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We love a mega-fancy tasting menu, but let’s be honest—we’re not all blessed with unlimited Wagyu funds. So we picked some of the breakout dishes of the last year (or couple of years) from the best chefs in the city, reverse-engineered their chief charms (salty, smoky, caramelized?) in the test lab of our mouths, and found some budget-friendly alternatives that hit some of the same notes with an everyday price tag.

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High: Caviar Ice Cream at Lilo

Where do delicately plucked marigold blossoms adorn Deer Isle scallops, or ingredients like fermented raspberry precede roasted coffee oil, shiro miso caramel, or bronze fennel in a parade of hit-after-hit dishes? Lilo in Carlsbad, of course. San Diego’s newest Michelin star changes its menu with the seasons, but one stalwart dish has kept tongues wagging since opening day last April: the caviar ice cream. A boat-shaped sliver of orgeat ice cream, smoked celery root bushi, and freshly pressed almond oil are topped with a generous heap of caviar. It’s a dish so good and defining that chef Eric Bost will tire of talking about it for a very long time.

Price: $265 for the tasting menu (before tax, tip, and drinks)

Low: S’mores Ice Cream at Stella Jean’s

There’s a reason Stella Jean’s s’mores ice cream is part of the local scoop shop’s “always available” menu. Made with fire-roasted marshmallows and coconut ash ice cream mixed with dark chocolate-covered graham crackers and mini marshmallows, its strangely ashen hue dabbled with flecks of tawny brown is a far cry from the wildly vibrant ube and pandesal toffee flavor seemingly made for Instagram reels. But it’s a sensation in your mouth—smoky, toasty, torched, creamy, marshmallowy, coconutty, ashy, and bitter from the dark chocolate. Pro tip: If you really want to DIY Lilo’s ultra-luxe treat, bring your own caviar.

Price: $6.25 for a single scoop

High: “The” Egg Dish at Lucien

There’s no question what comes first at Lucien. It’s the egg. Chef and co-owner Elijah Arizmendi’s 12-course tasting menu begins with welcome bites under the calamansi tree before moving inside to start the Journey (the actual name of this section of the menu). The first step is one of the most astounding—a perfectly intact, upright, ochre-hued eggshell containing his take on Japanese chawanmushi (egg custard), topped with a dollop of caviar. The accompanying ingredients have ranged from sweet corn and huitlacoche to banana and buckwheat, but each one has precisely demonstrated Arizmendi’s commitment to French technique with California experimentation and global influence.

Price: $260 for the chef’s tasting menu (before tax, tip, and drinks)

Low: Chawanmushi at Sushi Ota

The biggest difference (besides price) is that while Lucien’s dish changes with the season, Sushi Ota is comfortably predictable. A San Diego staple since 1990, the legendary Sushi Ota has been one of those if you know, you know joints that locals try to keep off the radar. (It hasn’t worked at all.) Known for ultra-fresh fish and ultra-traditional service, the small Pacific Beach restaurant also serves Japanese comfort foods like udon noodle soup alongside sashimi, nigiri, and rolls. But it’s the savory steamed egg custard, called chawanmushi, that really gives you the warm and fuzzies. Add a side of salmon roe (ikura) for a few bucks more, and this dupe is about as good as it gets.

Price: $12 for chawanmushi, $11 for ikura

High: The Birdman Sandwich at Chick & Hawk

Enough ink—and tears, I’m sure—has been spilled over Chick & Hawk’s long and arduous journey to opening its doors. But now that the Encinitas eatery is in full swing, chef Andrew Bachelier’s tightly curated menu of fried chicken sandwiches, fries, and bowls command lines of hungry locals and skate-culture loyalists. The Birdman, the signature hot chicken sandwich named for partner and skateboarding legend Tony Hawk, is piled with cabbage slaw and pickles and slathered with a tangy kimchi comeback sauce on a soft brioche bun. Although this Nashville meets California meets Mississippi meets Korea sando doesn’t command a triple-digit price tag, the fact that it’s nearly a $20 chicken sandwich (sans side) has been a topic of conversation. Bachelier—who worked at Addison before opening Jeune et Jolie, then launched SDM’s 2024 “Best New Restaurant,” Atelier Manna—and his team earned that price tag.

