Ruth-Ann Thorn

Rincon tribal member Ruth-Ann Thorn is a fixture in the art world. She recently produced and hosted a television travel series called This is Indian Country, which premiered on FNX in November. Her show features contributions of native people throughout the country. Playing off the show’s formula, we asked her to spotlight local indigenous movers, shakers, thinkers, and creators.

Ruth-Ann Thorn

Rincon Band of Luiseño Indians

Last April, Ruth-Ann Thorn stepped down after seven years as Chair of the Rincon Economic Development Corporation, but, if anything, her efforts to preserve and promote Native enterprise have only expanded. For one, the longtime owner of Solana Beach’s Exclusive Collections gallery has doubled down on her passion for art and culture to co-found Imprint Art, a global art registry that employs blockchain technology to protect intellectual property rights of creative workers.

She views this as having particular value to Native artists and craftspeople whose work has historically been co-opted by corporate brands, one reason Imprint has been embraced by the organizers of the Santa Fe Indian Market, the annual marketplace that’s been a national showcase for Native arts and crafts for 100 years. Meanwhile, Thorn produces and hosts a new TV travel series, This is Indian Country, where she explores indigenous communities across the U.S., highlighting creators who make a cultural impact, such as Minneapolis chef Sean Sherman, whose indigenous cuisine has established his Owamni as James Beard’s reigning best new restaurant.

The 12-episode series launched in November on the First Nations Experience television network, FNX, also home to Thorn’s previous artist docuseries, Art of the City. “For all cultures, art is what tells the story of who we are as people,” says Thorn. “It’s especially important for our culture because of the dwindling number of people. At some point art may be the only thing that will tell that we were really here.”

Jamie Okuma

Luiseño, Shoshone-Bannock, and Wailaki

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Working out of her home on the La Jolla Reservation at Palomar Mountain, artist and fashion designer Jamie Okuma has achieved international acclaim for her work, which has appeared in the pages of Vogue and InStyle magazines and within permanent collections of museums, including the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the Smithsonian. Both in technique and form, Okuma draws inspiration from her Luiseño, a.k.a. Payómkawichum culture and territory, with much of her output based on astonishing and intricate beadwork.

It’s a medium she’s been careful to cultivate, beginning with antique beads she began collecting at an early age. “The type that I use are very, very scarce,” she explains, “almost impossible to find these days.” Their quality may be most evident in designer boots and shoes by the likes of Christian Louboutin and Casadei, which Okuma painstakingly resurfaces with striking animal imagery and geometric patterns.

However, it’s also behind her limited-edition fashion collections, as Okuma digitally captures her beadwork to create breathtaking custom prints behind distinctive jacket, dress, and wrap designs. All the clothes are sold directly through the artist’s website and are quick to sell out, so her socials are a must-follow if you want to be ready when a new collection drops. That could be once, or three times per year, depending on forays making jewelry, dolls, or commissioned artworks.

“My art is at the core of everything that I do,” Okuma says. “It’s just whatever takes over at the time.”

Marc Chavez

Marc Chavez

Nahua

“There are a lot of challenges to go surfing when you’re a teenager where I lived,” says Marc Chavez, recalling long bus rides from his childhood home in L.A.’s San Gabriel Valley. “To get to the ocean was a big deal.” Chavez doggedly embraced a lifelong surfing lifestyle, coming to San Diego by way of UCSD, and that experience informed his founding of the nonprofit Native Like Water.

Its flagship program takes indigenous teens—for example, those living on east county reservations an hour’s drive from the ocean—on guided surf trips, often led by indigenous mentors and occasional pro surfers. Not only to spots such as La Jolla Shores but to far-flung surf destinations in Baja, Panama, and even Hawai’i. Over two decades, the program has grown through donations and in-kind volunteership, and more recently, Native Like Water has added paid adult programs, inviting people from all backgrounds to experience the guided sessions that have been changing teens’ lives for the better, thereby funding scholarships for the next generation of native youth.

