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After 22 years, the sport has secured its place in the 2020 games in Tokyo
It’s not about the destination, but the journey. Fernando Aguerre has learned to appreciate the truth of that cliché for 22 years. And now it seems his destination has finally arrived. The La Jolla resident, who founded the surf apparel company Reef with his brother, was elected president of the International Surfing Association in 1994. His goal? Get surfing into the Olympics.
“I thought it was going to be long,” he says, “but never 22 years. I never thought it was going to be such a long wave, and so difficult to catch.”
On August 3, the International Olympic Committee is expected to announce that surfing will make its Olympic debut at the 2020 games in Tokyo. You can find surf videos in every restaurant and bar along coastlines all across the world. But for the first time, the entire world of sports lovers—landlocked or otherwise—will witness the stoke.
Aguerre thought he had accomplished this 20 years ago, carrying on the work of former ISA president Jacques Hele, who initiated the Olympic campaigning.
How Surfing (Finally) Made It into the Olympics
Aguerre (Center) and other surfing advocates present the case for Olympic Inclusion in 2020. | Photo: ISA/Ryo Ichikawa
Aguerre (Center) and other surfing advocates present the case for Olympic Inclusion in 2020. | Photo: ISA/Ryo Ichikawa
“When I was elected, I organized a trip to the IOC to meet the president. I took surfboards, books, and magazines to show them what surfing was all about. I made a donation of surf equipment to the museum. In 1997, the committee officially recognized surfing as a sport. I was so naive about the process. I thought we’d done it. I called and they said, ‘Oh no no no—you are properly recognized, but you’re not included in the Olympic program.’ And so started the longest battle of my life.”
Denied quick and easy access, Aguerre took the harder road. He and the ISA focused on developing surfing around the world. “The ultimate side effect could be Olympic inclusion,” he says, “but it wasn’t for that. I grew up in Argentina and I was in the water all the time. I moved to California and I continued to surf. I surfed this morning. I surf every day. I wanted to pass on this happiness to other people.”
In 2002, Aguerre and the ISA were told surfing wouldn’t be included in the 2008 Beijing games because they hadn’t met the minimum of 75 countries with “governing bodies” of surfing.
So he traveled across the globe with boards and surf gospel. In each country, he and members of the ISA paddled out with people who had never seen the sport before. The goal was to set up a surfing federation in every location. There were federations in obvious countries like France, Australia, and Brazil. The ISA also set them up in not-so-obvious surf spots, like Afghanistan, Israel, and ice-cold Norway. This June, the Iran Surfing Association was recognized as the ISA’s 100th member federation.
How Surfing (Finally) Made It into the Olympics
A surfing lesson in iran, the 100th member of the international surfing association. | Photo: IR Iran Surfing Association
A surfing lesson in iran, the 100th member of the international surfing association. | Photo: IR Iran Surfing Association
“It started in Iran six years ago by an Irish lady, Easkey Britton, and two Iranian ladies. And today, the association is recognized by the Iranian government,” he says, with audible pride. “They have a small coast, about 80 miles. But now there are both male and female surfers in Iran. That is the magic of surfing. The magic that I fell in love with as a little kid.”
Iran is not necessarily an easy country for an outsider to introduce a new sport. Britton wore a wetsuit, with her head fully covered to comply with Iranian law. “When Britton got to the beach, they had to trespass, because the ocean was literally fenced off for safety precautions. They went into the water with two former Olympic snowboarders from Iran. People started hearing about it, and suddenly the whole town was there. The religious leader came to see what was going on.”
In Iran, it’s forbidden for men to touch women during any type of instruction, surfing or otherwise. “But the religious leader said, ‘No, the Quran doesn’t have any restrictions on women playing sports.’”
And so Iran’s surfing culture was born, and captured in the documentary film Waves of Freedom.
“They said, ‘Oh no no no—you are properly recognized, but you’re not included in the Olympic program.’ And so started the longest battle of my life.”