Price: $18

Low: 5-Piece Korean Fried Wings at Cross Street Chicken & Beer

It’s hard to beat Koreans at the chicken game. Korean fried wings are defined by a double-fry technique—first at a low temperature to ensure the chicken is cooked through, then at a high temperature to ensure the famed extra-crispy, ear-splittingly crunchrageous magic. At Cross Street, they follow a similar fusion ethos as Chick & Hawk, using inspiration from the American South as well as Thailand, Korea, Vietnam, and more, with flavors like “Seoul Spicy” or “Honey Butter” for whatever you’re feeling that day. Pair it with a cold beer to go full chimaek (a popular Korean combination of pairing fried chicken and beer). Now that’s a combo—and price tag—that’s hard to beat.

Price: $8.75 for five wings

High: Steak Frites at À L’ouest

PB&J. Captain & Tennille. Brad Wise and steak. Steak frites ranks among the iconic global duos. And when the holy union of prime cuts and twice-fried carbs comes from Wise and the meat-loving masters at Trust Restaurant Group, it’s a pretty safe bet. À L’ouest—the group’s newest fancy, but not fussy, drippy plant dreamscape of a French steakhouse on the prime corner of 30th and University in North Park—gives guests a choice: 12-ounce New York strip, 8-ounce filet mignon, or 8-ounce Wagyu hanger, topped with sauce au poivre (the classic French pan sauce—peppercorns, shallots, heavy cream, brandy) and served with a heaping pile of 24-hour salt-brined fries and a watercress salad. One bite acts as a transport to a Parisian brasserie, so if you think about the cost in terms of time-space travel, it’s a pretty great deal.

Price: starts at $48

Low: Shepherd’s Pie at The Shakespeare Pub & Grille

To satisfy the same urge for meat and potatoes, feel at least moderately European while doing so, and save a couple quid, a trip to The Shakespeare in Mission Hills ticks all the boxes. The classic British shepherd’s pie arrives in a piping hot oval au gratin dish, smothered with a thick layer of mashed potatoes. Beneath it lies a hefty portion of marinated ground beef and vegetables in the pub’s secret sauce, and while there are a few choices of sides, the correct order is peas and “proper” chips (a.k.a. chunky, thick-cut fries versus the typically thinner American “French” fries). It’s more tickety-boo than très bien, but it’s immensely satisfying in any language.

Price: $22.95

Chefs have done gobs of thankless, lumbar-breaking work over years to land the role. Restaurateurs put their entire livelihoods on the line, microdosed sleep, took ultimate responsibility for every minor stress. They earned the spotlight they get. But ask one of them, and they almost always defer to a line cook who’s showed up for years, been deep in the thing, and whose absence would bring the kitchen to its knees. Or the bartender with a warmth that draws people whether they’re thirsty or not. Or the noble and spreadsheetable soul in charge of purchasing everything needed for the nightly show.

They call it the “heart of the house.”

Spotlight or not, these are the people who make a food culture hum at its daily core.

For this year’s “Best Restaurants” issue, we asked a handful of the top chefs and one restaurant owner—Tara Monsod (Animae/Le Coq), Jason McLeod (Ironside Fish & Oyster), Ananda Bareño (The Marine Room), Owen Beatty (A.R. Valentien), and Ryan Thorsen (Mister A’s)—who that person is for them.

These are the hearts of houses.

Roger Feria Krile

Line Cook, Animae

Roger Feria Krile is not only the guy you want to be friends with at work, but also the guy you want to hire: respectful, nose-to-the-grindstone, versatile. And he’ll drop off a fresh batch of cinnamon rolls at your house for the holidays. Born in Tijuana, Krile moved to the US with his mom and sister when he was in elementary school. He saw the sacrifices his mother made to give her children a better life, and he pushed himself to live up to that brighter future.