In addition to surfing, surf therapy, and hiking, Chavez notes the programs allow participants to see the coastal landscapes through an indigenous lens. For example, sessions at La Jolla shores unwind the unfathomably long history to recount a time native peoples’ lives were wholly intertwined with the coastal waters. “You’re sitting on a 10,000-year-old village site,” Chavez explains. “And not even 100 yards out to sea are underwater village sites that are 20,000-years-old.”

Ethan Banegas

Ethan Banegas

Kumeyaay, Luiseño/Payómkawichum, and Cupeño/ Kuupangaxwichem

Now a historian with the San Diego History Center, and a lecturer of American Indian Studies at SDSU, Ethan Banegas recalls being one among many “rambunctious” youth growing up on Barona Reservation. But he would find his calling while studying history at USD, where it frustrated him to realize existing histories of the Kumeyaay people left out oral histories.

“Why isn’t anyone going out and collecting our history before it’s too late?” he wondered. “I realize now that it took someone like me,” Banegas says. “Who goes outside the community to get that training, and comes back.” Earlier this year, working with the History Center, Banegas completed the Kumeyaay Oral History Project. Compiled from interviews with tribal elders representing eleven different reservations within San Diego County—plus one Kumiai ejido in Baja—Banegas says its stories reveal both the diversity and intelligence of the first peoples of San Diego, aspects rarely documented by Spanish missionaries.

“What people don’t realize about oral history projects,” Banegas points out. “If you talk to an elder now… and they tell you what their grandma said, you’re going back hundreds of years.” The oral history may be viewed at the History Center, Barona Museum, and Sycuan Cultural Resource Center, though at 1,200 pages, Banegas recognizes it’s unlikely to reach a mass audience. So he’s collaborating with colleagues on a graphic novelization of the Kumeyaay creation story and with family to write a film script depicting the pre-contact era and the arrival of Junípero Serra.

Erica M. Pinto

Erica M. Pinto

Jamul Indian Village

Erica M. Pinto was elected to the Jamul Indian Village council at age 20 and has served as chair since 2015. Beyond that, the tireless advocate (who identifies as LGBTQ2S+, with the 2+ referring to two spirits, the pre-contact interpretation of queerness and gender fluidity) sits on numerous regional and state tribal boards and was tapped this summer to represent California’s tribes on the Secretary of Interior’s Tribal Advisory Committee.

There she joins tribal leaders from across the country to advance issues of common concern to America’s 574 tribes, including missing and murdered indigenous people initiatives, clean drinking water, and mental health. “That’s a big passion of mine,” says Pinto. “To make sure our people have access to quality healthcare.” Meanwhile, work at home is entering a new phase. While Pinto was growing up, Jamul Indian Village comprised only six acres, but since Jamul Casino opened in 2016, it’s generated enough income for the tribe to purchase 161 acres.

A hotel will soon break ground on the reservation, and Pinto envisions the introduction of health clinics, an organic grocery, and especially new housing. Because, back in 2005, residents moved off the reservation to make way for long-term development; the new land will allow all to return and reunite with their community at last. For Pinto, it’s the culmination of a passion to see her people always do better. “When you look at violence and bullying, substance abuse, and all these things that we face as American Indian people,” she says. “We want to make sure that our youth have each other and grow up to be strong and confident. Because it wasn’t always like that for us, and I want that for them.”

Dean “The Bear” Osuna

Dean “The Bear” Osuna

Iipay Nation of Santa Ysabel

Growing up on reservations, Dean Osuna and his musician friends lacked access to shiny, new instruments. “The guitars and amps that we had were all beat up and salvaged from the bottom of the deepest, darkest basement you could even think of,” he recalls. The aspiring drummer had to go a step further, welding together his first kit in shop class from foraged parts. The group’s passion paid off in the formation of the all-Native metal band, Warpath.

