Rim by Viski

The Next Level

Mesh Strainer

You know how Caesar dressing tastes way better when you don’t think about the fact that there are anchovies in it? The same goes for cocktails and raw egg whites. Some of your favorites rely on the frothy ingredient to shine (whiskey sours, gin fizzes, etc.). Mesh strainers help make that magic happen. According to McIntire, always get the conical version; the round, bowl style could cause spills.

Essential: Coco Conical Fine Mesh Strainer by Cocktail Kingdom

Splurge: Fine Mesh 2 Prong Hawthorne Strainer, Stainless Steel

San Diego’s coffee industry has yet to hit its ceiling. There are at least 850 coffee shops across the county (possibly over 1,000 at this point) and more specialty cafes and roasters seem to join the roster every other week. 

Some newcomers, like Chance’s Coffee, focus on specialties like Vietnamese coffee; other stalwarts, like Bird Rock Coffee Roasters, have helped put the local coffee scene on the map with internationally acclaimed beans and baristas for 20 years. You can get a classic pour-over or an ultra, whipped cream–topped strawberry lavender basil blueberry matcha latte sprinkled with unicorn glitter—whatever your coffee style, San Diego’s got it… somewhere.

Steady State Roasting falls more in the former category, focusing on traceable, sustainable sourcing and no-nonsense roasting (no unicorn glitter here, sorry!). Founder and lead roaster Elliot Reinecke first started Steady State in a garage behind his house, roasting small batches until expanding slightly to a shared and not-quite-permitted space before landing in a lucky spot on State Street in Carlsbad. 

Now, eight years later, Steady State is scaling up once more, opening its second cafe in San Marcos next to their roastery. The new location offers the same food and drink menu as the original Carlsbad location, and Reinecke says he plans to add an onsite bakery to bake items like English muffins and country loaves to supplement Prager Brothers’ more specialized pastries. 

He doesn’t plan on opening more cafes, though. Rather, Reinecke plans to expand roasting operations and strategic sourcing. Currently, he sources beans from Colombia, Panama, across Africa, and as of this year, Costa Rica. “We’ve had Costa Rican coffee before, but we went to origin a few months ago and bought six different lots from there, all from really good high-end local farmers,” he explains. 

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The rising cost of sourcing does present some challenges, as does changes within coffee culture itself. Coffee has moved from a mass-market beverage to a highly personalized artisanal experience, but the current feeling is moving back towards focusing on quality over flashiness, says Reinecke. 

If Reinecke’s prediction is right, coffee is headed on a similar trajectory to craft beer. Ten years ago, no one knew what Citra hops were. Now, even casual beer fans are versed in hop varieties, and that attention to detail is spilling over to coffee as well. How many of San Diego’s 1,000 coffee shops will remain once the unicorn glitter’s luster fades? My bet is on anyone remaining steadfast to sourcing, sustainability, and simplicity. 

Steady State San Marcos is now open at 1320 Grand Avenue, Suite #9, San Marcos. Initial operating hours are Tuesday through Saturday, 7 a.m. to 2 p.m. 

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San Diego Restaurant News & Food Events

Beth’s Bites

• Sake lovers would do well to keep September 27 open. The 10-year anniversary of the San Diego Sake Festival is coming to Julep Venue in Mission Hills with over 150 different sakes and shochus from across Japan, plus VIP tickets get special access to unlimited tastings from Michelin-starred Soichi Sushi. VIP opens at 2:30 p.m. and general admission is 3:30 p.m., but early bird tickets are limited to the first 40 people. I mean c’mon, sushi and sake? If you’re even remotely interested in learning more about sake (or already know you’re a fan), this is the event of the year. 
• The uber-luxe spa The Golden Door in Escondido has been rejuvenating guests for over six decades, even winning Best Bathhouse Remodel in our Best of San Diego 2023 for its multi-million dollar overhaul. Now, you can try making the property’s signature nourishing cuisine at home with Chef Greg Frey, Jr.’s debut cookbook The Golden Door Table. There are over 100 recipes ranging from potassium broth to miso black cod, plus desserts, breakfast items, and a ton more to inspire your own wellness journey. The book hits shelves on September 15, but preorders are available now. 
• Love her or hate her, Gwyneth Paltrow has undeniably created a wellness dynasty with Goop, her blog-turned-brand with locations across California. Soon, San Diego will get its own shot of Paltrow-power when the first Goop store opens in One Paseo later this year, followed by an on-campus location at UCSD’s Triton Center. Charge your crystals and send out good energy to the construction and permitting entities…

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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].

