There’s a lot happening in Oceanside’s dining scene, even if you can’t see it all just yet. Flying Pig Pub relocated to a new spot on Mission Avenue this month. In its place (for now) is chef William Eick’s Japanese fried chicken sandwich pop-up, Naegi, which will be expanded by the end of summer into a permanent Japanese tasting menu concept, Matsu.
Carte Blanche Bistro & Bar
In the meantime, try Eick’s Famous Karaage Sando: a crunchy fried chicken thigh topped with togarashi mayo, cabbage, and teriyaki sauce between two slices of milk bread. Also to come on Tremont Street is Tremont Collective, a co-op that’ll house retail and restaurants like Bottlecraft and Al Fresko so you can dine, drink, shop, and play in one place. Until then, explore the new kids that are already open, like Frankie’s for cocktails and live music, Craft Coast for a taste of Oceanside craft beer and tacos, and Carte Blanche Bistro & Bar for French- and Mexican-inspired plates—all opened in the last year.
Secondhand shoppers rejoice—Oceanside is chock-full of antique malls, curated vintage boutiques, and thrift stores to scour. Poke around South Oceanside, where you’ll find Sea Hive—a 13,000-square-foot antique mall with everything from jewelry and jeans to midcentury furniture and grandfather clocks. Just down the street, you can sell or trade your gently used items before you peruse the racks at Captain’s Helm. They stock vintage band tees, ’90s crewnecks, and accessories, and there’s even a café (Captain’s Grounds Coffee) to keep you caffeinated while you shop.
California Surf Museum
Explore
No matter what’s on your agenda, you can’t go too far without spotting one of Oceanside’s colorful outdoor murals; there are over 30 created by local and visiting artists alike. Snap a photo of the Star Theatre mural on Civic Center Drive on your way to the Oceanside Museum of Art—exhibits this summer include painting installations by Taylor Chapin and an exhibit of 35 works by Mark Bryce. Closer to the water, the California Surf Museum recently reopened their permanent exhibit of memorabilia that chronicles the history of Southern California’s surf culture. Sound like a lot to see? Make a staycation out of it so you have more time to explore. The Seabird Resort and Mission Pacific Hotel both opened in May and offer sweet amenities and ocean views.
A coastal gem that feels like it’s been heavily polished over the last several years, Oceanside effortlessly blends beach-town charm with a burgeoning foodie and things-to-do scene. From its iconic pier and swim-and-surf worthy beaches to its hidden culinary treasures—and everything in between—Oceanside is having a well-deserved moment, that by all accounts, is here to stay. This guide highlights some of the must-visit spots that make Oceanside shine.
Photo Credit: Dee Sandoval 24 Suns
Oceanside Restaurants, Bars, and Coffee Shops
Allmine
An elevated take on Italian-inspired cuisine, Allmine showcases masterfully crafted artisanal pizzas, handmade pastas, and thoughtfully curated natural wines. With careful attention to ingredients—like imported Italian flour for their signature pizza dough—and making nearly everything in-house, from rich sauces to house-cured sausages and creamy burrata, every dish reflects a commitment to quality and craftsmanship.
119 S Coast Hwy.
Communal Coffee
Communal Coffee offers a wide selection of coffee, teas, fresh pastries, and cafe bites all set against a boho-chic space with creative energy, and plentiful indoor and outdoor seating. A favorite for those working remote, as well as business and friend meet-ups.
A new addition to the historic Brick Hotel, The Lobby Tiki Bar & Grill isa vibrant tiki-inspired vibe with Instagram-worthy drinks, and island-infused American cuisine. Don’t miss the Tiki dancers during Friday’s dinner service.
408 Pier View Way
Valle
One of the rare Michelin-starred restaurants in San Diego, Valle showcases the flavors of Baja California through elevated, modern Mexican cuisine with an extensive wine list highlighting Valle de Guadalupe wines. The multi-course experience is ripe for a special-occasion set amongst a breathtaking ambiance—with ocean views as the cherry on top.
222 N Pacific St
Rose Cafe
Head to Rose Cafe for breakfast, lunch or a little of both with their popular brunch menu and enjoy tasty bites in a charming and cozy setting. They offer a surprisingly large and diverse menu whether you’re popping in for a quick coffee, or fixing for a full on meal.
A refined and modern Japanese omakase style experience, Matsu uses seasonal ingredients and meticulous techniques to offer a five-star dining experience. Helmed by chef/owner William Eick, his menu blends tradition with innovation and the food is as much art as it is delicious.