Dean “The Bear” and lead vocalist Chance “The Bison” Perez hail from Santa Ysabel Reservation, and lead guitarist Harrison “The Buck” Whitecloud and bass player Danny “The Rattlesnake” Trujillo are from Barona. In addition to adopting animal totems, the group performs in warpaint, lending to spirited stage shows punctuated by high-energy music infused with rattles, chants, and melodies resonant of their shared Kumeyaay heritage.

“We have these undertones that are Native-based,” says Osuna. “That is part of our culture. That’s what we practice.” Having performed up and down the West Coast and at festivals, including the Gathering of Nations Pow-Wow in Albuquerque, the band has accrued a legion of fans, dubbed “Warpath Nation.” Watch for local shows at Brick By Brick as the group works to produce a follow-up to their self-titled 2019 debut album, recorded at Trujillo’s PSI Studio in Barona. These days, the guys have no shortage of top gear. “I just bought my dream kit,” Osuna tells me: a set of Pearl drums in shiny black chrome.

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The days are sweeter with baklava tacos from Al Sultan Baklava.

Often the first city that comes to mind when we think East County, El Cajon has developed into one of our region’s more complex communities. On the one hand, “The Big Box” is characterized by classic cars cruising its Main Street every Wednesday night, and by its pride in hometown sports heroes, including auto racing icon Jimmie Johnson, and Padres ace Joe Musgrove.

On the other, thanks to a three-decade influx of Middle Eastern immigration, its box-shaped valley has earned a newer nickname: “Little Baghdad.” An estimated 30 percent of its 105,000 residents hail from abroad, led by Chaldean and Arab Iraqis, followed by more recent thousands fleeing wars in Syria and Afghanistan.

Their contributions have transformed the suburban valley into San Diego’s epicenter for Middle Eastern cuisine. Not every El Cajon restaurant hails from this tradition, but thanks in large part to those that do, there’s never been a better time to eat here.

Tekka at Ali Babba

For going on 20 years, this Arabian Nights-inspired family restaurant has introduced Iraqi fare ranging from lamb shank quzi to lamb offal pacha. But Ali Baba’s standouts are also its most accessible dishes: beef, chicken, and sumptuous lamb kababs, which are long strips of seasoned ground meat. The charcoal-grilled skewers featuring hunks of meat go by the name tekka.

Masgoof at Nahrain Fish & Chicken Grill

Despite the name, the modest Masgoof at Nahrain Fish & Chicken Grill eatery wins its fans by roasting fish and fowl in a clay tandoor oven, in particular the Iraqi whole fish preparation, masgoof. In the style of San Diego’s beloved fish markets, customers may peruse a glass counter filled with fish and decide which will wind up on their plates. Popular choices include red snapper and striped bass, but it’s worth remembering the word Nahrain translates to “two rivers.” For freshwater fish traditionally associated with the Tigris and Euphrates, choose carp.

Makkliyah at Mal Al Sham: The Taste Of Damascus

This Syrian kitchen at Mal Al Sham: The Taste Of Damascus is dominated by a pair of shawerma rotisseries, and skewered meats on the menu likewise reinforce the link between Arab and Mediterranean cuisines. For something more distinctly Syrian, look to the kibbeh makkliyah: fried dumplings stuffed with seasoned ground beef and crushed walnuts. Better yet, if you have 30 minutes to spare, wait on the grilled version: kibbeh mashweeyeh.

Salad at Crafted Greens

It’s not al halal in El Cajon. This scratch kitchen at Crafted Greens on Jamacha Road embraces modern terms such as grass-fed, organic, free-range, and sustainable. That said, the keys to Crafted Greens’ success are its myriad salads, flatbreads and hot sandwiches loaded with house-made dressings and vibrant produce sourced from California farms.

