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Word-of-mouth keeps these lowkey spots thriving without viral videos or PR
Walking inside Fidel’s Little Mexico in Solana Beach is like wandering into a House of Leaves–esque vortex, where the interior feels bigger than the exterior. Hallway after hallway leads to stairwells, random dining rooms, occasionally a bathroom through a seemingly unmappable rabbit hole. Thinking back, it’s likely I’ve never been to Fidel’s with fewer than six family members. It’s also completely plausible that we’ve never sat at the same table twice.

Fidel’s opened in 1960, and the original owner, Fidel Montanez, runs it to this day. The restaurant’s famous, gloriously bulging smothered burritos taste the same today as they did last week as they did last year as they did in the ’60s. My son eats the same tacos I gobbled down as a teen. Nostalgia is one potent emotion, and, for me, Fidel’s provides it in spades. In an age when the average restaurant lifespan ranges from eight to 10 years, it’s managed to last. How?

Places like Fidel’s don’t have Instagram accounts or weekly email newsletters carefully curated by a public relations firm. They’re the joints you drive by every day on your commute until one day, during a commercial break on 91X, it occurs to you to wonder, “How long has that place been there?” and, then, “How on earth does it stay open?” Maybe it makes you intrigued enough that, on your way home, you take that exit, and you step inside.

Such curiosity recently got the better of me. Sandwiched between a fishing supply shop and a smog inspection garage is Volare Italian Dining, a family-owned eatery open since 1978. I’ve passed the unassuming building in Point Loma dozens—if not hundreds— of times on my way to Pechanga Arena and Liberty Station, and I’ve long wondered what garlicky treasures lie inside the walls that so badly need a fresh paint job. One night, family in tow, I decided it was time to find out.
After wedging my car into a spot in the very crowded parking lot at Squidco bait shop next door, I walked into a time capsule—clearly, interior design is not a priority at Volare, but it works.

“People don’t go here because they want to have a five-star dining experience,” laughs owner Antonella Pascucci, née Sanfilippo. “But that’s the charm of it. It’s a fine line between ‘I want to do some updates’ [and] ‘I don’t want to lose the old-school vibe.’”
Pascucci’s uncles Alfio and Onofrio Sanfilippo opened Volare in the ’70s, running the restaurant as partners until they returned to their native Sicily 20 years later. Their sister Anna, Pascucci’s mother, took the reins, and it’s remained in the family ever since. Now, Pascucci handles the day-to-day and hopes that, one day, her own children will take over the business.

That history is visible inside. Terracotta-colored walls showcase crinkled photos and mismatched paintings over an industrial-gray carpet, worn down over decades of service. None of the plates match, and there’s one beer on draft, $13.95 for a pitcher.

Food prices have hardly soared with the times, either. Pascucci says they’ve rarely had to increase prices until recently, thanks to a longtime affordable rent agreement with their landlords at Squidco, another multi-generation, family-owned business. “I literally have raised prices probably three times this year, because of the fact that my mom had prices from, like, 1992,” she laughs.

It’s still a screaming deal—my linguini with clams cost a whopping $15.95 and easily serves two. You can feed a kid for less than 10 bucks. A glass of wine is $7.
Despite the family’s disinterest in traditional advertising, decades of word-of-mouth referrals have proved to be enough to keep loyal regulars coming back again and again and again. Just don’t look for them on delivery apps. “My focus is my customers that are in the restaurant,” Pascucci says. The kitchen is tiny, and, frankly, they don’t need the added stress.

Speaking of stress, soon after my visit to Volare, I find myself gritting my teeth as my car scrapes and bounces its way along the crumbling stretch of University Avenue from Rolando Park to City Heights. “This food better be worth it,” I whisper to myself.
But once I step inside the 600-or-so-seat Chinese banquet hall at City Heights’ Diamond Palace resplendent with glittering chandeliers; Chiavari chairs; and white-tableclothed tables piled high with pan-fried potstickers, shrimp siu mai, and steamed pork buns—the intense salivation prompted by the glorious scents helps wash my irritation away. Aromas of scallions, chili oil, roasting meat… my olfactory glands are working overtime.