He came to cooking during the pandemic, asking himself, “What do I really love to do?” His answer: “Bake cakes for friends and break bread with people,” he says. That led to a culinary school degree and a stint in a Michelin-starred NYC kitchen, where he grew to “love and understand” fine dining. Now back in San Diego, Krile’s showing up at Animae in a major way. He does prep work three mornings a week and comes later in the day twice a week for dinner service. Most line cooks do one or the other, but he requested both tours of duty.

“Gotta get my reps, keep my skills sharp,” Krile says, “and I don’t want to miss the rush.” Prep work in the mornings helps him learn how Executive Chef Tara Monsod uses each ingredient to the fullest. Krile’s not just a line cook. One-quarter Filipino (and learning about his culinary heritage from mentor Monsod), he’s building his own Mexican-Filipino pop-up concept. Look for Sarsa—Filipino for salsa—where every dish is a play on words fusing Mexican and Philippine Spanish or Tagalog. He’s already R&D’d a breakfast sandwich, the tortantalong: a torta filled with a signature Filipino eggplant omelette called a tortang talong. Friends in the industry say it’s unexpectedly delicious.

“He shows up every day with a clear goal of one day opening his own restaurant, and that drive pushes him to go above and beyond,” says Monsod. “He is constantly learning, asking questions, and absorbing as much as possible, all while leading by example on the line.”

Ruben Martinez

Purchasing Manager, Mister A’s

Ruben Martinez knows every bottle of wine at Mister A’s—not necessarily by taste (though he was on the tasting committee for years), but by where they are in storage and whether they need replenishment. Owner Ryan Thorsen wants the wine list at 100 percent available every night, and Martinez’s job is to make that a reality. He’s been keeping inventory on Mister A’s wines since the 1970s, back when he worked for founder John Alessio. And it’s not just vino: Martinez also procures the ingredients, arriving at 5 a.m. to meet delivery trucks, stock shelves, and alert chefs if anything’s amiss.

Then he hits the dining room for a once- or twice-over to find any imperfections. If a light is out, if the plumbing acts up, if something major happens after he leaves in the afternoon, he’ll fix it all. He’s the best guy to ask, anyway; he knows every inch of Mister A’s. “Before ‘Google it,’ there was ‘Call Ruben,’” Thorsen says.

Martinez started out in hospitality at 17 with his father at Hotel Del. “I thought it would be easy working with my dad,” he says. “But early on, he caught me fooling around with the boys and told me, ‘We’re here to make money for the company. If you’re not willing to work, get out of here.’” That set him straight and set the foundation for Martinez’s lifelong dependability.

He moved to Mister A’s a couple years later, and after over five decades, he’s now the indispensable purchasing manager who worked with Alessio, Betrand Hug, and now Thorsen. Later this year, he’s planning on retiring—though he’s already offered to keep showing up a couple days a week and help out with Thorsen’s new project at Liberty Station.

Thorsen knows this man is a gem. “I don’t think we fully grasp what it will feel like without him,” he says. Last year, he threw Martinez a surprise birthday party in Mister A’s Blue Room, inviting Martinez’s family and a whole cast of coworkers going back to Alessio days. Martinez says he had to leave the room to hide his tears.

Patrick Mattoon

Lead Prep Cook, Ironside Fish and Oyster

There’s an hour most people never see, when a restaurant’s technically awake but not yet accountable, and that’s where Patrick Mattoon lives. He’s been the foundation of Ironside’s prep team for the past five years, quietly guiding the day toward success. He and his team are the first in, and they turn on ovens, check deliveries, catch mistakes before they become problems, and fix everything without ceremony so the chefs and line cooks walk into a day that already works.

Mattoon organizes, but more importantly, he owns. There’s no job too small, no detail beneath notice. In a kitchen, bad prep’s the one thing you can’t fix later, no matter how talented of a chef is at the helm.