Surfing’s path to the Olympics took 22 years for a variety of reasons. The committee expressed concerns about what would happen when future Olympics were held in countries without waves. Probably the biggest obstacle was their cap of 28 different sports allowed.
“That meant if a new sport came in, they’d have to kick one out,” Aguerre explains. “Even though there are some sports that are not very popular, or difficult to understand, they don’t want to get kicked out.”
How Surfing (Finally) Made It into the Olympics
Surfing legend Duke Kahanamoku in Hawaii. | Photo: Surfing Heritage Museum
Then in December 2014, the new president of the IOC, Thomas Bach, announced that the 28-sport cap was lifted, and that host cities could now request the sports of their choice. “Of course Tokyo selected baseball, because they love it,” says Aguerre. “And they chose karate, the biggest martial art. They also wanted to be more contemporary, so they chose the number-one urban youth sport, skateboarding, and the number-one outdoor sport, sports climbing [i.e., rock climbing]. And they chose surfing.”
Surfing as a spectator sport has a few limitations. First, surfers often have to be pretty far off the coast, where the waves are breaking. Second, the sport is dependent on ocean swells, which are largely unpredictable and sporadic. There are wave pools, but the technology was marginal at best, producing small, weak waves—until 2015, when 11-time world champ Kelly Slater and his team developed a perfect, sizeable wave in a man-made lake in Lemoore, California.
Not everyone is stoked about surfing’s inclusion in the Olympics. Very few sports are imbued with such a quasi-spiritual aura. It’s hard to talk about it without mentioning the word “soul,” which is why many of the world’s best surfers eschew the competitive side of the sport, like the World Surf League.
“It’s always been hard for me to understand judging surfing in any way, shape, or form. You’ll have judges from all over the world who know little to nothing about it,” says San Diego surf icon Eric “Bird” Huffman, who has fixed almost every San Diego surfer’s board at one time or another at his Bird’s Surf Shed off Morena Boulevard. “But that’s cool that it’s being held in the ocean and not a wave pool. There are so many surfers from all over the world now, from Italy to South Africa; even Nordic surfers are ripping. I don’t understand why they’d want to do it in the Olympics, but I like to see the recognition. It could benefit the entire sport in a lot of ways.”
Aguerre has heard the anti-competition argument before. But he points to the father of modern surfing, Duke Kahanamoku. “He was a fierce competitor, swimmer, volleyball player, and water polo player, and he won three gold medals,” he points out. “In 1923 he asked the IOC to include surfing. In his autobiography he said he believed one day surfing would be accepted and included in the games. And this was the soulful guy of surfing.”
How Surfing (Finally) Made It into the Olympics
Famed surfer kelly slater will be 48 in 2020, but still hopes to compete. | Photo: Peapop / Shutterstock.com
Famed surfer kelly slater will be 48 in 2020, but still hopes to compete. | Photo: Peapop / Shutterstock.com
Others worry that surfing’s inclusion in the Olympics might make the waves even more overpopulated with surfers than they already are. But both Aguerre and Huffman doubt that’s possible, each citing bigger threats in foam boards at Costco.
Though obviously proud of surfing’s Olympic arrival, Aguerre repeatedly drives conversation back to the bigger picture. He believes surfing—which he defines as any kind of wave play, including bodyboarding and bodysurfing—is the most democratic sport in the world.
How Surfing (Finally) Made It into the Olympics
Tatiana Weston-Webb. | Photo: Michael Tweddle Rayner
“It’s available for all genders, all races, religions, socioeconomic levels. The ocean is the most democratic place in the world. Everywhere else, you need to pay a fee. The ocean is the ocean,” he says. “Most sports require an opponent to compete against. Tennis, boxing, all martial arts, team ball sports. Surfing and skateboarding, you can do that all your life and never be in a competition. That’s why it gained such a strong following and became a lifestyle. As society evolves, in the case of surfing, we are literally submerged in nature. It’s no coincidence that most surfers have become environmentalists: The ocean doesn’t have a voice. We are its voice.”