Michael Tran is one of the four partners behind Diamond Palace, which opened in 2022. It’s hardly a new endeavor for the longtime restaurateur—he’s worked in restaurants for the better part of 30 years, 23 of them as general manager at another San Diego dim sum giant. That experience helped him launch what he believes is the biggest (and best) dim sum restaurant in the county.

He points to the menu, each item accompanied by a picture. “[Ordering is] very easy,” he promises, even for first-timers. While the restaurant does get plenty of Chinese guests, he says City Heights’ heavily international neighborhood brings in diners from all over the world, including many refugees and immigrants from Somalia, Cambodia, and Vietnam.
“Weekdays, we’re not that busy. You can show up with 20 people, no problem,” Tran says. But on weekends or holidays, the dining room often fills up for both lunch and dinner, especially when a private party books the adjoining room that can be sectioned off.

Dim sum is always available, as is the regular kitchen menu with dishes like Peking duck and salt-and-pepper shrimp. To get the most out of your visit, Tran encourages guests to order a variety of options without fear. Don’t like one? “Don’t worry, I’ll take it back,” he promises. “I’ll make it simple, easy.” He doesn’t let me leave empty-handed, and I show enormous self-restraint not scarfing down all of the steamed custard buns before leaving the parking lot.
Of San Diego’s estimated 11,000 restaurants, only a small fraction of them ever appear on a TV show or the pages of a glossy magazine. Many of them have managed to survive, against all odds, without viral videos or even reliable hours. Even the most adventurous eaters can fall prey to new restaurant FOMO I’m guilty of it. But it’s worth exploring those quiet spaces built not on the backs of giants, but grandparents and dreamers. These restaurants provide more than food. It’s a legacy. And it tastes great.
Beth Demmon is an award-winning writer and podcaster whose work regularly appears in national outlets and San Diego Magazine. Her first book, The Beer Lover's Guide to Cider, is now available. Find out more on bethdemmon.com.
The new Hawaiian- and Japanese-inspired cafe will serve locally caught bluefin, fresh spring rolls, housemade sauces, and plenty of matcha
Not all monsters have to be scary. In fact, entrepreneur Pinyada “Ada” Primpray’s is delightful. Sea Monster, a small cafe that will serve poke bowls, fresh spring rolls, and matcha, will open in Mission Valley by the end of the year.
“The concept is a Hawaiian- and Japanese-style cafe,” Primpray explains. She calls it Sea Monster in homage to her friend’s popular restaurant Big Monster Sushi & Thai in Hawaii, but “the idea really started to take shape after I came back from a solo trip to Italy,” she says. The experience inspired her to start her own concept that mixed her culture, experience, and passion for food.
Sea Monster will be her first restaurant as an owner, but Primpray has worked in restaurants for 15 years in places like Kauai, Chicago, New York, and San Diego. She realized a similar health-conscious, seafood-forward, quick-service restaurant could work here, especially in that corner of Mission Valley where pizza and burgers reign. Plus, she points to the massive development plans for the area—between Riverwalk bringing thousands of new homes to the area and even more coming from San Diego State University, there are lots of new locals looming on the horizon.
She brought on Head Chef Wasu Gibb Palipote from Sushisamba in Los Angeles to develop the menu and signature sauces, like ink wasabi and a larb sauce. “Every couple of months, we plan to introduce a new signature sauce created exclusively for Sea Monster by [Chef Palipote],” she says. All the sauces will be homemade, including a basil creamy sauce and sesame vinegar.