Baklava Taco at Al Sultan Baklava

Not to be confused with downtown El Cajon’s stylish baklava bakery Sultan Baklava, Al Sultan sits farther east, just off Jamacha Road. This Turkish dessert specialist offers little to look at beyond bare walls, meaning all eyes are on its rich phyllo-dough pastries, decadently soaked in honey and simple syrup, stuffed with ground nuts, and perhaps drizzled with chocolate.

Phở at Grandpa Táo Kitchen

Another of El Cajon’s refugee populations recently scored a win with his new restaurant devoted to Vietnamese fare, alongside a limited assortment of sushi. But reason number one to pay attention is Grandpa Táo Kitchen‘s phở menu. Whether based in chicken or beef stock, they’re made fragrant thanks to long hours steeped with clove, onions, and star anise—and the best noodles east of the 15.

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Vista Weekly Popups

The plant-based food scene is growing throughout San Diego. And a big part of this growth is Vegan Food Pop-Up, which now boasts three monthly locations, thanks to the November 12 arrival of its Saturday market in North Park. The farmers-market-style event attracts vendors from all over Southern California, bringing everything from sushi to dog treats (including donuts and jewelry), all of it made within the bounds of a plant-based lifestyle.

Organizer Michelle May launched Vegan Food Pop-Up as a bimonthly event in Encinitas back in 2019. Now having made it past a few Covid-era speed bumps, VFP is expanding toward a goal of hosting a market somewhere in the county every weekend.

The market is currently scheduled to pop up the first Saturday of every month at the Heritage Museum in Encinitas (12 p.m.-4 p.m.), every third Friday at the Local Roots kombucha brewery in Vista (5 p.m. to 9 p.m.), and every second Saturday at the North Park Mini Park (12 p.m. to 4 p.m.), which was recently installed behind the Observatory music venue.

But May—who also operates vegan space ice cream and coconut jerky brand Seva Foods—is not finished. Approaching holidays in November and December preclude launching a fourth weekend in 2022, but the vegan entrepreneur is already on the hunt for additional spots. She says, “I’m hoping that by January we’ll be ready to announce at least one more new location.”

Michelle May Vegan popups

In addition to bringing the plant-based market to additional communities, one of the reasons May wants to increase the number of market days is that she says she’s got a waiting list of vendors wanting to participate. “There’s just such a hunger (pun intended) for these kind of events that it’s been really easy to book them,” she explains.

The pop-up expands mostly by word of mouth. In a tight-knit Southern California vegan community, Los Angeles and Orange County-based vendors have grown to appreciate San Diego’s reliable vegan demand. To the north, May speculates, a higher frequency of vegan events leads to uneven attendance and increased competition between vendors. They’re willing to come south, she says, because “They tend to do better at the pop-up than they do at some of the regular markets in L.A.”

May does her part by carefully curating each event to prevent overlap and prevent food waste. “I’m straddling this very fine line of wanting a great user experience for my attendees,” she says, “I don’t want them to wait in line too long or—God forbid—get there and all the food’s gone.” She invites roughly 50 vendors to the Encinitas market, while Vista and North Park run smaller, about 30 a piece. A few core vendors appear at every market, including plant-based fish substitute SeaCo Catch, Vegan Mirai Sushi, and Maribel y Olivia Cocina, purveyors of vegan Mexican dishes such as jackfruit and mushroom birria.

The vendor drawing the longest lines at each event is OC-based food truck The Donuttery. “I don’t think you can mention the pop-up without talking about The Donuttery,” May says, “They are without a doubt the most popular vendor that we have… the line is usually nonstop.”

While most of the food vendors represent 100 percent plant-based businesses, May is open to omnivores that serve vegan-friendly menus. One example, Sabor Piri Piri Kitchen, appears regularly at farmers markets serving traditional dishes of Mozambique, but for the pop-up it forgoes chicken curries for the broccoli, black eyed peas, and collard greens of its vegan menu.