Five years in, Mattoon still approaches each day with the same care and intensity that he had on day one. He takes every task seriously and sees it through completely—the kind of consistent work that doesn’t draw attention but makes everything else possible. When the restaurant got a soft serve machine, a notorious maintenance nightmare, he taught himself how to clean and run it just to make sure it never broke, not for credit but because that’s just how he’s wired.

“He is a silent leader who has the respect of the entire team due to leading by example,” says Ironside chef Jason McLeod.

Arturo Celestino

Lead Line Cook, A.R. Valentien at the Lodge at Torrey Pines

Through 23 years, three executive chefs, and a recent kitchen remodel, lead line cook Arturo Celestino is a constant at A.R. Valentien. He’s there at 6:30 a.m. five days a week—sometimes six—for the Lodge’s breakfast service. That means he’s up early prepping potatoes, slicing mushrooms, whisking pancake batter, and stirring sauces “always with a smile,” says Owen Beatty, the restaurant’s new chef de cuisine. “He’s a good leader.”

Celestino shows the younger guys how to make the eggs fluffy, so the omelettes are always perfect (don’t stop twirling the spatula!). He keeps his line in line when their spirits start to naturally droop during the morning shift home stretch when his crew just wants to get out of there. As the lead, he’s also the one chefs turn to when newbies need motivation.

His secret sauce: “mucho talking!” It keeps people happy, and it also helps the chefs retain talent in the kitchen.

Celestino learned to cook out of “necesidad,” he says. He cut his teeth on fine dining at Pacifica Del Mar at the Hyatt and moved to A.R. Valentien in 2003, just a few months after it opened in 2002.

“I’ve had good jefes,” Celestino says of the three executive chefs he’s known at A.R. Valentien: Jeff Jackson, Kelli Crosson, and now Michelin-starred Eric Sakai. Under Jackson—who’s known for pioneering farm-to-table dining in San Diego—Arturo learned to appreciate local ingredients.

“My favorite is basil,” he says, “added to tomato sauce with garlic, it’s mmm.” Fresh basil plays the supporting role in A.R. Valentien’s signature brunch plate, which is also Celestino’s top choice on the menu (to make and to eat), via the Bull’s Eyes: slow-roasted eggplant with sunny-side-up eggs, tomato sauce, and La Quercia prosciutto.

“I love my job,” Celestino says as he flashes that smile. “It’s not just a plate of food. It’s an experience.”

Tony Suarez

Bartender, The Marine Room

If you’ve been to The Marine Room, you’ve probably met bartender Tony Suarez. With his charming Cuban accent and dapper vest and tie, he makes it his business to regale guests coming and going—even while he’s pouring, mixing, shaking, polishing glasses, and taking orders.

“Over 90 percent of our guests are celebrating a special occasion,” he says. “So I keep up the celebration throughout their whole visit.” He’ll make you a sparkling toast and a customized cocktail, and on your way out, he’ll wish you a happy birthday (again) and invite you back for drinks on him.

“My goal is always to delight the guest,” he says. “I like to discover how you feel and lead you to what you would like to drink.” That spirit of experimentation has led to new signature cocktails, such as the Gerald—crafted for a neighbor who’s a regular—featuring housemade pomegranate puree and bourbon, or the I Drink of You with local Bebemos tequila, Gran Marnier, and Green Chartreuse. You won’t find this anywhere else.

“[Suarez] has mastered the art of the personalized guest experience,” says Marine Room’s Executive Chef Ananda Bareño. “He remembers the small details and favorite orders that make our regulars feel like family.”

Suarez’s tenure at the Marine Room started with a walk on the beach and a knock on the door. He was impressed by the beautiful location, and he asked if they were hiring. He immediately started as a server assistant—right before Valentine’s Day. The bartender took Suarez under his wing, and he took to the books to learn all about spirits.

He’s taken on the bartender role with wisdom and grace, offering a sympathetic ear, a pick-me-up, and a “human to human connection,” he says. Ten years into his career, the surroundings still inspire him as much as they did on day one.

“The Marine Room, the windows onto the ocean, [all] have a healing effect,” he says.