Sea Monster’s menu centers around fresh poke bowls—mostly locally-caught bluefin tuna and hamachi as well as salmon, served California-style rather than Hawaiian-style (the sauces are added to order rather than marinating on the fish, which can overpower its flavor). Toppings will range from the usual, like edamame and green onion, to upscale, like uni (sea urchin). She’ll also serve fresh salad rolls, a popular light snack in Vietnam and her native Thailand, with vegetables and seafood like salmon, shrimp, and imitation crab. Everything will be served to-go, although there will be very limited seating for people who want to dive in right away.
The matcha program will start small, with six iterations planned for opening and potentially more in the future. “I really want to have mango sticky rice,” she adds. Beyond adding items to the menu, Primpray says she hopes Sea Monster will be more than a restaurant. “I want it to grow into a lifestyle brand with its own little world,” she says, pointing to the restaurant’s mascot, Smoo. A monster with aspirations of growing bigger and bigger until it takes over? Yeah, sounds about right.
Sea Monster will open daily for lunch and dinner in late 2026 at 6110 Friars Road in Mission Valley.
Listen Now: The Latest in San Diego’s Food and Drink Scene
Have breaking news, exciting scoops, or great stories about new San Diego restaurants or the city’s food scene? Send your pitches to [email protected].
Beth Demmon is an award-winning writer and podcaster whose work regularly appears in national outlets and San Diego Magazine. Her first book, The Beer Lover's Guide to Cider, is now available. Find out more on bethdemmon.com.
Kuya Sharpens owner Joshua “Jhun” de Andres turned a meditative practice into a business caring for prized kitchen knives—one whetstone at a time
“A sharp knife is a safe knife,” says Joshua “Jhun” de Andres, owner of Kuya Sharpens. It only takes a light touch to guide a properly-sharpened knife, while dull knives require much more force to cut through an object, increasing the likelihood and severity of an injury. “If you slip, that’s a lot of force that is now going into your finger, your hand, and that’s where it becomes extremely dangerous.”
De Andres started sharpening knives as a meditative practice during a time of personal grief, a way to zone in on a task with a useful and satisfying outcome. “[It was a] reminder to myself that you can fix something that’s broken and give it purpose again.” Once he ran through his own collection of knives, he started asking friends and family if he could sharpen theirs. When he’d sharpened everyone’s knives he could think of, he started posting videos on TikTok, where his first professional chef customer found him: Chef Tanner Stanich, chef de cuisine at Michelin-recognized Bib Gourmand Mabel’s Gone Fishing.

“That’s when things really started to take off,” he laughs. He uses whetstones rather than motorized belt sanders to sharpen, which gives him the ability to make microadjustments during the process for a more customized and controlled result. Whetstones also preserve steel more efficiently than other mechanical processes, which are faster, but take off more of the knife’s edge in exchange, reducing the lifespan of the knife.
Learning how to master whetstones takes a lot of time and practice, and while de Andres specializes in sharpening Japanese knives, he’ll sharpen a knife from anywhere. “Every knife deserves to be sharp,” he says.
Japanese kitchen knives are designed for extremely specific purposes: there’s a knife to break down a fish (deba), cut through boneless raw fish for sushi and sashimi (yanagiba), slice vegetables (nakiri), carve meat (sujihiki), debone poultry (honesuki), and even knives only the executive chef can use (kiritsuke). Few other culinary cultures utilize such ultra-specialized tools, and Japanese steel is prized for its extreme hardness and ability to maintain a razor-thin edge for decades when properly cared for.
De Andres is still figuring out different ways to expand his business: hosting workshops at Home Ec on Adams Avenue, creating knife restoration tutorials, and launching private lessons, all while continuing to sharpen knives people bring to him or even send from across the country. And he knows that for both home cooks and professional chefs, sharpening a knife that may have cost hundreds of dollars on a whetstone can feel overwhelming. Will I ruin it? Will I break it?
“You’re most likely not going to break it,” he promises. “But you are going to make it yours, and you have to kind of be okay with that.” Knives age and change just like humans do. Sharpening is an essential part of maintenance, and shaving away the dull edges to restore a shine takes care. And de Andres cares a lot.
“It’s just been really life-giving to me,” he says. “I know it seems really silly that taking a knife and putting it on a whetstone can change your perspective on how you view the world, but for me, it came to me at a time when I needed it most.”