To that end, Scott Bass, host of surf radio talk show Down the Line and creator of The Boardroom International Surfboard Show, agrees. “I assume that more international exposure for surfing via the Olympics is a good thing for the health of our oceans,” he says. “For that reason alone, I’m a fan. Perhaps a naive fan, but a fan nonetheless.”
For centuries, talk about surfing has focused on its restorative, calming, even healing potential. Aguerre points to the naval base in Coronado. “There, they train former combatants who have come back with physical and mental ailments. Doctors at the naval base are prescribing surfing as a mental and physical cure for our warriors. In southwest France, there are hospitals prescribing surfing sessions for depression. So suddenly, it seems all those long-haired beach bums were onto something. I think not too long from now, many more people will realize that.”
The Olympics, then, in Aguerre’s eyes, are so much more than a pursuit of a gold medal. Speaking of which: Will 2020 be too late for the greatest surfer in the history of the sport, Kelly Slater, to compete? He’ll be 48 by the time the games come around.
“Kelly went on record to say he’ll compete if he’s in good shape.”
How Surfing (Finally) Made It into the Olympics
Nat Young | Photo: WSL/Kelly Cestari
Kick off summer at The Rady Shell, enjoy the Omakase Open at JULEP, and see a Padres vs. Dodgers showdown at Petco Park
Summertime in San Diego may bring about blue skies and sun-drenched days, but it doesn’t stop there. There’s also the top-notch concerts, tasting events and wallet-friendly fixtures that make this season feel extra special. Fans of contemporary and classical music can check out performances by the San Diego Symphony Orchestra, the Beach Boys and Kool & The Gang at The Rady Shell or the annual Mainly Mozart All-Star Orchestra Festival in La Jolla. Local gourmands can sign up for a spot at our Omakase Open, indulge in cold desserts at Scoop San Diego or journey across a two-mile stretch of good eats during the Taste of Adams Avenue. As for free events, there’s a new edition of San Diego Made: LIVE at San Diego Made Factory, the Pride Party at Museum of Us and the return of the Ocean Beach Street Fair & Chili Cook-Off.
Food & Drink | Concerts & Festivals | Theater & Art Exhibits | More Fun Things to Do

Japanese omakase dining is an artform built on trust, in patrons allowing their chef to entirely curate their meal. That’s why, this Thursday from 6-9 p.m., San Diego Magazine is gathering the city’s finest sushi and omakase chefs to showcase their skills during the 21-plus Omakase Open at JULEP. Guests can enjoy live music, all you can eat food and drink, plus the chance to converse with local culinary masterminds and decide on the night’s best bites, all while supporting the Convoy Pan Asian Cultural and Businesses Innovation District. General admission ($85) is full up, but join the waitlist in case more tickets become available.
1735 Hancock Street, Mission Hills
From University Heights to Kensington and the unique neighborhoods in between, Adams Avenue is home to a host of must-try flavors. During the 25th annual Taste of Adams Avenue, happening this Sunday from 11 a.m. to 3 p.m., 45 spots along Adams Avenue will offer samples, with brunch-inspired bites, refreshing ales, world-class gelato on the menu. Attendees can make the most of their self-guided tasting tours by walking, biking or riding from end-to-end on a complimentary trolley. Tickets are $55 online and $65 the day of.
Adams Avenue
It’s a scientific fact (source: trust me) that a little sweet treat, like say ice cream, paletas or shaved ice, has the power to make any day instantly better. Meaning, it’s only right to treat yourself to a dessert-filled afternoon during the 8th annual Scoop San Diego Ice Cream Festival, where three dozen local vendors will serve up their finest specialties this Sunday from noon to 4 p.m. in North Park. General admission ($49) comes with 10 shareable two-ounce samples; all net proceeds will go towards Feeding San Diego.