626 S Tremont St
Wrench and Rodent Seabasstropub
An Oceanside staple since 2013, Wrench and Rodent Seabasstropub is sustainability-driven sushi-forward spot is known for inventive flavors and a daily-changing menu, with a focus on responsibly sourced ingredients. The eclectic vibe makes for an effortlessly cool setting.
1815 South Coast Hwy
Dija Mara
Blending Balinese flavors with modern California cuisine, Dija Mara offers bold, umami-rich dishes. With a stylish, laid-back atmosphere and a well-curated natural wine list. It’s a worthy visit for adventurous and spice-loving foodies.
232 S Coast Hwy
The Plot
The Plot features an elevated earthy vibe with outdoor dining in a garden-setting complemented by its inventive plant-based dishes. Artfully crafted sushi rolls are popular, as well as the brunch, where the vegan chicken and waffles and the bold and bountiful Bloody Mary, are a crowd favorite.
1733 S Coast Hwy.
Little Fox Cups & Cones
Little Fox Cups & Cones makes creative ice cream concoctions with a host of inventive flavors, and tried-and-true classics. While they dish out traditional cups and cones of ice cream, they also have their popular ice cream taco, ice cream cakes and other goodies. As a bonus they cater to all dietary needs with a few seriously good vegan options. Everything is made in house, from scratch.
1940s S Freeman St
24 Suns
In an unassuming strip mall, 24 Suns is a shining culinary achievement. Two former Michelin three-star restaurant chefs have taken over an old dive bar, and turned it into a chef-driven culinary experience with a focus on modern Chinese cuisine.
There is something familiar and vulnerable about those glasslike panels above the entrance to the new Flying Pig.
“Shower doors,” laughs owner Aaron Browning, pointing at her husband.
Yep, that’s it. Shower doors from the ’70s. That hard plastic almost-glass, dimpled to secure the privacy of our own dimples. As we’ve heard, the pandemic rattled and snapped supply chains, bulled its way through the china shop of how we send and receive the things we need. So, unable to get windows that fit, Roddy Browning’s glance fell on old shower doors in his home (while many of us made banana bread during the pandemic, Roddy rebuilt his home). He measured them, smiled, found yet another solution in the discard pile.
This is why I have always loved The Flying Pig. It’s why Oceanside loves the Pig. When Roddy and Aaron opened their original restaurant in 2011, they found a one-story building in an obscure, forgotten location. And they resuscitated it, filled it with life and art and good Southern food. With old vinyl records, succulent pork chops, ramshackle mason jars, buttery grits, kitschy garage sale finds, hush puppies, eye-popping tchotchkes, so much bacon, figurines with moxie, craft beer and good booze.
The pandemic was hell on restaurants, and the Brownings weren’t spared. They had to close their second Vista location (they openly admit that location never worked, and the pandemic expedited the end of its run). They moved from their original spot and had to find a new home. But, the silver lining: They bought a building on Mission Avenue in Oceanside, put down real roots just off main street. And their old place is now home toMatsu, a just-opened Japanese concept from their friend and talented young chef William Eick.
Roddy and Aaron Browning, owners of Flying Pig
And so the Pig—often rightly credited with sparking a food movement in O’side years back—will remain a fixture of its future. They hired a young chef, Harrison Hackett, who studied under James Beard nominee Eli Kulp (Fork restaurant in Philadelphia), sustainability chef Eric Morris (Nightbell, in Asheville), and a hot minute at San Diego’s George’s at the Cove.
Still proudly Southern, their hush puppies are textbook deep-fried savorycakes with a side of smoked shrimp butter (lobster takes all the credit for illuminating the magic of shellfish and butter, but it works with shrimp, too). The Pig has never been accused of hoarding or even serving very many plants, but their butternut squash is excellent—pulled from the family’s garden, roasted and glazed in a serrano reduction, set atop fresh apples and a lemon-mint yogurt sauce with crispy garlic.
But it’s the chicken—brined in sweet tea, smoked, and tossed in an herb vinaigrette with oranges and greens—that’s a stunner, moist with just enough campfire, offset by the vague sweetness of the summer Southern tea. Finish the night off with a bananas Foster in a bowl, that classic way to sabotage the human pleasure center.
The Pig is now open. With a large patio and a full bar with great wine (Roddy came from Market Del Mar, and knows his wine), the Brownings hope it’ll become the neighborhood spot for a late-night nip. You’ll see Aaron standing as hostess at the front, Roddy running food, and both of them washing dishes. “The dishwashing machine busted,” she says.
No sweat. Just have Roddy make one out of old car parts.