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Similarly, the baker behind market mainstay Bonjour Patisserie has found ways to produce plant-based versions of traditional French pastries including croissants and crème brûlées. “He’s worked really hard to source some really high-quality vegan butters,” says May, noting Bonjour will be one of the vendors appearing in North Park.

Clearly, culinary diversity is a priority at all the pop-ups, but perhaps the best reason to attend regularly is that vendors at the pop-up have been the first to introduce local vegans to a growing spate of plant-based meat alternatives coming to market. The past year has witnessed the introduction of meat replacements by Omni Foods, Next Meats, and Nature’s Fynd, which makes sausage and cream cheese out of mushrooms. Attendees can be the first to try these meaty treats, in addition to activities like tarot card readings, henna painting, and reiki massage.

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Golden Mushrooms

Courtesy of Golden Mushrooms

Fish tacos, craft beer, lion’s mane mushrooms? I’ve never really thought of San Diego as a fungus town, but it might be time to start. Our county now boasts some half a dozen mushroom growing operations, including two of the foremost shitake producers on the west coast.

However, we can credit a growing clutch of homegrown cultivators for the expanded range of specialty mushrooms turning up on local restaurant menus. Producers like Mountain Meadow Mushrooms, Mindful Mushrooms, and O.B.’s Golden Mushrooms have also been stocking farmers markets with such intriguing selections as pink oysters, king trumpets, and golden enokis.

Yet one particular type has emerged as the city’s unlikely favorite: the lion’s mane.

Forever, it’s been the province of Chinese herb shops, which sell dried lion’s mane to be brewed into medicinal teas, for a wide variety of ailments. More recently, it’s taken off in powdered and capsule form, touted by health food stores as a supplement to improve mental focus and reduce anxiety.

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But only fresh can we appreciate the exquisite shagginess of the lion’s mane. Rather than the classic toadstool shape, it grows in rounded, white- or golden-haired poufs, which has earned the shroom a host of descriptive names including monkey head mushroom, pompom mushroom, and bearded hedgehog. Whatever you call it, there’s no question it’s seeing a rise in culinary demand.

Just look at Escondido’s Mountain Meadows. Established in 1952, the farm spent decades growing white button mushrooms, by far America’s most popular. Used in stir-fries and as a pizza topping, an estimated 90 percent of all mushrooms consumed in the U.S. are white buttons, and until a few years ago, Mountain Meadows sold around six million pounds a year to national distributors.

However, Roberto Ramirez, who’s been with the farm since 1996 and became majority owner in 2018, says the white button business grew unsustainable as large producers in Canada and Pennsylvania can sell them at a cheaper price than California growers. As the pandemic hit, he explains, “We had to revamp our business model, and we started growing about 18 different varieties,” that could sell for a higher price than button caps, including both medicinal and culinary types.

Lion’s mane counts as both, and Ramirez reports it is now farm’s best seller, both as a fresh mushroom selling for $15 per pound, and sold as an herbal extract selling for $20 a bottle. “It’s our number one seller because of the versatility,” he suggests, noting it’s asked for by name by local farmers market customers.

Local producers who had already been evangelizing lion’s mane at farmers markets include Om Mushroom Superfoods, a Carlsbad grower that offers powders and extracts, often brewed into beverages; and Spring Valley’s Mindful Mushrooms, an indoor, organic cultivator that’s been offering lion’s mane since it launched in 2018.

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“It’s definitely one of our more popular mushrooms,” says Mindful founder Ivo Fedak, who likewise sells it in powdered form, as a food or drink additive. But Mindful has also made headway marketing lion’s mane directly to local chefs. “It can be made into some really interesting dishes,” he notes.

For farmers market buyers, this is where it helps to follow the example of local chefs. Because lion’s manes don’t resemble most edible mushrooms, it can be a challenge to know how to cook with them.

