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Lawyers sue over inflated ranking
Rudy Hasl, Dean of Thomas Jefferson School of Law
Photo by Sam Hodgson
The students at two well-known San Diego law schools came eager to learn everything they could about contract law, torts, and fraud. Now they are graduates, many are unemployed or underemployed, and they’re turning the tables on their alma maters.
Downtown’s Thomas Jefferson School of Law is one of several law schools defending allegations that they lied about their employment statistics to improve their rankings in U.S. News & World Report’s list of best law schools. For Thomas Jefferson, the defense goes like this:
“There is no way in hell, if I put down 100 percent employment, that would change the ranking in U.S. News,” says Rudy Hasl, the school’s dean. “There is no incentive. We’re a fourth-tier law school.”
And yet, four of Thomas Jefferson’s recent graduates sued the law school last year for $50 million, alleging that the school faked its stats. The suit is one of 15 similar complaints filed nationwide, all of which hope to be certified as class actions, including one against California Western School of Law downtown. For those keeping score at home: Two of San Diego’s three law schools face charges of fraud from their own alumni.
In essence, the complaints say that the law schools, which consistently reported graduates’ employment rates between 80 and 90 percent, lured students to take on as much as $150,000 in debt to finance their legal educations. Once they graduated, these students expected to find lucrative careers to pay off the debt. But as the economy soured, the legal profession, uncharacteristically, tanked, and these students struggled to get any kind of job, let alone jobs that required their expensive degrees. But the schools, following standards set by the American Bar Association, continued to report high employment rates, attracting ever more students.
The plaintiffs say that had they known the schools were juicing the numbers, they would never have attended law school, or, at least, not these law schools.
And now they want the schools to give them a refund.
Hall of Justice
Photo by Sam Hodgson
Law school is supposed to be a ticket to job security and the upper middle class. Attorneys are often immune to the economic cycles, enjoying a solid business writing contracts during boom times and handling lawsuits when recessions strike. Jill Ballard wanted that kind of stability. (Ballard and the other plaintiffs declined to comment, citing their attorneys. The information that follows is quoted or summarized from court documents.) Ballard graduated from California State University San Marcos in 1996 and worked as a substitute teacher. She read in a 2003 copy of U.S. News and World Report that Thomas Jefferson School of Law had an employment rate of 80.1 percent for students nine months after graduation, even though its admission standards were the lowest in the region. She applied, was accepted, and enrolled.
In 2008, Ballard graduated with honors and more than $76,000 in debt, and she promptly passed the California Bar Exam on her first try.
But when Ballard went to apply for jobs, she discovered a labor market for attorneys that bore little resemblance to the one that had been the norm for the previous 50 years. A recession swept the nation in 2007 and 2008, and the halting recovery that followed didn’t leave many people much better off. The legal field couldn’t shrug off the sudden drop in billings that came when companies foundered and individuals couldn’t afford mortgage payments, let alone attorneys. Major law firms shuttered, other firms opted not to continue the usual practice of hiring their summer associates, and salaries stopped growing. It was not a good time for Ballard to be out looking for a job, and graduating from a low-ranked school like Thomas Jefferson probably didn’t help her prospects.
Ballard spent two years applying for more than 200 positions, landing none of them. She earned a combined $7,384 in 2009 and 2010, and needed food stamps to survive. She says that had she known it would be so hard to find a job—had she known she would have something less than an 80.1 percent chance of finding legal work—she would never have enrolled.
Niels Schaumann
Photo by Sam Hodgson
The system for reporting employment statistics relies entirely on the law schools themselves. School staff members interview students immediately upon graduation and then again nine months later to check on their employment status. In 2005 and 2006, Cal Western had an employment rate of 90 and 93 percent. Five years later, when the bottom had fallen out of the job market, the school’s employment rates dipped marginally, to 89 percent. Thomas Jefferson’s employment rates actually improved, from 80.1 percent to 90 percent over the same period.
How does that happen?