Listen Now: The Latest in San Diego’s Food and Drink Scene
Have breaking news, exciting scoops, or great stories about new San Diego restaurants or the city’s food scene? Send your pitches to [email protected].
Beth Demmon is an award-winning writer and podcaster whose work regularly appears in national outlets and San Diego Magazine. Her first book, The Beer Lover's Guide to Cider, is now available. Find out more on bethdemmon.com.
Check out the stacked lineup of talent participating in this year’s celebration of food, cocktails, wellness, and SoCal energy
Tickets to the Del Mar Wine & Food Festival get you in the door. The real fun is figuring out who you’ll run into once you’re there. This year’s weeklong schedule of exclusive events, running September 30–October 4, includes dinners, tastings, and loosely-supervised chaos where celebrity chefs and local icons finally let their hair down.
The festival has a track record of the unexpected: Bryan Cranston and Aaron Paul once toasted their mezcal brand Dos Hombres with an intimate dinner at the Lodge at Torrey Pines (and then, evidently unsatisfied, kept drinking it on the cliffs above Blacks Beach with a rotating cast of San Diego and Food Network chefs. Alex Morgan showed up for a dinner under the lights honoring the country’s most badass women chefs). Drew Brees ran a celebrity pickleball tournament where the guy from It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia got absolutely humbled by locals.
If you scored a ticket to last year’s Grand Tasting, you might’ve caught Guy Fieri doing exactly what Guy Fieri does: strolling the grass, signing t-shirts and foreheads, and hanging off the DJ surf van like it was built for him. Meanwhile, local chef Ethan Yang of Glass Box walked off with the Chef Competition surfboard.
So whether your plan for 2026 is to corner legendary San Diego chefs like Victor Jimenez of Cowboy Star and Jon Sloan of Juniper & Ivy in person, or just aim for a spontaneous golf cart ride with a Food Network star—here’s your cheat sheet for where to run into a celebrity chef, TV personality, award-winning winemaker, or pro athlete at this year’s Del Mar Wine & Food Festival.

Consider this your soft landing into festival week—the walk-around tasting that eases you in before things get chaotic later on. Monarch Ocean Pub hands its patio over to the flavors that define San Diego eating: Baja seafood done right, coastal bites, Mexican flavors with some heat behind them, all the staples locals will fight you over.
The celebrity sightings here lean more “bump into” than “spot from across the room.” Troy Johnson—Food Network judge, San Diego Magazine chief content officer and co-owner, Emmy-winning host, a man who has eaten his way across the entire country professionally—is the type to materialize at whichever station has the longest line, because he already knows it’s worth the wait. Ask him what he’s had so far. He’ll have opinions.
Then there’s celebrity pastry chef Karen Krasne, owner and executive pastry chef of Extraordinary Desserts, James Beard House alum, and a woman Forbes once ranked among the top 10 pastry chefs in the country—which tracks, because you might find her holding court next to a tray of her roasted pecan shortbread dipped in white chocolate, explaining exactly why this is the flavor combination. You will listen to every word, too, because you’ll want to try that cookie.
This is an opening night party where the person next to you in line might just be the one who baked the thing you’re about to eat.

Fifty years ago, a Napa Chardonnay beat France at its own game and rewrote what the world thought it knew about wine. This dinner is that legacy, poured by the family who built it, course by course.
Under the arches at Fairmont Grand Del Mar, Ernie Hahn and the Hahn family, who partnered with the Barretts to revive Chateau Montelena into the Napa powerhouse it is today, host an evening built entirely around the winery’s most iconic pours. Every course gets its own pairing straight from the Montelena portfolio, so you’re not just hearing about the Judgment of Paris, you’re tasting the wine that started it.
Chef Mawa McQueen, a former James Beard Best of the West winner out of Aspen, brings globally inspired cuisine and serious technique to the table. Alongside her, Fairmont Grand Del Mar’s executive chef Bryn McArthur leans into farm-to-table sensibility shaped by a career of global kitchens. Together they’re building a menu meant to hold its own against wine that already changed history once.
This is the rare dinner where the wine isn’t just accompanying the meal, it’s the reason the meal exists. Fifty years after Paris, the rematch is happening right here in Del Mar.