Dora Ristorante

His ascent has been stealth and humble, which fits the man. When Liberty Station was struggling to convince people it existed over a decade ago, Sicilian chef Accursio Lota’s food at Solare Ristorante was a tractor beam for food people who sniff out hidden talent like truffle dogs. In 2017, he won the World Pasta Championship (a legit competition from global pasta brand Barilla) and struck out on his own, opening his and his wife’s from-scratch pasta trattoria in North Park (Cori Pastificio). Gambero Rosso—the Italian version of Michelin, the most respected source—has clamored for the restaurant since it opened, naming it “New Opening of the Year” and this year giving it their highest award, “Tre Forchette” (Three Forks), only knighted on a handful of US restaurants.

So this year, Lota opened his grandest thing—Dora Ristorante—and it pulls everything together. Steps from San Diego’s world-class theater, La Jolla Playhouse, it’s laden with brass and large-format murals, tile work and mosaics—like the one on the wood-burning oven that blisters, chars, and smokes a good portion of the menu. Their housemade focaccia is a new street drug (try it with the puttanesca, his grandmother Dora’s recipe). The olive oil-cured sardines make “sustainable seafood” and ethics not taste like a compromise. Dora might finally be the one to solve the “where do I eat before the world premiere at LJP” dilemma.

Bacari

The yuzu-colored building that helped build North Park’s modern food culture is alive again. Years ago, the ornate French Quarter–inspired spot on 30th Street was home to chef Matt Gordon’s Urban Solace (duck macaroni and cheese). Then it laid conspicuous and fallow until a few months ago when Bacari took it on. It’s an LA transplant, but they’re proving forgivable of that trespass. Chef and co-founder Lior Hillel cooked at Jean-Georges before opening the first of this Venetian-style restaurant in 2008 with brothers Danny and Robert Kronfi (Bobby started his food venture with a pop-up dinner series in his college apartment at USC).

For dinner, it’s house-baked bread, crudo and shrimp ceviches, Mediterranean street corn, lamb hummus, shawarma, and glazed pork belly. Weekend brunch is bellinis and French toast and burekas (famed Jewish stuffed puff pastry), and chef Noa’s cauliflower (caramelized with chipotle). It’s Italian-ish with a heavy dose of pan-Mediterranean and Middle Eastern. Doesn’t hurt that they left the iconic exterior as is, adding chandelier-farmhouse insides with charm that echoes two of the city’s dearly departed (Jayne’s Gastropub, Cafe Chloe).

À L’ouest

Much tolerance for friends who hate mussels because they look too biological. But if they manage to dislike À L’ouest’s—served over ice with vadouvan curry aioli and chili crisp—then you’ve successfully identified your brokemouth friend and should try bicycling or crafting with them to bond instead of eating in public places. It should be on everyone’s short list for dish of the year.

Chef Brad Wise and his team have earned their rep over multiple concepts—Trust, Fort Oak, Cardellino, Wise Ox, Rare Society. But he’s been eyeing this corner of North Park since before he opened his first (Trust, in 2016). North Park has been rising for a while, and À L’ouest feels like the missing piece—an indoor-outdoor brasserie stunner on the marquee spot of 30th and University, which long sat boarded up and vacant like a neighborhood missing a front tooth.

As with his other concepts, woodpile is king; smoldering red oak boosts the flavor of just about everything. Get the spätzle with braised rabbit, maitake mushroom, secret de compostelle (the famed Basque sheep’s milk cheese), and black truffle. Or the chicken liver parfait with persimmon, fennel aigre-doux (sweet-sour), and chives on toast. Or, like everyone else in there—the steak frites.

Fleurette

Chef Travis Swikard’s first solo restaurant, Callie in East Village, proved how details can make the most composed of us blubber a little in fine places—from citrus left in ovens overnight to blacken and transform, to the Scripps Oceanographic Institute saltwater he keeps his spot prawns thriving in until ordered, to the days-long fermentation and stone-ground dukkah that turn carrot shavings into a statement piece.