At East Village taco shop Lola 55, they’ve pulled Mindful’s lion’s mane and smoked it on a wood-fired grill for vegan taco specials. At Oceanside’s zero-waste vegan restaurant The Plot, they’re shredded and formed into faux crab cakes. That appears to be the most common use for lion’s mane, as the mushroom is reputed to have a crab-like flavor.

Enclave Café chef Lan “Lando” Thai isn’t entirely sure about that. “Honestly, I hate the taste,” she says, “It’s the most disgusting mushroom!” Nevertheless, she’s been a local champion of fresh lion’s mane, advocating its use to other chefs since she first found it available from Mindful Mushrooms. “I was shocked,” says the Vietnamese American chef, who grew up in a family that follows Eastern medicine. “I’d never really seen it outside an herb shop.”

Lion’s Mane faux crab cakes at The Plot

Credit: James Tran

She’s embraced the protein-rich mushroom as part of her food-as-medicine philosophy, which aims to return nutritional density to the meals we eat, often involving microgreens and other high-quality, locally sourced ingredients. Enclave started out as a food counter within the tasting room of the hard kombucha brewer Juneshine, but Thai recently opened a full café in University City, where lion’s mane appears in daily specials.

She’s also launched a new line of prepackaged meals, called FAMMá, which feature lion’s mane as a pulled pork substitute. And though she questions its crab-like flavor, Thai does embrace the healthful mushroom’s crab-like texture, and also bakes the lion’s mane into what she dubs, “brain cakes.”

Chef Lando says when it comes to lion’s mane, the fresher the better. She blanches the fungus before shredding it for pulled pork dishes, and squeezes it to drain excess moisture either way—though this becomes less necessary when it’s fresh and crisp. She typically roasts it at a low heat, around 300 degrees.

The key to making it delicious, she says, is deft use of seasoning to overcome its natural bitterness. She uses paprika for the crab cakes, a blend of ancho and guajillo chili peppers for the pulled pork. She’s also found a marvelous use for lion’s mane powder: as an umami-rich MSG substitute, adding it to her fried chicken recipe.

That’s a tip that will work wherever you live. But when it comes to cooking with fresh lion’s mane, consider that another benefit to living in San Diego. Because, for organisms that grow on decaying matter, fresh mushrooms don’t keep or ship especially well themselves, and most cities don’t have a choice of local growers. As Chef Thai says, “You’re not going to get this amazing lion’s mane everywhere.”

The post The Emergence of Lion’s Mane in SD’s Kitchens appeared first on San Diego Magazine.

Kratom

Though Kratom Kava Bar bills itself as “America’s Finest Sober Bar,” most of its cocktails could technically get you a $500 fine for possession inside San Diego city limits. Repeat offenders could see jail time.

The root of the crime is not kava, though. That herbal supplement—promoted as “nature’s xanax”—is fully legal in most states, and according to Rolling Stone, virtually every country other than Poland. The supplement Kratom, on the other hand, is banned in six states.

And though ours is not one of them, two California cities have decided to outlaw the herb, and they both happen to be local: San Diego and Oceanside.

Which explains why you’ll find clusters of kratom retailers bunched in neighboring cities of Carlsbad and La Mesa. Both are home to the dedicated retailers, Bumble Bee Botanicals and The Kratom Store, which have been selling the herbal supplement in capsules and powders for several years.

It’s only within the past year that Kratom Store operator Linda Kline has established the newer entity, Kratom Kava Bar, also with locations in Carlsbad and La Mesa. Within these storefronts, kratom powders are mixed with water, coffee, tea, and sometimes kava, and served for off- or on-site consumption. Various flavors of simple syrup, like you might find behind a bar or in a coffeeshop, are provided to sweeten the typically bitter beverages. The bars also sell kratom-infused candies.

