Imperial Beach Artist Richie Moon’s Perfect South Bay Day

So, Michelin chose San Diego to host its annual awards show tonight. Big thing for our city, which people wrote off as the flaccid mozzarella stick or the “fish tacos bro” of California food culture.

Michelin Guide is a pretty fascinating story. It started as a marketing brochure for a tire company and evolved into the strongest global marketing platform for restaurant culture in history. In 1900, there were less than 3,000 cars in all of France. André and Édouard Michelin were trying to sell tires. A niche market. If people drove more, they figured, tires would go bald faster. They’d sell more rubber.

So they published a guidebook with maps, gas stations, mechanics, hotels, restaurants, and travel advice. The “How to Go Bald” book with food as the bait. By the 1920s, people were buying the guide just for the restaurant recs. In 1926, Michelin introduced stars. Originally just one. Five years later, it expanded to three. One meant “very good restaurant.” Two meant “worth a detour.” Three stars meant “worth a special journey.” Wear those tires down to a nub in search of Dover sole.

By WWII, Michelin was the gold standard guide to French food. And French food was the gold standard for western food. Michelin first came to the US in 2005 to New York only. Knicks in five.

In 2007, San Francisco, followed by LA and Vegas in 2008. Michelin stopped publishing in LA and Vegas after two years and stayed dark from 2011–2017. Major theories for this? First, print is expensive. I can attest. ROI on a printed story is hard. Second, people wanted local critics, and they were finding them online. Third, Michelin landed like a stuffed shirt in LA, which had taco carts in its heart. LA swiped left.

Then Michelin discovered a new way to fund what it does. Instead of trying to sell enough books to justify the cost (inspectors, printing, restaurant bills, etc.), it had tourism boards pay for inspectors to come analyze their cities or states.

Tourism boards are massive organizations whose sole goal is to market the cities and states—attract tourists, who pay for hotels and spend money in the city. Heads in beds. The first to swipe its TMD (tourism marketing dollars) credit card was California, which paid $600,000 in 2019 for Michelin to come back to LA, Orange County, Monterey, Sacramento, Santa Barbara, and… San Diego.

It’s an overwhelmingly positive thing, which is never without its doubters and critics. Namely, not everyone is down with the pay for play model.

The biggest reason is that it means cities without big tourism budgets get left out. Chefs in those cities are chefs non grata in the eyes of Michelin. Which is a fair complaint, though also, sadly or not, kind of how capitalism works. Michelin isn’t a government organization. It’s a publicly traded company with real bills to pay and investors and shareholders to answer to.

Since it feels like a tad of a PR dilemma for Michelin, I have a proposal that may or may not work. What if Michelin took a portion of the money it receives from larger cities and used it to fund its expansion into an underserved city or state that can’t afford it? Bake it into the price it charges California or any other state. Again, Michelin’s not obligated to do this; there is no penalty beyond the paper cuts of our public sentiment. But that sort of pay-it-forward model could help other cities without the resources to play the game.

Second, people claim this TMD-funded model somehow taints the winners. I don’t buy that at all. All tourism boards are doing is paying a marketing business (Michelin) to come operate in their city. They’re not telling Michelin which restaurants to choose for awards. As I understand it, Michelin has retained independence, and its inspectors only award restaurants that they feel are absolutely worth it based on merit.

True pay for play would be if that restaurant paid Michelin in exchange for being awarded a star. Or if a tourism board paid Michelin to come to a city and had a say in which restaurants received attention or awards. I haven’t found any proof of that happening, and so I won’t ding the validity of the awards until (and if) I ever do.

All tourism boards can control is which areas they’re willing to pay to have analyzed. For instance, San Diego could technically ask that only the city be analyzed and not the county. Which it did not, most likely because Visit San Diego (our TMD) is in charge of marketing the entire county (and thus why Michelin stars like Jeune et Jolie, Lilo, and Addison are outside of SD city limits).

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So, if you’re dead set on criticizing Michelin, I’m not sold yet on the pay-for-play model being the right route.

Edna Harper asked for one thing before she died: that the next owner of her iconic Mission Hills home keep the street-facing “garden.” Which is essentially asking the future residents to be curators of a whimsical and obsessive, delightful and strange, classic, cartoony and slightly unhinged sculpture museum. Harper, who died in January at the age of 87, poured her heart into this topiary bonanza, and it’s right there for everyone to see.