The legal complaints accuse the schools of outright fraud, lying to inflate their numbers. In one particularly surprising observation, attorneys Brian Procel and Vinay Kohli, who work at Miller Barondess LLP in LA, cite Thomas Jefferson’s survey of 2006 graduates. It appears to reflect a correlation between a student’s last name and his or her employment status. Students whose last name began with letters A through N were all shown as employed, students whose last names began with S and T were studying for the bar, and students with a W-name were unemployed. The complaint doesn’t address the missing letters. Thomas Jefferson has since said that list was an error, but it’s the sort of mistake that gets litigious attorneys fired up.
Perhaps more amazing are the ways in which the American Bar Association allowed schools to report.
Karen Grant, a former assistant director for career services for Thomas Jefferson, testified in an affidavit that when she worked at the school, she keenly felt pressure from her boss, Laura Weseley, the school’s Director of Career Services at the time, to show increasing employment rates. Among her duties, Grant surveyed students nine months after graduation to learn their employment status. If a graduate said she or he was unemployed, Grant was to push and ask if the student had been employed at any time after graduation. If the graduate said yes, Grant was to mark them as employed.
“I again expressed my concern to Ms. Weseley that it did not seem right to report currently unemployed students as ‘employed’ merely because they had been employed at some point after graduation. Ms. Weseley responded by saying, ‘It’s no big deal, everybody does it,’” said Grant in a signed declaration.
Thomas Jefferson School of Law
Photo by Sam Hodgson
Thomas Jefferson says it will produce other career services workers to contest Grant’s story, but it also said Grant’s instructions—reporting anyone with any employment at all—were standard industry practice.
Some schools, including Cal Western, will give students jobs in the administration at the school in order to report them as employed, according to the complaint. The ABA allowed schools to report their students as employed even if their work does not require a law degree.
“So the criticism is not about what Thomas Jefferson did, or Cal Western or any other law school, but really that the ABA didn’t require more intensive reporting of the kinds of positions that people were getting upon graduating from law school,” says Jefferson’s Hasl.
“That was just extremely misleading,” said Paul Campos, a law professor at the University of Colorado Law School in Boulder. As a blogger at insidethelawschoolscam.blogspot.com, Campos has been at the forefront of the movement to demand that law schools provide more accurate employment stats.
“People would look at these statistics and see 90 percent of graduates had some job. A very large percentage of these jobs were not legal jobs. These were jobs they could have gotten without going to law school,” he says.
Campos offered a counter-argument to Hasl’s assertion that low-ranked law schools have no incentive to lie about their statistics. The name of the game isn’t getting highly ranked: It’s admitting as many students as possible, at as high a tuition rate as possible.
“The fact that Thomas Jefferson has admitted a student means he or she can borrow 100 percent of all the tuition costs, as calculated by Thomas Jefferson, straight from the federal government,” he says. “No one ever asks if this loan is going to be paid back.”
Nationwide, law school tuitions rose 317 percent between 2005 and 2011. Both Cal Western and Thomas Jefferson charge around $40,000 a year for tuition. Students at Cal Western graduate with an average of $145,000 in debt, according to U.S. News.
At the same time that tuition rose and law jobs evaporated, both Cal Western and Thomas Jefferson increased their class sizes, by 19 and 15 percent, respectively.
Thomas Jefferson School of Law classroom
Photo by Sam Hodgson
The employment numbers make up 18 percent of the U.S. News formula for determining law school rankings. At that amount, any inflation happening would only have a modest effect on any school’s ranking. Hasl says it would only be useful for a school “on the cusp” of moving up to tier 2 or 3 (Law school tiers are ill-defined, and there’s an oft-repeated joke that says there are 15 top-10 law schools).
It’s also not clear whether students actually make decisions based on the ranking or the statistics alone. Do they matter all that much?
“Not really, because I came here,” says Jessica McCracken, a first-year student.
At Thomas Jefferson’s new $66-million campus building in downtown San Diego, McCracken says she chose this school because its location was convenient (she’s from Los Angeles), and because of the new campus.