More to the point, an array of physiological and mood-altering effects are attributed to the herbal products. These include relaxation and sedation, energy, euphoria, and pain relief. In other words, the effects of kratom are apparently anything you need them to be. When I inquired about a single piece of kratom candy being sold for $5, I was advised that results vary from person to person, but generally, one-third of the Jolly Rancher-sized chew gives you energy, two-thirds delivers a euphoric sensation, and eating the whole candy makes you sleepy.

It sounds too good to be true, but these claims are at least supported by kratom’s backstory. While kava is ground from the rootstock of a shrub native to islands in the South Pacific, kratom is cultivated from leaves of a tree that grows in Southeast Asia: think Indonesia, Malaysia, Thailand, and The Philippines.

According to a study published by the National Institute of Health, farmers in these regions have long used its ground up leaves as a stimulant. Indeed, kratom advocates will remind you the plant is in the same botanical family as the coffee tree. But then, so is ipecac, the stuff emergency rooms give to make you vomit when you’ve ingested poison. Meanwhile, the NIH study also notes that Kratom’s psychoactive compounds bind to the brain’s opioid receptors, so it’s also been used for centuries as a treatment for morphine and opium withdrawal.

Whether it creates the effect of a stimulant or sedative seems to depend on how much a person ingests, and maybe on the strain or origin of a particular kratom tree. A menu at Kratom Kava Bar highlights different effects and effective strengths for the herb whether it was ground from white, gold, red, or green leaves, and/or trees grown in Bali, Borneo, Malay, or Vietnam. A clerk in one of the stores told me he takes the herb to cope with insomnia. I met a hairdresser who claimed to take some before each shift, to better socialize with her clients. She admitted, at times when she’s taken too much, she’s become sick.

So why is kratom illegal in some places? In both San Diego and Oceanside, the answer dates back to 2016, when kratom got swept up as a “novel psychoactive compound” in a new ordinance aimed at prohibiting synthetic cannabinoids, a.k.a. “spice,” and synthetic cathinones, better known as “bath salts.”

In San Diego City Council meetings discussing the emergency ordinance in spring 2016, San Diego Police Department representatives described an “epidemic” of several hundred spice and path salt overdoses that had taken place in downtown and Hillcrest neighborhoods. They likened the effects of the synthetic compounds to marijuana and cocaine, respectively, and described futility enforcing federal and state laws against the drugs, as chemists could quickly alter compounds to technically avoid prosecution.

As then councilmember Marti Emerald phrased it, “Once you think that you’ve got a specific genetic code, or whatever piece of chemistry defines the drug, somebody in their bathtub or whatever whips up something new.”

In response, the city’s crime lab researched laws in other cities and states to compile a list of 91 distinct chemical compounds to be banned in the ordinance. That list includes mitragynine and 7-hydroxymitragynine, compounds produced naturally by only one source: *mitragyna speciosa*, or kratom tree.

The ordinance passed on a 6-0 council vote; then councilmember Todd Gloria calling its passage, “a no-brainer.” Though kratom was never mentioned during the public hearings, by June 15, its possession was subject to fines ranging from $500 to $1,000, and up to six months in jail.

It was earlier that spring that Oceanside passed a similar ordinance, citing a list of 94 compounds. Number 94 specifically mentions Kratom, noting it as “a ‘drug of concern’ for the DEA.”

Indeed, encouraged by other government agencies, the DEA had announced intention to add kratom to its list of schedule 1 drugs, used to highlight drugs with no accepted medical use, and which carry a risk of addiction or abuse. Along with the likes of methamphetamines, heroin, and cocaine, marijuana is included on this list.

However, in 2017, the DEA reversed course, in response to both a public petition and a letter from a group of 25, bipartisan U.S. Representatives suggesting more study was needed of the naturally occurring compound.

So, nation- and state-wide, kratom has remained legal, albeit controversial. The Mayo Clinic calls it “unsafe and ineffective,” and FDA warns consumers not to use it, due to “risks of addiction, abuse, and dependence.” The National Institute on Drug Abuse (NIDA) describes side effects that include dizziness, hallucinations, seizures, and liver damage, and withdrawal symptoms of hostility, muscle and bone pain, and jerky movements of the limbs.