Now, he’s focusing on French food with a fitter, less buttery San Diego heart. Fleurette is his doubling-down, a SoCal riff on the food he learned under mentors Daniel Boulud and Gavin Kaysen. The French gave us the mother sauces, and Fleurette showcases the lightest and brightest evolutions. Like the anchoïade on his beef tartare, which uses famed Italian anchovy sauce colatura di alici, mixed with cured egg yolks over tiny, uniform-sized cubes of raw, USDA Prime Flannery beef.

There is soubise (onion sauce), a sauce vierge (tomatoes and herbs), and a fennel marmalade on the duck liver and bone marrow pâté. Although the structure is stunningly pure glass, Fleurette’s in a location—an office park on the edge of La Jolla, near UTC—that few chefs would be able to pull off. But Swikard’s Michelin-bound house of saucework pulls hard.

Mesa Agrícola

The Escondido taqueria from Rosarito-born-and-trained chef Juan González and farmer Megan Strom took the county by storm this year. The married couple started as a popup four years ago, hosting farmside dinners before taking up residency at Vino Carta in Solana Beach. Strom was working a small, 5-acre heirloom bean farm in Valley Center owned by Mike Reeske (aka “The Bean Man”) when he retired and sold them the plot.

The huge bonus was that the sale included Reeske’s famed collection of beans, curated over 20 years. The couple planted other things and now grow much of what they serve in the form of tacos and burritos at a permanent spot in Escondido: Mesa Agrícola.

The menu’s bone simple: housemade tortillas in your choice of taco or burrito norteños (which are smaller, like burritos de hielera) that change constantly and often topped with guisados (Mexican braises or stews) like lamb and garbanzo, birria, chicharrón, mushrooms al ajillo, rajas, you name it. And, of course, some of the best beans honoring the local legend of Reeske.

Lucien

San Diego is now the recipient of national food buzz. The dark ages—during which we learned how to sear ahi and asada some carne and called it a day—felt prolonged, and they were. The problem was never ingredients. San Diego County always had the best raw dinner materials (more small farms per capita than any county in the US, seafood right there); it just didn’t have a critical mass of highly trained chefs to do them justice. Easy to understand the chef dearth.

For a very long time, if you wanted to be a serious chef you had to go to the restaurant superplexes of New York, San Francisco, or Chicago (which imported their raw ingredients from places like San Diego). But now—credit farmers or Alice Waters or Dan Barber or Michael Pollain or the reasonable conclusion that food picked right here tastes better than food picked way over there—some of the most talented chefs are moving to the ingredients, not the other way around.

In San Diego, we got Richard Blais, Swikard, and now Elijah Arizmendi, who cut his teeth in Vegas with Joel Robuchon (plus Boulud and Thomas Keller) and was chef de cuisine at NYC’s L’abeille when it got its first Michelin star. His debut restaurant in La Jolla—with partners Brian Hung and Melissa Yang—is a dark, moody multicourse tasting-menu hideaway with one of the best egg dishes in the city.

San Diego is just out here minding its own business. It’s long been cast as Los Angeles’s less ambitious sibling—the chill one, the one who shows up late for dinner reservations in flip-flops with a few provocative opinions. Architecturally it’s often cast the same: secondary, derivative, a footnote to California modernism that seems to begin and end with the Stahl House (Case Study House #22). LA has Pierre Koenig, Craig Ellwood, John Lautner. San Diego has the original fish taco.

But this version of the story is redacted, metaphorically speaking.

While the jazz hands of Hollywood and its hills cast a spell on historians and architecture buffs, San Diego had, and has, its own quiet evolution: It invented and reinvented itself through homegrown modernism, beginning with The Allen House (1907) in Bonita by Irving J. Gill.

“The biggest misconception is that San Diego was following Los Angeles,” says Keith York of Modern San Diego, one of the city’s top guides to modernist architecture. “Those who consider Rudolph Schindler and Richard Neutra as the fathers of Southern California Modernism often fail to recognize the outsize influence Gill and his buildings had on their work.”