Isabella Dallas is a freelance writer for San Diego Magazine and the Arts and Culture Editor at The Daily Aztec in her final year at San Diego State University. She previously worked as an editorial intern for SDM, but when she’s not writing, you can find her trying the best coffee spots in SD, devouring the latest rom-coms, and indulging in anything and everything pop culture.
The 29-year-old culinary director at Herb & Sea is making seafood sexy (and approachable) again
Implementing a farm-to-table model hardly deserves acknowledgement these days. It’s not a stretch. It’s not innovative. “It’s the bare f**king minimum,” says Herb & Sea‘s executive chef Aidan Owens.
When I arrive at the Encinitas restaurant, I’m ready to talk sustainability, farm-to-table stuff, with Owens. “Did you see the chin on that?” he says of the extra big jiggly chin on the sheephead that just arrived with the day’s fresh catch. I did. It was Jay Leno adjacent.
I learn quickly that he somehow oozes both charm and stone-cold honesty. Maybe he could construct a new dish with chin goo, like he did when he had a bunch of tuna scraps and voila’d it into a smooth and crowd-pleasing ‘nduja. “I want to know what’s in there,” he says.

The instinct to look closer, to dig into what others might discard, says a lot about the chef’s approach. I guide him back to our topic, but he has something else on his mind. “We’re overcomplicating food—what happened to just cooking good food and having fun with it?”
Owens grew up on a farm in Byron Bay, Australia, where sustainability wasn’t a concept you chat about so much as a way of life. Think dirt roads, backyard chickens, pulling vegetables straight from the ground, and a mother who believed that if you couldn’t pronounce the ingredients on a package, you shouldn’t eat what was inside.
Food wasn’t precious or performative. Making it was what you did because you were hungry and that’s still what inspires Owens today. “I like to cook good food because I like to eat good food,” he says.
His approach to sustainability at Herb & Sea began so naturally that it felt just like instinct. “I was just like, ‘Let’s order food from the people who live and work here,’” he says.

And why wouldn’t he when lives in San Diego? Cities all over the world vie for our goods. Our tuna is sent overseas. Our spiny lobsters hit dinner plates in China and Japan. Not to mention California’s producing a third of the country’s vegetables and three-quarters of its fruits and nuts.
“Why would we outsource when it’s all here?” Owens asks.
Sustainability, in this context, is about cooking what exists in abundance, nearby, right now. “I love the local fish here. It’s f**king delicious and San Diego citrus, I mean, it is so f**ing good,” he says.
Instead of importing ingredients, Owens also looks for nearby alternatives. “You can find really cool things in the local waters,” he says, pointing out that stingray cheeks taste similar to scallops.

Whatever he finds in that sheephead chin might just be the next substitute for marrow. But to make this work, it means getting diners amped up about the slightly unfamiliar.
Tasting menus, where diners are completely in his hands, become an opportunity to gently push boundaries. “I’ll serve mackerel, because people think they hate it,” Owens says, noting that the abundant local fish can have some fishiness. “But when it’s fresh, it’s arguably one of the best fish in the ocean.”
He also tweaks the language on the menu so people might feel more compelled to give dishes a try without preconceived notions. He might use “lengua” instead of “tongue.” “Whelk” instead of “snail.” When he puts “stingray throat” on the menu, he disarmingly calls it “skate.”
To reduce waste, scraps aren’t always discarded but rather turned into something new. Sometimes they’re smoked, cured or fermented. Apples going bad turn into apple ponzu. Lemons turn to marmalade, which stretches their usefulness far beyond peak season. “And it’s super tasty on our pizza,” he says.
What makes the food even richer, is the relationships he’s built with farmers. Though it didn’t always feel natural, Owens sought personal connection first. He recalls approaching a fisherman at the Tuna Harbor Dockside Market. “I was awkward,” he says. “I went up to him and said, ‘I like your fish.’”
Owen’s is now so close to his suppliers—like fishermen Ryan Sebo and Joe Daly—that he gets texted pictures of fresh catches right as they flop on the boat. The messages always ask if he wants first dibs. “I say yes to a lot of fish,” Owens says, noting that Herb & Sea can go through 2,000 pounds of seafood a week.