Like thousands (or millions, there’s no formal estimation) of others, I had scrolled through the photos of this topiary fantasia before I ever stood in front of it. As of this writing, Harper’s Topiary Garden is No. 227 of 2,686 Things to Do in San Diego on Tripadvisor, making it a popular tourist stop between fish tacos, a day at the beach, and a stroll in nearby Presidio Park. But crowdsourced photos quickly snapped in direct overhead sunlight tend to flatten the shapes that, while meticulously manicured, refuse to behave. In person, Harper’s figures seem to be in motion and, given that they’re sculpted out of bushes, they literally are. (I’d love to see a maintenance timelapse.)

Animals emerge out of shrubs as if they have impish ideas. A fanciful whale, a man in a sombrero, a random spiral twisting skyward, otherworldly creatures that defy categorization—all of these exist together in a neatly trimmed cascade pouring down the steep front slope of the property.

You don’t accidentally end up with a yard like this. You decide to create it and choose to cultivate it, and then you keep deciding and cultivating—for decades.

Although a consistent parade of looky-loos have visited over the years, most have never been inside the home, which is on the market for the first time since Harper and her husband, Alex (who died in 2020), bought it in 1969.

“It was and is a landmark,” says Christopher Delgado, Harper’s cousin and trustee of her estate. “She specialized in Chinese brush art and Japanese art called ‘sumi-e,’ a form of Zen art. She was a creator … she was very, very talented.”

I can’t stop thinking about Harper, sitting at the kitchen window, looking down at her masterpiece and the watchers watching it. The image of Harper enjoying the joy the public took from her handiwork makes me want to understand the woman behind the work. Because topiary, as an art form, has always been a little… loaded.

Topiary has always had a bit of an identity crisis—and that’s part of its charm.

When I think of topiary, I immediately think: Fancy. French bourgeoisie. Palace of Versailles. Mais non! Topiary has its origins in Rome. According to the Center for Architecture, the word “topiary” has its origins in late 16th century English, which combines the Greek word “topos” for place and the Latin word “topiarius” for ornamental gardner.

Topiary started as a flex, really. A Julius-Caesar-adjacent pastime for the most ancient one-percenters; an expression accessible only to those with land, labor (or, put more plainly, enslaved people), and spare time. In its earliest form, topiary was about control: bending nature into submission. It’s where symmetry and precision signaled order, taste, and money.

But with the collapse of the Roman Empire and the Dark Ages that followed, the topiary almost preceded the Dodo Bird in extinction. Monks quietly kept the art alive by growing herbs and manicuring the gardens and hedges within the courtyards of their monasteries.

It wasn’t until the Renaissance nine centuries later when topiary saw a resurgence—ah, Versailles!—and this form of pleasure gardening went into overdrive. Nature became architecture. The French pruned their foliage into iconic cones and obelisks, walls to keep out the riffraff, and ornamentation designed to impress. The Dutch got a little freaky, as they do, and sculpted complicated figures, animals, and even furniture.

Inevitably, the pendulum swung again, and topiary fell out of favor once it became viewed as excessive and even absurd. Even so, it never really disappeared. It just migrated to exist in a completely different paradigm. It was less Versailles and more, “What if this bush were a mouse?”

Fast forward to Disneyland in 1963. That year, the park opened a topiary garden in Fantasyland with verdant sculptures of giraffes, camels, elephants, and hippos all inspired by Denmark’s Tivoli Gardens.

Disney’s interpretation of topiary—which is still a fixture of park decor today—falls more into the realm of imagination and possibility than restrained aristocratic performance.

That’s one of the stranger throughlines of topiary: It moves from elite to everyday, from stiff and formal to playful and silly, from symbol of control to something steeped in personal expression.

Which is what makes a place like Harper’s Topiary Garden so compelling and the woman behind it utterly intriguing.

Born in 1938, Edna Harper was something of a Renaissance woman. She worked for two decades as a dental assistant, and she later became a notable painter, calligrapher, and stained glass artist (the house itself is adorned with her work). But she was also savvy in other ways.

“She graduated [with a degree in dental assisting] from San Diego City College and wanted to have her own money and her independence,” says Delgado. “Most people didn’t know that she was such a great businessperson, and for many years, she managed all of [the couple’s] properties on her own. She was great at building relationships … she touched a lot of people’s lives.”