Meanwhile, advocates cite its efficacy helping curb opioid addiction, and a 2020 survey by Johns Hopkins shows 42% of kratom users take it for this, while an overlapping 91% said they take it for pain relief, 67% to alleviate anxiety, and 64% to combat depression.

Kratom Kava Bar owner Linda Kline did not provide comment after multiple requests, but in her so-called “sober bars,” kratom retains its legal status whether brewed into a tea, soft drink, or candy. And though it remains banned in San Diego, a city records request indicates only seven possession citations have been issued for the ordinance, and none since 2018.

The post “America’s Finest Sober Bar” is Technically, Not Legal appeared first on San Diego Magazine.

Adams Ave Theater

Madeline Yang

Last seen loaded with bolts of discount fabric for sale, San Diego’s favorite vintage movie palace-turned-punk rock concert hall is newly renovated and ready for its latest incarnation as an events and performance space. Normal Heights’ landmark Adams Avenue Theater will officially reclaim neighborhood venue status in early November.The redesign has been a multiyear effort by Jillian Ziska, and her events planning business To Be Designed—a subsidiary of management group Social Anthology, which also operates Verbena Kitchen and Hangar 858. Ziska remodeled Adams Avenue Theater with an eye toward hosting weddings and other private events, while also plotting community-oriented gatherings akin to holiday bazaars, and shows ranging from live music to stand-up comedy. As a result, its tastefully re-imagined interior remains something of a blank canvas for planners and promoters. “Blank enough for people to envision their own aesthetic,” Ziska explains. Much of the character comes from the 100-year-old building itself. Ziska was so determined to develop a space that feels like more than “four walls and a roof,” that she spent years pursuing the historic theater, ultimately signing a lease in February 2020. “We wanted something with a past that we could revitalize and bring back,” she stresses. To anyone under 30 years old, Adams Avenue Theater has only ever been a fabric store fronted by a theatrical marquee. But its history goes back to 1924, when it opened as The Carteri Theatre, a movie-house designed by Louis J. Gill—best known as the original architect of the San Diego Zoo (and, to architecture nerds, as the nephew of Irving Gill). 

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Over the next several decades, the original, Spanish Colonial façade got an art deco makeover, including its red, green, and gold terrazzo. But by the 1960s, the cinema shuttered, effectively sitting empty until given a second life by—who else?—punk rockers. Back in 1982, Casbah owner Tim Mays was cutting his teeth as a rock impresario when he began booking shows at the theater, delivering standout acts from punk’s heyday, like Black Flag, The Cramps, and Iggy Pop. “We used to cram 900 people in there,” recalls Mays, who also remembers San Diego police cruisers would park across the street, waiting for the shows to let out, “so they could, you know, round up any miscreants and troublemakers.” To wit, in 1986, a return engagement by English hard rock band Motörhead had to be canceled at the last minute, angering ticket holders who “broke into the place and trashed the theater.” That spelled the beginning of the end for Adams Avenue Theater as a rock venue. But such bygones won’t stop Ziska’s team from booking music events for what is now a more welcoming, a 289-person venue. She and Mays have been discussing a revival of the space as a decidedly quieter, non-punk performance space. “There’s more mature artists out there that would probably work,” notes May with a chuckle. Ziska also plans to redeem the space as a moviehouse. It’s equipped with a digital projector to screen classic and cult films. “We’d essentially create a living room setting,” she says, imagining a theater with plush, lounge seating.As a private events space, Adams Avenue Theater will offer packages ranging from $5,500 to $10,500, but it will undoubtedly be the occasional public events that Normal Heights residents will appreciate most. “The more in-person, community stuff we can do, the better. It’s going to be for the neighborhood, and the businesses around us,” says Ziska.

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