The next evolution of sustainability, in his view, will be chefs working directly with producers such as his alliance with Sebo, cutting out middlemen and purveyors where possible. “It will put more money in the pockets of the people doing the work,” he says.
It will mean that chefs can’t just know their local farmers and producers, but they’ll choose to work with the ones who have the best practices. Dining and sustainability will become much less about the final plate. “It will be more about the impact that plate has on the Earth,” he says.
Ultimately, he believes sustainability doesn’t need to be loud. It doesn’t need hashtags. It just needs to be honest.
“We aren’t saving lives. We’re feeding people good food,” he says.
And yet, in feeding people well—simply, thoughtfully, responsibly—something meaningful happens. Guests leave satisfied. Ingredients are respected. Local ecosystems are supported and food returns to what it has always been at its core: nourishment, pleasure, and a quiet reflection of the place it comes from.
No buzzwords required.
Surf’n Slaw founder Kumi Alexander is introducing local farmers market crowds to okonomiyaki, the savory Japanese pancake she grew up eating
After 15 years married, my husband and I tend to agree on most things. But there’s one argument we both refuse to bend on—I prefer okonomiyaki Osaka-style, and he’s a die-hard Hiroshima-style devotee. (To be fair, we both adore both styles, but at this point, it’s just fun to have a low-stakes disagreement.)
Okonomiyaki is one of Japan’s greatest comfort foods, a savory pancake that’s about the size of a DVD, if you aren’t too young to know what that is. It’s not terribly hard to make—it’s flour, eggs, dashi stock or water, and a whole heap of shredded cabbage, plus optional fillings like green onions, pork belly, or bonito flakes, all cooked fresh on a flat top griddle. Drizzle some kewpie mayo and okonomiyaki sauce on top, and you’re hot to go.
However, it’s not easy to make well, and as you now know, people have capital-O Opinions about Osaka-versus-Hiroshima. Hiroshima-style layers the ingredients one by one rather than mixing them together, adding a layer of soba or udon noodles and topping it all off with a fried egg. For Osaka-style, all the ingredients are mixed together and then cooked on the griddle, so every bite includes every ingredient in a hodgepodge of deliciousness. (One Osaka variation called modan-yaki does include soba noodles mixed in the batter, but they’re not traditionally used in that regional version.)
Despite a childhood spent in Osaka, Japan, Kumi Alexander specializes in making Hiroshima-style okonomiyaki. “Okonomiyaki has been part of my life for as long as I can remember,” she explains. “My parents ran their own business when I was growing up, so Saturdays were often busy, and okonomiyaki was one of my mother’s go-to lunches because it was simple and easy to make.”
Alexander came to San Diego seven years ago with a desire to bring a part of her culture with her—not just a product, but a feeling. “When I thought about what could do that, the answer was almost obvious: okonomiyaki,” she says.
She originally launched Surf’n Slaw as a mobile pop-up food stand in August 2025, offering what Alexander calls Japanese-meets-California okonomiyaki. “Our full Surf’n Slaw includes cabbage, noodles, umami dough, beef, shrimp, and vegetables,” she explains. The menu also has a “Green Wave Slaw,” an Osaka-style version that can be made vegan and gluten-free, as well as matcha drinks.
Currently, Surf’n Slaw pops up at farmers markets in North Park, Scripps Ranch, Hillcrest, La Jolla, and La Mesa, as well as other local markets and community events. Eventually, she may expand to a permanent location, but that’s a future goal. And while Alexander hopes that one day okonomiyaki will be as well-known to American audiences as ramen or sushi, for now, she’s just happy to share a bit of home with San Diego.
Listen Now: The Latest in San Diego’s Food and Drink Scene
Have breaking news, exciting scoops, or great stories about new San Diego restaurants or the city’s food scene? Send your pitches to [email protected].
Beth Demmon is an award-winning writer and podcaster whose work regularly appears in national outlets and San Diego Magazine. Her first book, The Beer Lover's Guide to Cider, is now available. Find out more on bethdemmon.com.
San Diego entrepreneur Kenji Blouin-Ito is turning a tiny Uptown Inn space into a destination for bentos, coffee, snacks, and more
Tokyo unquestionably holds the title as one of the best, if not the best, food cities of the world. But despite the plethora of Michelin-starred kaiseki restaurants and hole-in-the-wall ramen joints, you’d be remiss in walking past glowing signs beckoning you to enter one of the 56,000-plus konbini across the country.
Konbini cafes like Lawson’s, FamilyMart, and 7-Eleven may look like run-of-the-mill convenience stores, but convenience store culture is a completely different animal there. Absent are the sad, floppy hot dogs sizzling sweatily on a rotating wheel of misery. Instead, konbini are stocked with a bevy of hot and cold drinks in every imaginable flavor, meals like tamago sandos (Japanese egg salad sandwiches) and prepacked bento boxes, snacks like onigiri (handheld triangles of rice and seaweed, often filled with fish or pickled plum), and even limited-edition merchandise (not unlike Wawa’s line of merch).
Soon, Hillcrest will get a taste of konbini culture. Hako Hako opens in front of Uptown Inn by Vantaggio, next to Ramen Ryoma, in early 2027.
Kenji Blouin-Ito, a half-Japanese, half-French San Diego native grew up eating Japanese food at home and during trips across the Pacific. “I remember looking forward to eating bentos on the train,” he says, grabbing quick items to munch on without sacrificing quality or succumbing to cost. When in France, he saw a rise of appreciation for casual Japanese cuisine, “long before it happened here.”