Other students make similar remarks: One attended thanks to a scholarship; another had a job already in San Diego and it’s convenient to attend part-time. Of a dozen or so students surveyed, none said they relied on U.S. News or any one statistic to choose Thomas Jefferson over another school. And most took a dim view of the alumni suing their alma mater.
“It’s tough for everyone,” says Jason Ging, a first-year student. “If you put the legwork in, you can get a job.”
Some students have nothing but scorn for students who feel deceived by a single statistic.
“If you can’t figure that out on your own, who would want to have you as their lawyer?” says Nicholas Williams, another law student.
Both Hasl and Niels Schau-mann, the newly appointed dean of Cal Western, maintain they launched internal investigations into the allegations of fraud and found no evidence of it.
“I think that no one here, to my knowledge, would ever do such a thing,” Schaumann says. “It violates all the principles and values for which the law school stands.”
Hasl, as noted earlier, doesn’t see any point to lying about the statistics, which is part of why he thinks it didn’t happen.
Of the 15 cases nationwide, five were dismissed by judges, some on the grounds that applicants to law schools are sophisticated consumers and should have known these employment statistics were implausible.
In one of its motions, Thomas Jefferson argues that applicants should have known not all the graduates with jobs were becoming lawyers.
“For all relevant years, bar passage rate at TJSL was lower (and often significantly lower) than the reported percent employed nine months after graduation,” the motion reads. “Because bar admission is a prerequisite to practicing law, any reasonable reader would immediately recognize that that USNWR (U.S. News & World Report) employment figures must include non-lawyer positions.”
Yet that argument didn’t seem to carry much weight with Superior Court Judge Joel Pressman. In November, Pressman rejected Thomas Jefferson’s motion to dismiss, making it the first of the alumni suits against law schools to go to trial. The next hearing will be held on March 22.
But whatever happens with any of the cases, the complaints and surrounding media coverage have already had an effect. The American Bar Association tightened up its reporting requirements for the most recent classes. Cal Western’s class of 2011 had a total employment rate of 87 percent among those who could be found for the survey, and 68 percent had jobs that required passing the bar. Thomas Jefferson’s class of 2011 fared worse: 68 percent had jobs of any kind, and 42 percent had jobs that required bar passage.
The bad publicity has hurt law schools. Prospective students weighing the debt and odds of landing a job have stopped applying. This fall, for the first time, the number of applications to law schools nationwide dropped.
PARTNER CONTENT
For Cal Western’s Schaumann, the reputation problem is the greater hill to climb. “One of the things I find troubling is the allegation seems to be credible to so many people, which makes me wonder about the way law schools are viewed in this society,” he says. “I think the most important thing for law schools to do right now, aside from defending against the case, is to pay attention to what the case is telling us. We’re not doing a good enough job preparing students for the practice of law.”
Food writer Beth Demmon names local bites we love—both at the high and low ends of our budgets
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.
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)
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
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)
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
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
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
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
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
Beth Demmon is an award-winning writer and podcaster whose work regularly appears in national outlets and San Diego Magazine. Her first book, The Beer Lover's Guide to Cider, is now available. Find out more on bethdemmon.com.
SDM owner and food critic Troy Johnson identifies some standout stars in SD's food scene
I spent time in a hot dog stand on the edge of San Diego Bay, looking out a window that mattered. Mattered to a kid whose mom taught him to fish on this pier. They’d turn on a little transistor radio, find a signal through the static, stare at the water, and talk life and his dad. Dennis Borlek’s dad was out there, somewhere, commanding a naval submarine through god knows what. When his dad would dock in Point Loma weeks or months later, Borlek biked down the street along Shelter Island to see him and steal back stolen moments.
Later, Borlek helped midwife the craft beer scene, managing seminal spots like Small Bar and Liar’s Club. Wondering what to do with the rest of his life, he went back to that pier and saw a for-lease sign on the bait and tackle shop. He tore through the public library and spent the whole night learning how to write a business plan (he had no clue). A couple days later he found himself at the intimidating end of a massive conference table, pitching his dream to the very official Port of San Diego executives.