A new book, The Distinct Modernism of San Diego—written by Mark Hargreaves and Hallie Swenson, published by York—focuses on eight architects who were born, raised, or built their careers in San Diego. It illustrates how the city wasn’t hosting weekend warrior architects on side quests. It was a staging ground for a less look-at-me modernism from luminaries like Gill, Lilian J. Rice, Richard Requa, Lloyd Ruocco, Frederick Liebhardt, Kendrick Bangs Kellogg, Sim Bruce Richards, and Cliff May.

“Absent the backstabbing competition for projects, a collegial group of architectural peers collaborated and maintained lasting friendships with one another as they designed in response to the temperate climate and slower economy,” York says.

Largely unknown until the mid-1960s, Gill is a marquee name today. He arrived here from the East Coast at a moment when San Diego was still defining itself, which gave him the freedom to invent something new, experiment, rebel.

Instead of imposing the flourishes and frills of the time, he considered San Diego’s climate, light, landscape, history—the joie de vivre—and designed for this place. “[Architects of the west] must have the courage to fling aside every device that distracts the eye from structural beauty, must break through convention and get down to fundamental truths,” he once said, a sentiment that nails the un-ornate, total lack of pretension that’s defined San Diego people and culture.

And, lo, did Gill fling: His flat roofs, clean lines, and almost no ornamentation—though not necessarily modernism in the Eames or Eichler sense—foreshadowed what would later be called minimalism. Gill eventually became synonymous with the Los Angeles narrative, but broader architectural histories overlook the fact that his most progressive designs happened here.

Another key to San Diego’s architectural movement was Lilian J. Rice, who often worked behind the scenes with little credit. She was one of only about 10 women in America licensed as architects at the time. Even though she died from cancer at 43, she somehow managed to complete an estimated 170 projects in the region, many in Rancho Santa Fe.

Born and raised in National City, Rice also wasn’t importing ideas. She shaped her own based on her understanding of this region and her commitment to protect the natural environment. Her work has been categorized as Spanish Colonial Revival, but she wasn’t reviving as much as she was refining a style suited to our border region—serene, mirroring nature, beautiful.

“San Diego architects were designing for a way of life, not just a look,” says York.

Like Sim Bruce Richards, who was his own way of life. While Gill stripped away ornamentation and Rice focused on the peace of open spaces, Richards came along several decades later and went full emo. By then, modernism had grown deep roots; its steel-and-glass structures took themselves very seriously. Richards came to party.

An eccentric, unpredictable man with half a face (part of his jaw was removed following a bone infection when he was a child), his life was a jalopy of adventures. He was opinionated and passionate about design, music, texture—and he created what he called a “sensuous environment.” He wanted his clients and their guests to feel the spaces as much as to be in them, appealing to the visual, tactile, nasal (“a cedar house smells good”), auditory (“acoustically superior”), even taste. “Though, I‘ve never had a client lick my houses,” he once wrote.

Organic, woodsy, textured, aromatic—if you ever find yourself in a Sim Bruce Richards house, a licking impulse might not seem so outrageous.

Gill, Rice, Richards and the other architects in Distinct Modernism built a legacy in San Diego that resonates nationally. And the work of these heavy hitters isn’t stuck in an inaccessible collectors realm: This October, homes by Kellogg and Liebhardt will open to the public as part of the La Jolla Modernism Home Tour—an opportunity to experience it not as a museum relic or magazine image (ahem), but as something alive.

Modernism in San Diego was never about glamour or an intention to be iconic. What transpired here is more nuanced, more ingrained with a less shouty aesthetic. A very San Diego aesthetic.

At the top of a golf swing, the world settles into a hush. Anyone within 50 yards kindly shuts up in reverence. Steady heartbeats tuck inside the sound of the wind. Time stands still.

Or—panic sets in, a thousand warnings from coaches and YouTube tutorials prattle through your brainpan. You wonder if a good walk prepares to be ruined.