So he decided to bring it here. After AB 626 passed in 2018 to allow different jurisdictions to permit Microenterprise Home Kitchen Operations (MEHKOs), Blouin-Ito joined Foodnome, the first legal marketplace for homemade food in the US, as a co-founder. Eventually, the national nonprofit The Cook Alliance took over the project, leaving him open to the next new idea but with the experience of running a food-based business.
“That experience changed how I think about food, not just what makes it good but what makes it work,” he explains. Bento boxes felt affordable in a time of inflation, convenient in a bustling world, and versatile to a variety of palates. When he got the chance to open a konbini himself, he went for it.
His family runs Uptown Inn, a mix of apartments and hotel rooms that’s seen increased food traffic over the past few years. “We had a small space in front of the building that wasn’t being used, and it just made sense,” he says. Hako means “box” in Japanese, a reference to both bentos and small space from where he’ll sling freshly made bentos, coffee, drinks, pastries, snacks, and a small retail selection.
Hako Hako will initially open for morning and afternoon hours, but you don’t have to wait until next year to get a taste of Japanese culture. Blouin-Ito’s concept is popping up at various coffee shops around San Diego, with a few coming up: Easy Does It on September 19 and Cafe Moto on October 17. Until then, practice the art of gaman: patience with grace.
Hako Hako opens at 819 University Avenue in Hillcrest in early 2027.
Listen Now: The Latest in San Diego’s Food and Drink Scene
Have breaking news, exciting scoops, or great stories about new San Diego restaurants or the city’s food scene? Send your pitches to [email protected].
Beth Demmon is an award-winning writer and podcaster whose work regularly appears in national outlets and San Diego Magazine. Her first book, The Beer Lover's Guide to Cider, is now available. Find out more on bethdemmon.com.
San Diego Magazine's Private School Guide 2026
NewBridge School is San Diego’s only school dedicated to the education of students with dyslexia and related learning profiles. For 30 years we have successfully served students with dyslexia, dysgraphia, dyscalculia, receptive/expressive language disorders, ADHD, executive functioning and memory deficits. Students transition successfully into academically rigorous high schools and colleges across the country. Why NewBridge? Training, training, training (plus intensive individualization, and comprehensive program design). All teachers are trained and retrained biennially in Orton-Gillingham, the only approach proven to remediate dyslexia based on Science of Reading research, and complete a year-long training program. Every aspect of our program is designed around our students’ learning styles and needs. Every class is taught by a highly-trained expert, and our Speech/Language and Occupational Therapy teams embed throughout the day. Our multisensory, multi-tiered math program has been developed in conjunction with sister schools and experts across the country. Don’t wait—early intervention is magic!
Enrollment: 100
Grades: K – 8
Tuition: $30,000
Deadline: Rolling
Gender: All-inclusive
Details Nonsectarian
Open House Tours by appointment

12285 Oak Knoll Road • Poway, California 92064
858-679-5744 • [email protected] • thenewbridgeschool.com