Every culture has its own comfort foods—cozy dishes that nurture the soul as much as the body. In the US, dipping a grilled cheese sandwich in a bowl of tomato soup can feel as satiating as pulling a warm sweater out of the dryer. In China, a steaming bowl of congee is basically a miracle remedy for anything you can imagine. I’m pretty sure Italian carbonara could achieve world peace. And in Japan, katsu remains one of the most universally satisfying inventions of the past century.

Katsu was originally invented as a riff on côtelette de veau, the classic French veal cutlet coated with breadcrumbs and pan-fried in butter. In 1899, a Western-style restaurant called Rengatei in Tokyo decided to put their own spin on the dish by pounding the cutlets until thin, then coating them with softer panko and deep-frying versus pan frying (like tempura) for a crispier, lighter, crunchier bite. Today, pork—called tonkatsu in Japanese—tends to be the most common base for katsu.

The dish has yet to achieve the same mainstream status as say, chicken nuggets, in the US. But Little Kiki Katsu & More hopes to change that, when the katsu-focused restaurant opens in Carlsbad on June 15.

Created by the team behind Harumama and Blue Ocean, Little Kiki will focus on premium katsu dishes paired with sake and around a dozen small bites like miso soup, karaage, edamame, and Japanese pickles. Executive chef James Pyo, who co-owns all three restaurants with his wife Jenny, created a menu that features proteins like Berkshire Kurobuta pork, Jidori chicken, salmon, scallops, and dry-aged Pacific cod for the katsu and grilled stone selections. (Note: the grilled stone options will be offered for dinner only.)

The lunch menu includes Japanese-style sandos like a tonkatsu sandwich with pork, housemade bread, and tonkatsu sauce (available regular or spicy). Dessert options are simple to start—yuzu cheesecake, matcha crème brûlée, and mango/yuzu mochi ice cream. The Pyos curated a selection of premium sakes as well, specifically for pairing purposes, as well as offering some beer and cocktails.

Little Kiki, which is named for Jenny’s cat, seats 25-30 guests inside with room for only a few more on the small outdoor patio as well. Designer and assistant Yoojin Jang says the vibe is meant to be warm and welcoming but modern, using colors like olive green, cream, and pops of orange against Japanese-style wood slats.

Initially, Little Kiki will only be open for dinner service, but aims to introduce lunch hours for the grand opening on July 1. Due to the limited seating, Jang encourages guests to make reservations, and while the restaurant will offer takeout, it will not be available on food delivery apps like Uber Eats or DoorDash to motivate guests to come experience it for themselves.  

“Come in curious and leave satisfied,” says Jang. And keep your eyes open for subtle cat motifs—she promises they are hidden all over the place. Whimsy, it seems, is also on the menu. 

Little KiKi Katsu & More soft opens on June 15, 2026 at 2958 Madison Street, Suite 101 in Carlsbad. Hours are Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Sunday from 11:30 a.m. to 3 p.m. for lunch and 5 p.m. to 9:30 p.m. for dinner; Friday and Saturday from 11:30 a.m. to 3 p.m. for lunch and 5 p.m. to 10 p.m. for dinner; closed Tuesday. 

San Diego Restaurant News & Food Events

Beth’s Bites

• The Cygnet Theater in Liberty Station roared back to life last summer and hasn’t slowed down since. Their current show, The SpongeBob Musical, runs through July 12, and anyone who wants to enjoy a meal from a Michelin-recognized restaurant before the curtain drops need only pop next door to Solare Ristorante. The local Italian favorite just nabbed multiple accolades in this year’s Best Restaurants issue (Reader’s Pick for Top Five Restaurants, Critic’s Pick for Best Gluten-Free Menu, and runner-up for Best Wine List in San Diego) and is offering a prix-fixe menu for the show for $59 per person. With choices like “Bikini Bottom Bruschetta” and “Squidward’s Shell City Risotto,” parents and kids can both enjoy a cheeky evening out. 
• It’s the most wonderful time to eat—or at least, it’s coming soon. San Diego Restaurant Week returns September 13 through 20 to celebrate everything delicious the area has to offer for eight gloriously gluttonous days. Over 120 restaurants in every corner of the county will have pre-set menus to showcase their crème de la crème dishes, so at three meals a day, that’s at least 24 meals you can check off your list. But if you decide to go for triple-digits, I certainly won’t judge you. 
• Following Vanguard Culture’s 10-year anniversary dinner series, artist Ben Guerrette will once more take over The Chapel at Liberty Station for Ritual:SOLSTICE, an immersive dining experience to celebrate the summer solstice. On June 20, he’ll light up the chapel with his signature illumination experience, with Riva providing the smooth sounds of jazz, Beth Guerrette and company showcasing their choreography and dance, and Snake Oil Cocktail Company on hand for specialty cocktails. What better way to commemorate the sun’s slow retreat than with an explosion of creative energy to carry you through the next seasons?

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