30th Street & North Park Way, North Park
Week two of the 38th Annual Mainly Mozart All-Star Orchestra Festival begins Tuesday (7 p.m.) with a performance of Mozart’s “Jenamy” and pieces by Lully and Strauss, followed by Mozart’s “Jupiter,” and works by with Schumann and Pärt on Thursday (7 p.m.), both at The Conrad; tickets range from $71 to $163 for each concert. The festival will then conclude Saturday (7 p.m.) with Mozart, Brahms and a performance of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5 at Epstein Family Amphitheater; tickets range from $26 to $263. And if that’s not enough Mozart for you, pianist Anton Nel will lead a prelude concert in the JAI prior to Tuesday and Thursday’s shows.
The Conrad: 7600 Fay Avenue, La Jolla | Epstein Family Amphitheater: 9500 Gilman Drive, La Jolla
A star-studded opening weekend is in store to kick off The Rady Shell’s summer season. On Friday (7:30 p.m.), Rafael Payare will conduct the San Diego Symphony Orchestra in an effusive Opening Night program featuring violin soloist Stefan Jackiw; tickets range from $57 to $124. The following night at 7:30 p.m., the orchestra will pair up with The Beach Boys, plus special guest John Stamos, for a rousing tribute to Pet Sounds; tickets range from $78 to $268. Then, on Sunday (7:30 p.m.), audiences can boogie their way to Monday with Kool & the Gang and hip-hop pioneers the Sugarhill Gang; tickets range from $68 to $152.
222 Marina Park Way, Embarcadero
Ryan Hardison is a freelance arts and entertainment writer and recent graduate of San Diego State. When he's not staring at his laptop, he's likely eating an adobada burrito or getting sunburnt at the beach.
We ask the city's best food photographers to choose their favorite pics and share their secrets to capturing a drool-worthy pic
Food is a notorious diva to photograph. The wrong lighting can make José Andrés’ paella look like a jaundiced grain bowl. You could be staring at the best sandwich of your life, but shoot it from above and—hey, congrats on that abandoned piece of lettuce bread. A cottage meme industry has been built around the hilariously bad photos on review sites that make Michelin-star food look like Michelin tires.
Especially in a visual modern media world, food culture depends on great photographers capturing the painstaking work in equally deserving ways. We asked four of San Diego’s top food photographers for their favorite shot from another year of documenting what we eat.

Getting this kind of shot takes a bit of yoga. Asana yourself into the corner, hold your breath, pray that a chef on the move doesn’t back into your light stand.
“You’re stepping into someone’s workspace during their busiest moments, so it’s a balance of being present to get the shot and being invisible to not slow anything down,” Kimberly Motos says.
The subject here is the Birdman sandwich from Chick & Hawk—hot fried chicken thigh, tangy slaw, kimchi comeback sauce, sweet and spicy pickles, potato brioche bun—getting a hearty dousing of its difference-maker seasoning. Motos captures the parts of the process that diners don’t usually see: the chaos behind something that looks so simple.

“I love this image because it feels like a moment you want to step into,” says Lucianna McIntosh. A warm, sunny day at The Fishery in PB with oysters, caviar, and martinis. Yes, please.
The little details—the glass sweating a little, the direct afternoon light creating stark shadows, the oyster glistening on the tray—are the main characters. Instead of trying to overly control the setup, McIntosh “followed the light and lines that draw you in more,” she says. “This was one of those moments where everything lined up on its own for a second. I love it when the shadows end up being just as important as the food itself.”

La Jolla native Eric Wolfinger—who won a James Beard Award for Tartine Bread, one of the most stunning bread books of all time—says he doesn’t have a signature style. His style is a conduit.
“I see my job is to translate the chef’s point of view into something you can feel,” he says.
For this shot, Fleurette chef Travis Swikard had one directive: cuisine du soleil (“cuisine of the sun”). With a spread of leeks vinaigrette, herb-roasted golden chicken, and beets, Wolfinger wanted to create a scene that felt straight out of the French Riviera, relaying the light, bright style of Swikard’s new spot.
Some bonus additions here: Extra lights—to add lots of warmth—and a clipping from an olive tree.

Timing and light are everything in food photography. In Lucien—La Jolla’s tasting-menu-only restaurant with moody ambiance—a single strobe flash creates the ideal spotlight.