They gave it to the San Diego kid. Not sure if they ever imagined Fathom Bistro—the tiniest, mightiest craft beer and hot dog stand, filled with spear guns, ocean monster figures, and seafaring oddities—would still be there 13 years later, let alone be a local’s favorite. It’s the most San Diego place in the world. Borlek taught himself to make kimchi and puts it on his Explodo Dog. His friend Kevin, who played with him in a punk band, dresses as a pirate and works the door on weekends. Has done so for years.
And when Borlek stares out the window, he can see the sub base and the memories of his dad.
Later, a few beach towns over, I sat in an employee break area—a shaded back-alley alcove with grape vines that serves as an escape garden for the crew. The place used to be a taco shop. Owner Crystal White points to a window of a single bedroom behind the dough-mixing part of the kitchen. She lived there when she started, often finding herself on the roof at midnight, staring at a broken compressor, trying to will it into working.
A blue-collar kid who fell in love with bread, she moved to San Diego with a business plan and zero cash. Banks don’t loan money to bread dreamers. Fate, kismet, and door-knocking found her enough investors. In the weeks leading up to opening that dream—perfect croissants, kouign-amanns, sandwiches, pizzas, baguettes fermented with wild La Jolla yeasts—she was outside hammering and painting. Locals would pause to ask what she was putting into the spot. “A bakery!” she’d reply.
“Oh, we don’t need one of those,” they’d say. Eight years later, White has moved out of the bedroom, and Wayfarer Bread is one of the best bakeries in the land. I ask if she’ll ever open another location. “I grew up dirt poor,” she says. “This has surpassed even my wildest dreams. This is enough. Please make sure you mention Emma Koehler, K-O-E-H-L-E-R, my kitchen manager. She deserves the credit now.”
These are the people and the stories behind “Best Restaurants.” This issue is dedicated to them, the culture they’ve gritted into being. On the surface, the annual tradition—naming a list of “winners,” my favorite places and my honest answers to “who has the best taco/pizza/Thai…”—is a good-natured competition among friends. But the deeper point is that it’s a way to highlight hundreds of places that have risked it all to build a little magic across the city. Sure, some owners were born in the stars and used that dust to make more stars. But many or most restaurants started with a scrappy go-getter or two. And now those places are filled with dozens or hundreds of people who love the work, show up day in and day out, for years. People like Koehler and the ones we feature in our story, “Behind the Line”.
So please use this list as a beachhead. Try these places, email me ([email protected]) to say “thanks” or “you truly messed up.” Eat, drink, commune, say hello, get to know the stories of the people making your favorite food. Make your own list, and share it with us.
(Note: Fathom didn’t win anything, probably because there’s no category for “Best Hot Dog Craft Beer Stand on a Pier with a Pirate,” which is a shortcoming on our part. So I put him here because he should be a part of any conversation about best San Diego things.)
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.
As Rancho Valencia's Chef Concierge and US Nominee for Les Clefs d'Or Young Leader Award, Simona Marciulaityte is equal parts doer and fixer
Your cup of coffee shows up exactly how you like it. The fully booked restaurant suddenly has a table. The last-minute, once-in-a-lifetime experience somehow comes together without a hitch. In the world of hospitality at top resorts, there’s an iceberg of scrupulous planning for each guest.
A concierge is in charge of that iceberg. There’s even an award for the best in the world: the Les Clefs d’Or Young Leader Award. It’s a months-long, multi-stage process with interviews, tests, and international competition, culminating at a global congress. Each member country only gets one nominee. Representing the US this year? Simona Marciulaityte from San Diego.
As Chef Concierge at Rancho Valencia Resort & Spa—a Relais & Châteaux retreat with Forbes Five-Star and AAA Five Diamond, a highly accoladed place with commiserate expectations—Marciulaityte is equal parts doer, fixer, and project manager for guests’ sometimes wild travel dreams.
“We see hospitality as theatre,” she explains. “There are a lot of moving parts, but when we arrive to the stage, it’s always with grace and a performance to create an incredible experience for the guests.”