Troy Johnson is the magazine’s award-winning food writer and humorist, and a long-standing expert on Food Network. His work has been featured on NatGeo, Travel Channel, NPR, and in Food Matters, a textbook of the best American food writing.
“My brother and I started in the dish pit,” says Ryan Ross.
Ross is a starkly nice man. I’d been warned about this, but still, it’s striking. Along with his brother, their wives, and chef Alex Carballo, he’sopening Carte Blanche, a new French-Mexican restaurant in Oceanside (French-Mexican sounds like a promising combo, as does Carballo’s escargot tostada). It’s a big deal for a long-time San Diego restaurant family. Their dad rejuvenated Old Town’s Fiesta De Reyes and The Cosmopolitan Hotel. The sons have been with him there for 11 years, scrubbing dishes and cutting avocados and crunching numbers and managing and doing whatever urgent thing needs doing (in restaurants, things are always urgent).
Though dad’s still involved, Carte Blanche is a passing of the torch, a couple of grown restaurant industry kids giving it their own go. It’s all hands on deck and—oh, who am I kidding. I’m just filling this story with stats because I didn’t hear anything he said for the next ten seconds after the words “dish pit.” I didn’t black out, but I wasn’t there.
I was standing in a blindingly bright room. Everything is hot and wet and loud and metal and chaotic, like an off-brand, apocalyptic rainforest. The air is a sauna of bleach and egg sulfur and aerated broccoli parts and abandoned ounces of booze. I am being steamed like an artichoke. I am spackled with damp bits of food. Every breath feels like partial drowning. I will break many dishes, and the dishes will break me. I was 24, and my brain brings up this memory every time I consider complaining at a restaurant.
Every U.S. citizen should be required to spend at least a month as a dishwasher in a restaurant by the time they’re 20 years old. Few realms put life into sharp perspective quite as effectively as the dish pit.
Anyway, Ross has spent time there, and that’s important for Carte Blanche’s potential success—as is Carballo and the French-Mexican idea.
“We run Mexican restaurants, and this is a bit of an evolution,” Ross explains. “We were enthralled with places like Bracero and Death by Tequila, but we were struggling to find our own identity. So we dug through the roots of Mexican cooking and culture, and read about the French influence from the war. Once we put those two together, it just became a dervish of creativity. We knew we had it.”
“Every U.S. citizen should be required to spend at least a month as a dishwasher in a restaurant by the time they’re 20 years old. Few realms put life into sharp perspective quite as effectively as the dish pit.”
Ross also admits without shame and a glint of pride that they’ll be making their own version of a White Claw. Scoff if you’re snooty, but flavored sparkling waters with an ABV have been around for centuries in very serious drink regions (Italy, for one). There are reasons to poke fun at the Claw (it’s made of malt liquor, which is the roach motel of alcohol), but the concept isn’t one of them. At CB, their housemade hard seltzer doubles as a sustainability effort, utilizing leftover garnishes and trimmings that might otherwise go in the trash.
There will be a salad of grilled frisee and jalapeño-candied lardons, pomme frites and duck mole tacos, mushroom raclettes and carne asada tartare, fig-jalapeno pork chops and Mexican hot pots in adobada broth, French and Mexican throughout. Plus a burger. Always a burger.
Carte Blanche opens Feb. 18. 339 N. Cleveland St., Oceanside.
Troy Johnson is the magazine’s award-winning food writer and humorist, and a long-standing expert on Food Network. His work has been featured on NatGeo, Travel Channel, NPR, and in Food Matters, a textbook of the best American food writing.
Inspired by the effortless charm of French cafés, this taste of France on Orange Avenue invites guests to embrace the simple pleasure of taking their time.
Strolling down Orange Avenue on a sunny afternoon, you’ll hear the hum of beach cruisers rolling by and visitors making their way toward the Hotel del Coronado. Dogs pause to greet one another on the sidewalk, palm trees sway overhead, and for a moment, you’re convinced you’re living inside the postcard from the gift shop you just passed.
Then the scene shifts. Towering white columns, black café awnings and gold-trimmed windows frame Little Frenchie, where woven bistro chairs spill onto the sidewalk and servers deliver bubbling crocks of French onion soup. The scent of caramelized onions and melted Gruyère is practically an invitation to ask, “How long for a table for two?”
That feeling of pulling up a chair and staying awhile is exactly what inspired Little Frenchie. French cuisine has a reputation for feeling a little intimidating, but the restaurant is rewriting that narrative with food and wine that feels approachable.