Her friend and fellow artist Julie Roth attributes her artistry to her relationship with Harper. The pair met two decades ago at an art class at Oasis in Mission Valley.

“She was just the most encouraging person,” Roth says. “I didn’t know I could paint, but apparently I can. She was a tremendous person.”

I asked Roth what she’d want people to know about her friend.

“Her empathy and diplomacy,” she says. “[She had] a sharp eye for other talent. She spotted me, but I’m not the only one she encouraged.”

That sharp eye suggests attention, the same kind it takes to look at a bush and also see a whale. Or a spiral. Or something that doesn’t exist yet, but could.

Nothing about Harper’s life suggests someone chasing attention. And yet, she ended up creating something that demanded hers, and she took great pleasure in seeing people enjoy her creations.

The garden didn’t happen all at once. It grew out of years of travel, observation, and collaboration. Harper often traveled without her husband, always returning from trips to Japan, Thailand, and other parts of Asia with ideas and impressions captured through sketches in a notebook.

“She would get creative ideas from her travels … she’d come back with ideas and pictures, and they’d go about cutting that topiary bush into shape,” Delgado says.

For the past 25 years, she had the help of her gardener, Pedro Duran—who’s still employed by the trust and has maintained the garden since Harper’s passing.

In the early topiary years, Harper worked closely with Duran in what Delgado describes as a kind of shared “labor of love.” She would share her sketches and together the pair would shape the bushes into something deliberate.

“As she got older, she would increasingly draw her ideas and [Duran] would [carry them out],” Delgado says.

That collaboration reinforces that her garden was not an act of control, but one of creative collaboration and translation. From memory to sketch. From sketch to shrub. From something seen, somewhere else in the world, to something rooted in the soil of a steep hillside in Mission Hills.

Harper also made sure that the lawn’s boisterous energy made its way into the house on Union Street. Apparently, she threw legendary parties.

“Fairly regularly, in the late ’70s and ’80s, she would host Super Bowl parties with 200 people. She had TVs everywhere,” Delgado says.

It’s not hard to square that image with the stillness of the garden which, despite the careful pruning and intentional design, is voluminous and nearly vibrating.

And, damnit, I wish I’d watched some sportsball on her shocking number of TVs and wandered out front to the topiary—slightly wine-drunk with an orange smear of wing sauce on the corner of my mouth—to marvel at the leafy hippo and this woman’s elaborately creative life.

I can hear Delgado smiling as we talk on the phone. He’s going back to his childhood, when he talks about being one of the cousins Harper doted on when he visited.

“The adults were inside, and we’d be out in the camper,” he says, “and [Harper] would come check on us, make sure we were okay. She always had gifts for us. If it was Easter, there were chocolate eggs. If it was Christmas, stockings. We were the beneficiaries of them not having kids because they showered us with all their love.”

Knowing this and taking a look at her garden again, you can see it’s not the work of a shut-away curmudgeon. It’s wondrous, inviting, and the right kind of weird.

“Ultimately, she did it for herself and family, first and foremost,” Delgado says of Harper’s Topiary Garden.

Harper’s one request of whomever buys her home may seem like a focus on basic maintenance, about hedges and upkeep and preserving something visually striking. But it’s really about attention. And maybe, too, about legacy. Not hers, per se, but the legacy of community, relationships, art, creativity, possibility, adventure, culture, dedication, and love.

For now, it’s there for anyone to see, and its future is in the hands of whomever comes next.

In a city overflowing with cortados, ceremonial-grade matcha, and ambitious coffee startups, standing out isn’t easy. It’s even harder when your business doesn’t have a fixed address. That’s the challenge (and increasingly, the appeal) of One of One. 

The Filipino-American coffee and matcha pop-up concept is the work of Kristin Cleavinger, a San Diego native who spent nearly a decade working in the Los Angeles specialty coffee business before returning home to build a concept of her own. The business takes its name from Cleavinger’s grandfather Gregorio Magnaye Bolor, who immigrated from the Philippines to the United States in the 1970s with almost nothing, but managed to build a life for him as well as his descendants. 

It’s that sense of grit, perseverance, and identity that Cleavinger says fueled her to build One of One. “Throughout my time in specialty coffee, I was really curious about Filipino representation, because that wasn’t something that I saw,” she explains. She began to research coffee from the Philippines, but considering the island nation only produces about 0.25 percent of the world’s largest producer, Brazil, there wasn’t much to find.