That impossible-to-get reservation with custom cake and balloons at the table? She’s already texted three people. A guest calling on their way to the Zoo requesting a VIP-tour in 15 minutes? Booked in seven. The usual ‘Hey can you schedule me an appointment with Hermès to buy a $30K Birkin bag and plan my proposal in Italy’ request? Oddly specific, true story—and fully handled.
“Great concierge work truly begins long before a guest ever steps on property,” Marciulaityte says. “Who is traveling, notes from prior visits, special occasions, and dining history help me understand the nature of the stay. For new guests, I read between the lines: the questions they ask, the pace they seem to want, the kinds of experiences they gravitate toward.
“Curation draws on something that can’t be replicated by a search engine. It’s years of genuine relationship-building with partners across San Diego and beyond.”
Nearly a decade ago, Marciulaityte was juggling life as a personal stylist at Nordstrom and hostess/server at Brian Malarkey’s Herringbone and Searsucker. After working an event for the San Diego Concierge Association, she had a moment of clarity: “I remember thinking, oh my god—this is exactly what I want to do.”
Being a part of Les Clefs d’Or grants entry to a global network of concierges who operate like a very discreet, very efficient hotline (“In service through friendship,” as their motto goes). When local super-chef Tara Monsoud was nominated for a James Beard, Marciulaityte worked with the SD Concierge Association and Le Coq to send flowers and photos to Chicago where the chef was staying.
“It’s not only guests—we hope to touch everyone with our concierge magic.”
Lili Kim is a content coordinator and writer for San Diego Magazine, with experience highlighting local businesses and communities. When not writing or shooting film, she is likely brewing her seventh cup of tea of the day or strolling along Sunset Cliffs.
The 29-year-old culinary director at Herb & Sea is making seafood sexy (and approachable) again
Implementing a farm-to-table model hardly deserves acknowledgement these days. It’s not a stretch. It’s not innovative. “It’s the bare f**king minimum,” says Herb & Sea‘s executive chef Aidan Owens.
When I arrive at the Encinitas restaurant, I’m ready to talk sustainability, farm-to-table stuff, with Owens. “Did you see the chin on that?” he says of the extra big jiggly chin on the sheephead that just arrived with the day’s fresh catch. I did. It was Jay Leno adjacent.
I learn quickly that he somehow oozes both charm and stone-cold honesty. Maybe he could construct a new dish with chin goo, like he did when he had a bunch of tuna scraps and voila’d it into a smooth and crowd-pleasing ‘nduja. “I want to know what’s in there,” he says.
The instinct to look closer, to dig into what others might discard, says a lot about the chef’s approach. I guide him back to our topic, but he has something else on his mind. “We’re overcomplicating food—what happened to just cooking good food and having fun with it?”
Owens grew up on a farm in Byron Bay, Australia, where sustainability wasn’t a concept you chat about so much as a way of life. Think dirt roads, backyard chickens, pulling vegetables straight from the ground, and a mother who believed that if you couldn’t pronounce the ingredients on a package, you shouldn’t eat what was inside.
Food wasn’t precious or performative. Making it was what you did because you were hungry and that’s still what inspires Owens today. “I like to cook good food because I like to eat good food,” he says.
His approach to sustainability at Herb & Sea began so naturally that it felt just like instinct. “I was just like, ‘Let’s order food from the people who live and work here,’” he says.
And why wouldn’t he when lives in San Diego? Cities all over the world vie for our goods. Our tuna is sent overseas. Our spiny lobsters hit dinner plates in China and Japan. Not to mention California’s producing a third of the country’s vegetables and three-quarters of its fruits and nuts.
“Why would we outsource when it’s all here?” Owens asks.
Sustainability, in this context, is about cooking what exists in abundance, nearby, right now. “I love the local fish here. It’s f**king delicious and San Diego citrus, I mean, it is so f**ing good,” he says.
Instead of importing ingredients, Owens also looks for nearby alternatives. “You can find really cool things in the local waters,” he says, pointing out that stingray cheeks taste similar to scallops.
Whatever he finds in that sheephead chin might just be the next substitute for marrow. But to make this work, it means getting diners amped up about the slightly unfamiliar.