“Sometimes when you read a French menu, you come across words you can’t even pronounce,” David Spatafore, the owner of Little Frenchie, says. “We wanted to create a restaurant where people felt comfortable.”
Little Frenchie was designed to capture the spirit of the French sidewalk cafés that inspired it. Dating back to 1917, the space already carried the charm of a Parisian bistro, with architectural details that felt more at home on a European street corner than in Coronado. The team saw an opportunity to create a restaurant that matched the character of the space while filling a gap in the neighborhood.
The result is a French restaurant that honors tradition without taking itself too seriously.
At Little Frenchie, classic French techniques are at the heart of the menu, but there is always room for creativity. A cassoulet featuring Toulouse sausage and duck confit pays homage to the recipes and regions that inspired it, while a rich hot chocolate made with ingredients imported from France brings a taste of French café culture to Coronado.
The team loves finding unexpected ways to make familiar dishes feel new. A burger becomes a showstopper when it is finished tableside with melted raclette, while a French Dip gets elevated with prime beef and Wagyu makes its way into the burgers. Even Eggs Benedict gets a French twist, swapping the traditional English muffin for a buttery croissant. The GB&J, Little Frenchie’s take on a grilled cheese, brings that same playful approach with seasonal jam and French Brie layered into a comforting classic.
Nearly everything at Little Frenchie is made from scratch, with ingredients carefully chosen to match the restaurant’s standards. Even the bread receives special attention. Each morning, the team sends a car to Prager Brothers Artisan Bread to pick up freshly baked loaves, ensuring every element of the meal reflects the restaurant’s commitment to quality.
Wine is woven into the experience just as naturally as the food. Inspired by the effortless pairings found in French cafés and bistros, Little Frenchie’s by-the-glass selection invites guests to sip their way through different regions and discover new favorites without the pressure of knowing all the rules.
That was the question on loop in my head as I sat, nearly catatonic, watching my chickens scratch and crap, from a chair on my patio. It was the first Monday after dropping my one and only at college on the other side of the country. I was tired to the bone and in shock. Eighteen-plus years of permission slips, math homework, Barbie play (ugh), carpooling—my God, the carpooling—and a teenager who, for four years and counting, communicated almost exclusively through side-eye and not-so-under-the-breath clapbacks. Parenting is insanity, and when it stops, it feels so good and so bad all at once.
Photo Credit: Aaryn Belfer
I won’t linger on my personal recovery here, except to say: Part of moving on is dealing with that empty room. What do we parents do with the utensil vortex, and more importantly, when do we do it?
My daughter’s room sat for two years like a forgotten museum exhibit, preserved—not because I was sentimental, but because my husband was. While he didn’t want her to feel erased when she came home, I wanted to expunge her Totoro-meets-Pepto-Bismol gray-and-pink aesthetic, the sports jerseys, the inspirational stick-on decals from Etsy, the bazillion discarded beauty products that didn’t make it into the blue duffel bags.
My metamorphosis took a while, but I built a new, brilliantly free, empty-nest life. No more driving hundreds of miles a week, no more bleachers, no more ref whistles reverberating in my dreams. I reclaimed myself, then I hired a professional to help me reclaim my kid’s bedroom.
EBSCO’s Research Starters series says that “empty nest syndrome” is a real, if not clinical, diagnosis—no chart line, no billing code. Just a recognized experience of grief, loneliness, and diminished purpose that can take up to a year to resolve.
Creating a Sanctuary
Courtesy of Treci Smith
I turned to Treci Smith of Treci Smith Designs because I loved what she did with her son’s bedroom. (Full disclosure: She’s a friend.) After several interrupted attempts at reimagining the room, she designed a den for her husband, Amir. The couple, married 32 years, raised four kids in their four-bedroom ranch home in Bonita, and over the years, the kids switched rooms and pairings countless times.
The house Tetris continued as each child went off to college. But when their youngest left, his bedroom atrophied. It became a haphazard office and, for one stubborn stretch, nothing at all. A purgatory.
“We wanted to utilize every room in our house,” Smith says, “not letting it be a room that just sits empty.” She finally made a plan to evict purgatory, but the pandemic hit, and all four kids moved back home. It took a while longer before the room was finally hers to play with.
Courtesy of Treci Smith
What Smith created in its place is magic. It feels like a speakeasy. Dark, moody, and deliberately masculine, the den looks like how sandalwood and musk would smell if they took physical form. It’s got a bar cart, Amir’s cigars, a speaker, a desk for his real estate research, and French doors that open to a courtyard and pool.