Instead, she turned inward, drawing from her family’s history and her own Filipina-American identity to build something personal.  “To me, this really is a way to honor my family’s legacy—my nanay, Maria Nieves Bolor, and my tatay Gregorio.”

For her drinks, Cleavinger never uses refined sugars, and syrups are made in-house from organic and regenerative ingredients. The Summer Peach latte, the current seasonal special, layers Ceylon cinnamon, unrefined cane sugar, Maldon sea salt, and ripe yellow peaches for a riff on one of summer’s most glorious treats: peach cobbler. Another new drink is Mint Chip, inspired by Thrifty ice cream with a fresh mint syrup, dark cocoa powder, and chocolate chunks with a base of either espresso or hojicha (roasted Japanese green tea with a mild, sweet, earthy flavor and lower caffeine content than other green teas). 

Other crowd pleasers include the signature Neapolitan latte, which is inspired by childhood memories of her family using Neapolitan ice cream to create pan de sal ice cream sandwiches. She layers housemade organic strawberry syrup, Madagascar vanilla bean-infused oat milk, and dark cocoa-swirled espresso for a tricolored beverage experience that she recommends sipping before stirring to taste each layer on its own merit. 

Past specials have ventured deeper into Filipino flavors, like a turon-inspired latte using jackfruit and banana; another was a coconut pandan matcha made with organic coconut water and topped with a pandan matcha cream.

The sourcing decisions behind these drinks are equally deliberate. Coffee comes from Boondocks, a Filipino-owned LA roaster whose founder is originally from National City. Its current offering, the Galleon blend, combines beans from southern Luzon in the Philippines with Chiapas, Mexico—a nod to the communities woven into San Diego’s own cross-border identity. Matcha is sourced through Este, a local San Diego company that works directly with producers in Mie Prefecture, Japan. 

Every supplier is chosen for value alignment as much as quality—Boondocks’ current blend, for example, directly supports women-owned farms. “Each person has the power to choose where they want to put their dollar,” Cleavinger says. 

You can catch her at regularly scheduled pop-ups at places like Olivewood Gardens in National City (every third Saturday), Ayi in South Park’s Summer Series (every Saturday morning in June), and on regular rotation at Home Ec and Best Bud Floral in Kensington. (More dates are listed on Instagram as well.) Cleavinger says she does have plans to launch a brick-and-mortar shop in the future, ideally with an expanded beverage menu, space for art shows, and a community gathering place for local and Filipino-owned makers.

In a crowded field of coffee concepts, One of One shows that a memorable drink can do more than wake you up. It can tell you something about the person behind the idea—who they are, where they’re from, and where they’re going next.

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San Diego Restaurant News & Food Events

Beth’s Bites

• After appearances on Top Chef and Iron Chef Mexico and stints at big-name kitchens like Vaga and Leu Leu, chef Claudette Zepeda just released her debut cookbook Cooking the Borderlands: Spice and Smoke Between Mexico and the States. By deep diving into the cross-border culinary traditions between Mexico and the United States, Zepeda doesn’t just tell the story of food—it’s a story of her upbringing as a self-proclaimed “border kid,” a moniker all-too-familiar to thousands of people who straddle the two countries. It’s a fascinating (and beautiful) book from one of San Diego’s native daughters and well worth picking up. 
• Despite throwing the North County restaurant world into despair at the news that Matsu was permanently closing, we are blessed with the ability to continue enjoying Chef William Eick’s culinary prowess. Eick is now the chef de cuisine at Pacific Point at the Park Hyatt Aviara Resort in Carlsbad, working alongside sushi chef Meljohn Sebastian to design a new Asian-inspired menu focused on seasonality. Matsu may be over (for now), but Eick’s talent is still on full display. 
• Urban Property Group just announced a deal for a new cafe opening in the freshly renovated Five50 West in Little Italy. Café Noelia will open this summer, bringing a slew of coffee, matcha, toasts, and sandos to the ground floor of the building, where (rumor has it) a Japanese speakeasy is also on the way. 
• In the latest twist of the weirdly ongoing story that is Modern Times Beer, its Encinitas location, the Far West Lounge, is no more. The once-renowned local craft beer brand flew too close to the sun during the beverage boom and now, after closures, sales, and corporate splits, only exists with a small handful of the original tasting rooms and as a craft coffee brand (that’s not actually related to the beer side of things anymore).