Tasting menus, where diners are completely in his hands, become an opportunity to gently push boundaries. “I’ll serve mackerel, because people think they hate it,” Owens says, noting that the abundant local fish can have some fishiness. “But when it’s fresh, it’s arguably one of the best fish in the ocean.”
He also tweaks the language on the menu so people might feel more compelled to give dishes a try without preconceived notions. He might use “lengua” instead of “tongue.” “Whelk” instead of “snail.” When he puts “stingray throat” on the menu, he disarmingly calls it “skate.”
To reduce waste, scraps aren’t always discarded but rather turned into something new. Sometimes they’re smoked, cured or fermented. Apples going bad turn into apple ponzu. Lemons turn to marmalade, which stretches their usefulness far beyond peak season. “And it’s super tasty on our pizza,” he says.
What makes the food even richer, is the relationships he’s built with farmers. Though it didn’t always feel natural, Owens sought personal connection first. He recalls approaching a fisherman at the Tuna Harbor Dockside Market. “I was awkward,” he says. “I went up to him and said, ‘I like your fish.’”
Owen’s is now so close to his suppliers—like fishermen Ryan Sebo and Joe Daly—that he gets texted pictures of fresh catches right as they flop on the boat. The messages always ask if he wants first dibs. “I say yes to a lot of fish,” Owens says, noting that Herb & Sea can go through 2,000 pounds of seafood a week.
The next evolution of sustainability, in his view, will be chefs working directly with producers such as his alliance with Sebo, cutting out middlemen and purveyors where possible. “It will put more money in the pockets of the people doing the work,” he says.
It will mean that chefs can’t just know their local farmers and producers, but they’ll choose to work with the ones who have the best practices. Dining and sustainability will become much less about the final plate. “It will be more about the impact that plate has on the Earth,” he says.
Ultimately, he believes sustainability doesn’t need to be loud. It doesn’t need hashtags. It just needs to be honest.
“We aren’t saving lives. We’re feeding people good food,” he says.
And yet, in feeding people well—simply, thoughtfully, responsibly—something meaningful happens. Guests leave satisfied. Ingredients are respected. Local ecosystems are supported and food returns to what it has always been at its core: nourishment, pleasure, and a quiet reflection of the place it comes from.
No buzzwords required.
We asked 12 golf pros from across the county to choose the city's top holes to create the "Dream 18"
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.
“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
“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
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
“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
“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
“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
“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
Lili Kim is a content coordinator and writer for San Diego Magazine, with experience highlighting local businesses and communities. When not writing or shooting film, she is likely brewing her seventh cup of tea of the day or strolling along Sunset Cliffs.
CEO Claire Johnson introduces the May 2026 issue by reflecting on the necessity of creating a deeply human, non-AI guide to San Diego
There are many reasons an issue like this is a bad idea. Let’s focus on two.
First, AI can whip up something like this in a jiffy.
In 30 seconds, it can summon the data of the internet, scrape together the activities humans in a place called San Diego have publicly declared to have enjoyed, and spit out a biblical list of commonly recommended things. You want 20? Seven thousand? How many em-dashes? A lot?
Here’s why we do this anyway: AI can’t hear music.
Its throat doesn’t tighten with the rise of the symphony’s violins at Rady Shell. A song can’t remind them of their mom or a breakup. It can describe it using a data set of past descriptions of music, even rearrange those words in new ways. But AI can’t feel any of these things.
It never stood astounded beneath Salk Institute’s brutalist science castle and said, “This makes me feel so small and I like it.” It never felt the vibration of 20,000 Wave fans stomping and cheering in its chest, and the almost too-big emotion that massive energy creates when you feel it in person.
AI can describe an experience by corresponding words previously arranged around a human experience—but it can’t have an experience. It can list a place to visit, but it can’t process wonder. Only you and I can do that.
We have a basic set of analog tools that make us humans: sight, sound, smell, taste, feeling.
This issue was assembled using the wildly inefficient process of being humans in San Diego. To make this, we had to live here. We had to try things firsthand, over and over, learn the city’s nuances, adapt to its changes, experience its greatness and its meh-ness. We had to find parking, wait in line, pay too much, be impressed, be surprised, be disappointed, go back, and make judgment calls.