Dee Sandoval says she uses the “natural, just-plated energy” of the dish to “create a portrait of moment and craft.” That’s why this Mostra Ghost Bear espresso ice cream—with San José dark chocolate mousse, soy-miso caramel, and koji shoyu chocolate sauce—looks like it might dissolve halfway to your mouth.
Emma Veidt is an editor at San Diego Magazine. She earned her bachelor's and master's degrees from the Missouri School of Journalism. She loves running, hiking, and rock climbing, but really, she mostly loves encounters with the street cats around North Park.
Meeting new friends is a scary and sweaty venture—that’s where the city's social event planners come in
Walking into a room full of strangers isn’t high on the fun index for most. It’s inherently awkward: Everyone’s standing in closed-loop clusters, deep in conversation, and, depending on your social aptitude, the feeling is somewhere between light apprehension and burning alive from the inside out. The pull to retreat or reflexively look busy on your phone is stronger than the drink you now deeply crave. Having friends is nice, but making friends can be brutal.
There’s plenty of commentary on the loneliness epidemic. Last year, the American Psychiatric Association reported that one in three adults feel lonely at least once a week; those aged 18 to 34 are more likely to feel isolated and even more likely to turn to social media as a result. Dr. Vivek Murthy’s “My Parting Prescription for America” cautioned that “being socially disconnected increases our risk of heart disease, dementia, depression, anxiety, and premature death.” So it’s not just an emotional need; it’s nearly nutritional—chit-chat and the occasional wine-fueled, emotional deep-dive are just as important as Pilates and a reasonable amount of kale.
Finding social connections in any city is hard, but San Diego has very specific challenges. This is largely a transient population that acts as a temporary hotspot for many and a permanent home for few. Pick your reason: high rent, surreal gas prices, housing shortage, meh job opportunities (ranked 71st in the country in 2025), or the fact that active military is a sizable chunk of us (110,000-ish)—stationed here for a stretch, then gone. This constant flow of departees sucks out the potential for deeply established families and friend groups, leaving a good share of nomads, searchers, and plenty of people feeling socially awkward.
“There’s an underlying loneliness in all of us,” says Ramel Wallace, the host of monthly meetup CreativeMornings. “There are not a lot of San Diegans who are born and raised here, so [even those] San Diegans end up being just as lonely as the person who just got here.”

Every month, in local libraries, breweries, and small businesses, there are ambitious social architects who have made a career out of undoing social sads. Extroverted champions of the awkward and searching, they’ve struck gold on in-person connection.
The first moments in a social situation are crucial. Sets the tone and cools the nerves.
At Pitch-A-Friend, singles recruit their close friends to present a slideshow of their dating green flags. The entry points for connection at Pitch-A-Friend are simple, old tech: stickers. Each colored sticker indicates if the wearer is single or taken, queer or straight, or practicing ethical non-monogamy (in a partnership but open to others under a mutual understanding).
At the helm of each showcase is Arielle Fuller, aka Chief Wingwoman, who is making dating hopeful again. As Fuller explains, this takes some of the fear of rejection out of a first interaction. “Putting a sticker on immediately means, ‘I wanted to leave my house and talk to someone, and I am a safe space to come and speak to me,’” she says.
Of course, not all of San Diego’s events designed to make connections are romantic. On the last Friday of every month, hundreds gather at San Diego Central Library for the local chapter of CreativeMornings—an org formed to unite creatives in various cities across the world (designers, artists, writers, producers, performers, architects, etc.).

These aren’t your standard business card swaps, though. Coming from a hip-hop background, host Wallace uses call-and-response to break the fourth wall. “This is not my stage at all, this is our stage,” he says.
In your standard lecture-based meetup, the crowd silently faces the host and acknowledges nobody except those they came with. At CreativeMornings, everyone is encouraged to look around, pay attention to the strangers in the audience—not just the host. Wallace will pull volunteers to read the CM manifesto aloud, and he passes the mic to creatives, who make 30-second pitches to the community about projects they’re working on—and there’s always an invitation to connect and collaborate with the presenters whose ideas struck a chord.