“When we think of meditation, we think of light and airy,” Smith says, rejecting that there’s only one way to create calm. “It’s a sanctuary. It’s a place where the rest of the world doesn’t really feel like it exists.”
Smith doesn’t talk about trends. “I think everything has to have a purpose, and not just to be magazine-ready,” she says. “So I ask clients, ‘How do you want to feel in this space?’”
For my project, Smith isn’t interested in erasing the past so much as spotlighting it. As she guides me in reimagining my kid’s former room, she’s pushing back on my urge to wipe the kid out of it entirely. “I don’t want her to feel like she’s been pushed out of the house, essentially,” she says. “The room is now functioning for other purposes, but it’s still hers.”
She pulls a painting of my daughter off the wall in another part of the house for use in the new space. She also caught sight of a planed section of a pantry door from our last house, which has my daughter’s height marks in my handwriting, climbing as she grew. “Grab that,” she tells me. “It has to go in.”
That’s not just decoration. It’s continuity.
From Playroom to Paycheck
For years, the biggest room in Melissa Gaviria’s Rancho Peñasquitos house was a shared bedroom and playroom for her two kids—absorbing blocks, toys, and balls that, with impressive consistency, never made it into the ball pit. As the kids grew, the room saw less use, then emptied out entirely: Her older child moved out, her younger one moved upstairs.
Gaviria tried turning it into an office, but “that was just one little corner of a whole big room,” she says. When a coworker converted part of a house into an Airbnb-ready ADU, Gaviria was inspired.
She hired award-winning designer Jen Guerin of JG Color Studios to create a junior ADU. It’s technically attached to the house but is functionally its own unit, with a French-door entrance on the side so guests never have to walk through the home’s main living space.
Gaviria didn’t wait until both kids were gone to build her nest egg (the unit pays her mortgage, and she rents the whole house in the summer and travels). The kids were 14 and 10 when construction started, and she gave them markers and crayons for one last pass at the walls. I ask whether she left any of their artwork as an homage. She laughs, “I can’t rent with a Godzilla on the wall.”
I beg to differ there.
Photo Credit: Hali Makanah
Guerin pulled from Gaviria’s Colombian background, incorporating blues and a deep burnt orange as nods to home.
Guerin, who’s designed dozens of these transitions over 20 years, says most parents pivot more slowly than Gaviria. “It always starts with paint,” she says, “then flooring and slowly a replacement of all items.” But the instinct, fast or slow, is the same: “This chapter isn’t about erasing the family story. It’s about making room for the next one.”
Enveloped. Safe. At ease, creative, and a little bit sexy. I wanted an understated drama that didn’t match our minimalist, midcentury design elsewhere in the house, but that matched the inside of my soul. I wanted dark and light, color and whimsy. I wanted to never want to get out of bed, and for guests to feel that too.
Another parameter: I had a tight budget. I mean, let’s be real about the economy, right? Smith guided me toward a dark paint my husband and I put on ourselves, then sourced used and vintage pieces to go with the bed and other accoutrements we already had, and mixed in a few new pieces from Ikea—like the two-tone green speaker lamp. She nudged me not to erase my kid entirely, so I dug through boxes of ephemera in the garage, framed some old artwork, and tucked a few other mementos away for discovery, should someone look closely.
Most guests won’t notice. They’ll just sink into the bed and not want to leave, which is the whole point. But if you know where to look, my ladybaby is still in there—she’s just not running the place.
Aaryn Belfer is a writer and editor specializing in nonfiction across art, architecture, and culture. Once upon a time, she wrote a provocative column for San Diego CityBeat (RIP). She was a runner up in the 2025 Matchbook Stories contest at the San Diego Central Library and is irrationally happy about it. Currently in her Soft Girl Era, Aaryn has expensive taste in (mostly flat) shoes and will choose a great art exhibit or live jazz concert over almost anything else. Except, possibly, Javier Bardem.
Growing up, Laika Nur, MD, Scripps Clinic sports medicine specialist, loved watching beach volleyball when the Association of Volleyball Professionals tour came to her hometown of Chicago. A talented volleyball player herself, she remembers sitting in the stands all day, and once, even got a couple autographs. Years later, Dr. Nur was attending a professional event focused on women’s sports, and the discussion turned to a new professional women’s volleyball league. The general manager and coaching staff for San Diego’s team, the Mojo, happened to be in attendance, and Dr. Nur took the opportunity to ask them if they needed a team doctor. Flash forward to the Mojo’s inaugural 2024 season, when Dr. Nur officially became the team physician. Click here to read more about Dr. Nur and how she incorporates lessons she learned on the court into her practice.
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