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There are two types of San Diegans in July: those who have their Pride Festival tickets, and those who wish they’d bought them sooner. Summer in San Diego already feels like a fever dream of sunshine and saltwater, and with Balboa Park turning it up to a level best described as joyfully unhinged, we wouldn’t have it any other way.

That’s right: San Diego Pride 2026 is bigger, louder, and more necessary than ever. From July 18–19, expect a full, unapologetic, flags-everywhere kind of weekend where the city opens its arms and means it. Here’s everything you need to know about San Diego Pride 2026.

When and where is the 2026 San Diego Pride Festival?

The San Diego Pride Festival takes over Marston Point in Balboa Park (6th Ave. & Laurel St.) on Saturday, July 18 (12 p.m. to 10 p.m.) and Sunday, July 19 (12 p.m. to 9 p.m.). 

How much are San Diego Pride Festival tickets?

Buy tickets early because prices go up closer to the weekend. Regular GA is priced at $45 for a single day or $75 for the full weekend. Once Pride Weekend pricing kicks in, that bumps to $48 for one day and $85 for two days. VIP Weekend starts at $269, and if you want a Meet & Greet with Hailie Sahar on July 18 at 2 p.m., tickets are $106. 

Seniors 65 years and older can grab a ticket at the box office for $15, and high schoolers and younger get in free, though they still need to stop by the box office for a ticket before entering. Regular pricing is available through July 17, so don’t wait until the last minute.

What to expect at the festival?

The San Diego Pride Festival isn’t just a typical party. Expect Balboa Park at maximum capacity and maximum heart with five stages, hundreds of vendors, and more joy per square foot than anywhere else in the city that weekend. 

At the heart of it all is the Stonewall Stage, the main event where legends and newcomers alike make their San Diego Pride debut. The Mundo Latino Stage brings Rock en Español, DJs, drag shows, and multicultural performers to the mix. The Movement Stage offers a full celebration of Black LGBTQIA+ arts, music, and culture through hip hop, urban contemporary, and local DJs, plus a Queer Locals Marketplace full of LGBTQ-owned small businesses selling handmade art, wellness goods, literature, community resources, and more. 

For the people who came to actually dance, the Euphoria Stage delivers electronic music and groundbreaking talent. Prism For All is where art, libraries, and history collide, with workshops, performances, and a makerspace hosted by Art of Pride, the San Diego Public Library, and Lambda Archives. And the Youth Zone gives LGBTQIA+ young people their own dedicated area to meet, get creative, play, and find support.

Who is featured on the 2026 San Diego Pride Festival lineup?

The lineup includes: 

Saturday, July 18

• Krewella

Sunday, July 19

• MARINA

Both Days 

• HAYLA
• Altégo
• Wreckno
• Haute & Freddy
• Mad Tsai
• Sam Blacky
• DJ Holographic
• Cortisa Star
• Disco Shrine
• David Harness
• Juliet Mendoza

How can I get involved?

The San Diego Pride Festival 2026 runs on the energy of over 2,000 volunteers every year. With more than 30 departments to choose from, whether you’re a people person, a behind-the-scenes organizer, or just someone who wants to do something good in a great outfit, there’s a spot with your name on it. Head to the San Diego Pride website to sign up.

When and where is the San Diego Pride Parade?

San Diego’s Pride Parade calls the parade “the region’s largest single-day civic event,” drawing more than 250,000 attendees annually. This year it takes place on Saturday, July 18 from 10 a.m. to 3 p.m. and starts at University Avenue and Normal Street. Then it travels west on University Avenue, south on Sixth Avenue, and ends near Balboa Park/Quince Drive.

When and where is the San Diego Pride 5K and Walk?

The Pride 5K Run & Walk is one of the highlights of Pride Week, drawing as many as 1,700 runners and walkers from around the world and raising approximately $40,000 for charity partners San Diego Pride and The LGBT Center’s Youth Housing Project. This year it also takes place on July 18, just a bit earlier at 8 a.m., at the corner of Centre and University Ave in Hillcrest. 

What are pride donations used for?

Of course, buying a ticket is a guaranteed good time, but it’s also funding something real. San Diego Pride is a registered 501(c)(3) nonprofit, and proceeds go toward supporting organizations that host community events, programs, and fundraisers advancing pride, equality, and respect for LGBTQ+ communities locally, nationally, and globally.