The U.S. Chamber of Connection (yes it exists) says people experience life transitions nearly every year, and in these stretches are more open to forming new habits, relationships, and communities. In a revolving-door city like ours, the transition often comes when someone moves away. In 2023, the Census Bureau reported San Diego had the ninth-highest rates of domestic out-migration in the US.
This poses an issue for friendships that IRL SD addresses in monthly friend-making events called 619 Night.
“San Diego isn’t a place a lot of people stay forever,” says Alex Hunter, the creator of IRL SD. “They leave, and people [who stay] lose that community, so they’re hungry for community again.”
Their website describes the vibe as “backyard party meets college fair meets networking event meets happy hour.” Each follows a theme—wellness, sports, refresh and reset, etc.—with related community groups joining as well.
“The people I encounter are trying to get a fresh start in some capacity, so they’re more open, receptive, and ready to meet new friends,” Hunter says. “They need the circle.”

Another way adults can break out of this disconnection is to revert in unison, says artist Elisa Summiel-Bey. The 2015-ish adult coloring book moment in the US was based on some real science, with multiple studies finding coloring has a noticeable meditative and stress-release effect by taking the brain away from anxieties and mental inventories, and focusing it on a simple, easy art. Summiel-Bey’s company Illustrated Melanin throws “Color & Chill” events, turning that trend into a group exercise, along with live DJ sets, wellness experts doing sound baths, and food and drink from BIPOC-owned local businesses. “I tend to think of coloring as your way to tap back into your childlike play,” she says. “As adults, I think we’re almost scared to let loose and have that unabashed joy.”
All of these social meetups attract crowds of likeminded connection-seekers, but high attendance is not the only thing that matters. Metrics nuts can track RSVPs, but spreadsheets can’t capture intangible wins: friendships made, innovative ideas sparked, collaborations kicked off. At CreativeMornings, Wallace redefines ROI as Return On Imagination. Resounding success means thoughtful inquiries over coffee, curiosity about the monthly meeting themes, and requests to take the microphone.
A simple, observable ROI is an increased number of window shoppers to the experience—on the periphery, watching from afar, looking for the right way in. Hunter from IRL SD sees the anxiety in her DMs. “The scariest part for you right now is not meeting new friends: It’s the unknown,” she says. “It’s the gap between ‘I’m here’ and ‘That’s where I need to be.’ If I can help you understand, or get a little bit of a shape around that unknown, it’s much more approachable.”

Being able to bridge that gap, however, depends on your ability to step out of your own mind. “It’s not a connection crisis; it’s a courage and confidence crisis,” says Fuller. The first hello could be as easy as, “Hey, cool shirt.” These are the types of things she includes in her confidence lab reels on Instagram and weekly newsletters.
Ever left a social event and shot straight into a spiral? Was I being weird? Why did I tell that story? I hope that person moves to another state very soon.
The experts say that post-event self-interrogation is a standard-issue part of being alive.
“I love awkward people, and I love being awkward myself,” says Wallace. “It’s humbling to experience: ‘I’m not alone. Finally someone is not put together.’ So give yourself that grace.”
Jeannine Boisse (she/her) is a freelance writer and professional creative with a background in Radio & Television. Based in sunny San Diego, Jeannine spends her time exploring the city's vibrant brewery scene, cooking up new recipes in the kitchen, and connecting with new people.
Stake Chophouse & Bar brings contemporary classics and old-school service to the heart of Coronado
Stake Chophouse & Bar isn’t your average steakhouse. Blue Bridge Hospitality’s Coronado outpost is a modern interpretation of a big-city steakhouse nestled in the heart of the small coastal community. The team at Stake has reimagined the whole steakhouse experience. By prioritizing a seasonal farm-to-table sourcing philosophy, a personalized guest experience, and unique service touches, like a formal steak presentation and a bespoke knife selection process, Stake distinguishes itself in a sea of steakhouses.