On descent, the club rearranges air particles as it slices on a perfect or unwise line toward an earth so green, it seems like AI. The iron face meets the ball, and the satisfying or unsettling thwack echoes across the fairway like a nonviolent gunshot or a cry for help. Breath catches, curse words load in the prefrontal cortex. Eyes squint to follow the hard-to-see projectile zip majestically through the air or bounce lamely along the ground like a failed hurdler.

Sometimes it goes a couple hundred yards in the right direction, other times a couple yards into uncaring swamps. Golf’s beautiful and hard as hell.

Mindfulness and stillness reign over speed and might—which goes against most basal American instincts regarding sport. Its quiet, serene mocking of our human abilities is what brings so many of us to the life-long process of sharpening the skill. Because who hasn’t stared at the most beautiful parks and lawns in the world and said, “How can I turn this into a game and win it?”

Luckily, San Diego has an abundance of courses to improve and curate self-doubt. The county is home to over 70 courses that attract the top golfers in the country. Some of the biggest names in the sport—Callaway, TaylorMade, Cobra, Titleist, Odyssey, Honma—are based here. Perfect weather never hurts. But San Diego golf courses also promise a smorgasbord of terrains: rocky canyons, hot deserts, and lush greens overlooking the expanse of the Pacific Ocean.

If you could take the 1,300-ish holes around San Diego and pick the very best ones to create your ultimate course, which would they be? We asked some of the top golf pros in the county to do just that. The result? San Diego’s Dream 18. Think fantasy football but for golf.

Just like any great course, our Dream 18 includes four par 3s, 10 par 4s, and four par 5s—everything from tricky dog legs and psychological tee shots to just pretty, pretty views. Once we had our list, we either asked the head golf pro what makes a hole so special, or other pros spoke on its behalf. Go ahead, tell us what we missed.

Par 3s

Torrey Pines South

Hole 3

“One of the most iconic par 3s on the West Coast. The cliffside setting above the Pacific and the constant ocean breeze make it both beautiful and demanding.”

—Anthony Valverde, Director of Golf, The Crosby Club at Rancho Santa Fe

The Santaluz Club

Hole 14

“It’s a downhill par 3 over water with a great view from the tee down to the green. It’s surrounded by bunkers as well, so it almost feels like an island green even though it’s not. What’s really cool is once you drive to the next hole, if you look back on No. 14, it’s a great view as well. One of the signature holes [at Santaluz].”

—Josh Rider, Head Golf Pro, The Santaluz Club

Maderas Golf Club

Hole 15

“Hole 15 is widely considered one of the best and most memorable holes on the course. At about 250 yards, it’s a long downhill with multiple tiers and panoramic views into the valley. It looks intimidating at first, but there are lots of recovery contours and the green is fairly large.”

—Editor’s Choice

Torrey Pines North

Hole 15

“Sitting high above the green with views of the Pacific Ocean, this dramatically downhill par 3 requires the perfect club selection.”

—Mike Mulford, Director of Golf, Omni La Costa

Par 4s

Aviara Golf Club

Hole 18

“While it’s beautiful with the backdrop of the Batiquitos Lagoon and the Pacific Ocean, this finishing hole demands both precision and nerve. The water guarding the right side and fairway bunkers ahead create a visually striking, strategic tee shot, while the expansive green rewards a confident, well-placed approach. If you can make a par on this hole, you’ve played it very well.”

—Renny Brown, Director of Golf, Aviara Golf Club

Del Mar Country Club

Hole 18

“The 18th hole at Del Mar CC is a demanding par 4 with an elevated tee box. Water guards the right side of the green, and a player must hit a precise shot into this green.”

—Renny Brown, Director of Golf, Aviara Golf Club

Rancho Sante Fe Golf Club

Hole 5

“It’s a difficult 428-yard par 4 playing into the predominant west wind. The hole is post-renovation and the vegetation was trimmed back, so now it exposes a penalty on the right. It’s uncomfy at the tee but a good challenge. Plus, it’s the No. 1 handicap for [all players].”

—Chris Lungo, Head Golf Pro, Rancho Santa Fe Golf Club

The Bridges at Rancho Santa Fe

Hole 10