That includes virtual youth programming like Pride’s Youth Leadership Academy, which reaches more than 4,000 LGBTQ children and young adults, as well as coalitions like the QAPIMEDA Coalition, Black LGBTQ Coalition, and Latinx Coalition, and more than 30 LGBTQ programs and events throughout the year. 

What items are prohibited at the San Diego Pride Festival?

The prohibited items list is lengthy (no balloons, no selfie sticks, no bubble-making devices, trust us they’ll make up for it elsewhere), but the big ones to keep in mind: clear bags only (max 12″x6″x12″), no outside food, no alcoholic beverages, no glass, no large umbrellas, and no knives or weapons of any kind. Leave the drone at home too. For the full list, head to sdpride.org/entry-policies. 

Check out San Diego Pride’s frequently asked questions page for more details.

I’m a creature of habit. When I go to Petco Park for a Padres game, I order two things without fail: a Swingin’ Friar ale from Ballast Point and a Friar Frank (extra mustard, no ketchup). I might supplement with tri-tip nachos from Seaside Market, or splurge on fancy fish tacos from Deckman’s at the Draft, but there’s no way I’m going to a ballgame without enjoying the classic combo of a beer and hot dog.

But this season, I’m faced with a conundrum. CoCo Ichibanya, the world-famous Japanese curry chain with locations in Convoy District, Los Angeles, Orange County, and Texas, debuted this March at the Mercado near Section 104. I recently attended a game against the New York Mets when I noticed a woman sitting in the row in front of me with a giant helping of chicken katsu curry. I hadn’t seen CoCo’s curry in the wild at the ballpark yet, but the aroma of the crispy fried chicken bathed in savory curry wafting over her shoulder absolutely intoxicated me (and ended up being a nice distraction to the 7-3 loss). Hopefully, she didn’t notice me leering with envy, but I’m 92 percent sure I got some drool on the guy next to me.

The world’s largest Japanese curry chain isn’t done popping up in San Diego quite yet. This July, CoCo Ichibanya will open its second standalone store in San Diego on the ground floor of the Denizen building in Hillcrest.

First launched in Nagoya, Japan in 1978, CoCo Ichibanya specializes in Japanese-style curry dishes, a comfort food signature. Unlike fiery Thai and Indian curry, Japanese curries are often more like gravy, served over rice and alongside katsu pork, chicken, or beef, or as curry omurice (omelet rice). The chain expanded to the United States 15 years ago, and owner Teruyoshi Ono says they’d been eyeing more opportunities in San Diego for some time.

The location in Hillcrest spans 2,585-square-feet with seating for around 49 guests. Menu favorites like the chicken cutlet curry with vegetables, the pork cutlet omelet, and Thai tea will be available, but Ono said Hillcrest will be the first location in the US to offer one major crowd-pleaser: alcohol. And keeping with local baseball fandom, “We will also have Padres x CoCo Ichi limited merchandise at our Hillcrest location,” he promises. 

Ono also revealed that CoCo’s future expansion plans include looking for more locations across Southern California and possibly more in San Diego. While the Japanese yen remains at a historic low against the dollar (making it an absolutely unbeatable time to visit the Land of the Rising Sun), why fly overseas when you can get a taste of Japan in your own backyard—or ballpark?

CoCo Ichibanya Hillcrest is slated to open at 3833 5th Avenue in July.  

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San Diego Restaurant News & Food Events

Beth’s Bites

• Leucadia, gird your loins for a bagel bonanza. New Wave Bagels is ready to sling its sourdough delights in time for the July 4 weekend, promising bagels, breakfast sandos, and a limited sandwich menu until a hard launch on Wednesday, July 8. Maybe we should rename Independence Day to Carbohydrate Day? 
• First a Michelin star, now number one—Carlsbad’s darling Lilo was just named the number one restaurant in the US by Robb Report, the luxury lifestyle site (which coincidentally happens to be owned by Penske Media Corp., the new owners of Vox Media and Eater as of today). What can’t John Resnick and Eric Bost do??
• B’s Bodega, a New York-inspired deli and convenience store inspired by the late Brandon Zanavich of The Friendly, is slated to open later this year. But before it does, you can get a taste of the Big Apple energy on June 27 at Bock in South Park, when the B’s team will be on hand hosting their first sandwich pop-up. Sneak a peek of what’s to come and grab a beer while you’re at it.

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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].