Exceptional steaks, including Wagyu from Japan, Australia, and the U.S., and fresh seafood flown in daily form the core of Stake’s culinary identity. The menu features a five-course omakase-style steak experience highlighting house favorites, plus an array of cuts, and classic steakhouse staples—think a wedge salad, baked potato, or pasta carbonara—refined for a contemporary palate without losing their traditional appeal. Stake focuses on seasonal sourcing from the region’s best family farms and specialty purveyors, and incorporates intentionally unexpected touches to create something truly unique.
“I challenge our chefs and myself to take it a step further in sourcing,” says Chef Ronnie Schwandt. “It’s important to us to highlight different farms, unique one-off farms—whether it’s cattle, strawberries, a local fisherman or from anywhere in the United States, we’re always trying to find that niche.”
Beyond the menu, Stake emphasizes outstanding service, says Vinny Spatafore, Director of Hospitality Operations. Staff maintains detailed notes, allowing them to remember guests by name, recall previous orders such as a favorite martini (also memorable for the customer since it’s served in an extra tall, distinctly-shaped glass), and celebrate special occasions like birthdays and anniversaries.
“When you have those points of topic that you remember about a guest, they appreciate that,” he says. “Our servers are really good with that—we have a couple servers who have been here since the beginning and they’ll remember somebody from years ago, their name, their kids’ names, where they live. I’m really thankful to have a great front of house staff.”
Award-winning wines, rare whiskeys, special events, and a complementary black car service that provides transportation for guests throughout Coronado add to Stake’s appeal.
Schwandt stresses that Stake offers more than a meal; they aim to give patrons something unforgettable.
“It starts when you walk up the stairs and are greeted by the hostess—that sets the tone for the night. Then you’re greeted by a server, who may know you by name, and can guide you through the menu and curate as they get to know you,” says Schwandt. “Most people leave kind of blown away; they leave feeling like they just had an experience. That’s the goal, right? Whether you’re serving smash burgers or high-end steak, you want somebody to leave thinking, Wow, that was awesome.”
As NASCAR lands in San Diego this weekend, a recently burgled dad is irregularly excited
My 15-year-old daughter tried to steal our car this week, so I’m ready to become a NASCAR dad. It would be appropriate discipline. We just relocated to a nice suburb within walking distance of her high school. The suburbs are like living in a Tesla commercial. I am pretty far from the wealthiest dad in this neighborhood (I am the least wealthy dad in this neighborhood), more than a few engineering degrees short of being in the running.
I’m fairly certain watching NASCAR is a violation of our HOA and a violation of my daughter’s emotional HOA. But NASCAR hits San Diego this weekend and I have a fever I’ve never felt before. I want to watch 111 drivers do dangerous things in cars and trucks on an active military base in the ocean. Since my lifelong exposure to NASCAR is limited to Talladega Nights and every single iteration of the movie Cars, I can only base my plan of attack on oafish stereotypes.
So while other neighbor dads are sizing bubble jackets for their golf simulators, I’m gonna grow a Ricky Bobby, run the extension cord for the TV out into the carport we share with six other condos, fill a cooler with a proper 80-20 split of Hamm’s and Mountain Dew, treat a lawn chair like an ADU, and spend a few hours yelling ohsheeeit as if it’s a single, nine-syllable word.
The quality parents in our neighborhood seem highly attuned to the sound of any vehicle breaching the 6 MPH threshold, so I should gather a crowd pretty fast. They may come over with strongly worded emails in their hearts, but one glimpse of Shane van Gisbergen and hometown hero Jimmy Johnson guzzling the last remaining drops of gasoline on the planet in a dazzling display of carmanship—they’ll join my NASCAR pop-up party.
By the time my daughter brings her friends over, we’ll have a real welcoming committee.
Because, like I said, my daughter tried to steal my car.
She wasn’t going to Mexico. But while Claire and I were off doing businessy stuff to afford my teen’s skincare rituals, she and a friend decided to teach themselves stick shift. She’s never driven a stick before. I’m not saying she has, but if she has driven a vehicle at all—it would have been done in a remote, abandoned parking lot where the only possible thing she could destroy was the concept of driving itself.