Then, as San Diego Magazine, we had to answer one question honestly: Would we recommend these things to a friend?
If the answer was yes, it made the list.
The second reason this issue was a bad idea is that 101 is not enough. San Diego isn’t a city you finish. It’s a place you keep discovering, revising, and arguing over. This list isn’t definitive. It is meant to be lived with, debated, dog-eared, and added to. It reflects the habits, quirks, guts, and glory that make this place feel like home.
So yes, on its face, this issue is a ridiculous idea.
And that’s our job: to pay attention and chronicle the unruly, specific, deeply human, and slower business of being alive in San Diego.
In a world overflowing with shortcuts, marketing fluff, and “good enough,” there are still companies that choose a different answer. And in San Diego, there are plenty of them.
In a world overflowing with shortcuts, marketing fluff, and “good enough,” there are still companies that choose a different answer.
Integrity guides how they show up every day. They make hard decisions, hold themselves accountable, and build trust the old-fashioned way, one action at a time. At the Better Business Bureau, we call these businesses Torch Heroes: leaders who demonstrate that ethical leadership strengthens businesses and drives long-term success.
And in San Diego, there are plenty of them.
Take House Collective Marketing Solutions, a Carlsbad-based digital agency that won the 2025 Torch Award for Ethics for its people-first approach to marketing. Instead of pushing flashy campaigns, the team often takes a step back to make sure clients’ foundations are strong before going big. Their philosophy? Truth over transaction builds partnerships that last.
Or look at Young Black & N’ Business, where integrity shows up through community action. When a local school lost art funding, founder Roosevelt Williams III and his team stepped in with workshops, mentorship, and hands-on support to help restore creative opportunity. That kind of engagement reflects ethical leadership rooted in real impact.
And in Vista, Lotus Sustainables carried its commitment to ethics all the way to the product line. After discovering defects in a shipment of eco-friendly products, the company issued full refunds and redesigned its offerings at its own expense, a choice that shaped its identity and reinforced to customers that ethics guide every decision.
In North County, Greenway Landscape Design & Build brings integrity into everyday service. When a client’s glass was damaged, likely not by their crew, owner Scott Lawn chose responsibility over blame and covered the repair personally. For Greenway, doing the right thing serves as a north star, guiding every interaction through transparent pricing, accountable partnerships, proactive communication, and follow-through long after the job is done.
Other honorees include At Your Home Familycare, whose leadership turned down a lucrative state contract during the pandemic to protect vulnerable clients and staff, and Bill Howe Family of Companies, where hiring practices, training, and service centers around shared values, every day, on every call.
What connects these diverse businesses, from marketing to nonprofit support to home services, isn’t size, industry, or revenue. It’s something deeper: a commitment to trust as a business strategy.
In San Diego’s competitive marketplace, that trust gives companies an edge. Clients invest in relationships. They refer friends. They stay loyal when others fade.
As one Torch Award winner puts it, integrity isn’t a section in the employee handbook. It’s the operating system of the company, the invisible code that determines every choice, every day.
And that’s exactly the point of the BBB Torch Awards for Ethics: to spotlight companies that dispel the myth that ethics and success are at odds. These businesses show that when leaders choose honesty, fairness, and accountability, especially when it’s hard, they build brands that matter.
At BBB, we see nominations come in from clients, employees, and business partners who have witnessed ethical leadership up close. These submissions aren’t polished promotions. They’re stories of moments when a company chose people over profit, clarity over confusion, and trust over convenience.
The nomination window for the 2026 Torch Awards for Ethics is open through March 31, 2026, and there are more Torch Heroes waiting to be recognized.
Who comes to mind in San Diego’s business community?
And yes, businesses can nominate themselves. We encourage it. If you’ve built your business on principles rather than buzzwords, we want to hear your story.
Because in a world full of noise, integrity still deserves the spotlight, and San Diego is full of stories worth telling. Nominate your hero now.