But a couple TikTok videos later, she and her friend felt a certain level of mastery had been achieved, and they gave it a go. They backed our VW Bug out of the garage with a series of stalls and transmission seizures, and managed to get it into the carport, attempting to do “donuts.” That’s when I got a call from a resident, who had taken an active interest in this experiment.
Which got me wondering about the power and might of vehicles. Turns out, even at carport speeds there exists a bit of potential fireworks. A garage door could become not a garage door anymore. At 145 MPH on Naval Base Coronado this weekend (don’t worry, they slow down to 100 MPH for turns), NASCAR drivers are essentially doorbell ditching gods. I didn’t register the temperature after my daughter’s trial run, but the track at NASCAR races usually hits a cool 130-150 degrees, enough to lightly sear some Nikes (the tires themselves hover in the 200 degree range).
And that is at least part of our fascination with NASCAR (the other fascination is the legendary pit parties, which either set humanity back a few evolutionary links, or advance it by the same amount of links). These drivers do something all of us do every day in a very efficient, boring way—drive a car—and take it to its extreme impulse. Grace and precision at the thunderous edge of shit going terribly wrong. Most of us have looked at San Diego home prices and felt a burning desire to see how fast our Honda Pilot could make it to our new home in Vegas. So NASCAR drivers are acting on our own wildest impulse.
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.
In a sport obsessed with prestige, a San Diego–born golf brand is betting on something more fun and less fussy
Music drifts across the fairway. Someone’s in flip flops. The Pacific flashes in the distance. Sun peeks onto shoulders through the palm trees. It’s spring, technically, but the air reads suspiciously like summer. At the par-3 course at Liberty Station, the longest hole barely stretches past 120 yards, and no one looks particularly interested in becoming the next PGA legend.
This is where Sunday Golf was born.
“I got dragged to a par-3 course in 2019 —The Loma Club—and it was way more my jam,” says Ronan Galvin, CEO and co-founder of Sunday Golf, a company that makes lightweight golf bags for players who’d rather carry less and laugh more. “It was a lot different than the stereotypical ideas you have about golf where it’s kind of long, uptight, and exclusive.”
Galvin spent over a decade in the golf industry working in product development, sourcing and manufacturing. But he didn’t grow up swinging clubs. Basketball and football were more his speed. What clicked for him was a simpler, more relaxed kind of play: shorter rounds and weekend games built for fun rather than formality. The kind of golf that resonated for him felt accessible, effortless, and surprisingly his lifestyle.

He noticed something else, too.
On a course where five clubs do the job, players were still lugging 14. So Galvin built something smaller. Lighter. A bag designed specifically for par-3 rounds, the Loma Bag is sleek, functional, and refreshingly unfussy. It’s practical minimalism in a sport known for excess.
Sunday Golf was slated to launch in January 2020. Then, COVID hit. Shipments stalled; lost at sea. The future felt shaky. But the series of catastrophes for the young company turned out to be anything but: By the time inventory arrived that August, golf had become one of the few activities people could safely do.
“It introduced and brought so many people back to the game,” Galvin says. “It created a habit for a lot of people, which is a big reason golf is on its growth trajectory.”
It turns out Americans can’t get enough of golf. Forty-eight million of them swung clubs last year, a 41 percent jump since 2019, and the National Golf Foundation says the total could top 50 million by the end of 2026.
The brand rode this unlikely momentum. Since 2021, Sunday Golf has expanded into larger lightweight bags and continues evolving from there. A major reason for the company’s success is its approachability, a value so central that it’s literally written on the office walls in the form of the company’s guiding mission: “Get 500,000 golfers having more fun by 2027.” This goal is measured, fittingly, by golf bags sold.
Sunday Golf has already passed 300,000 bags sold.
But the numbers aren’t the point.

“To remind the world that life is meant to be enjoyed,” Galvin says of the brand’s why. In an era dominated by screens, golf offers something analog. “People are outside, touching grass with their friends. A golf bag is a golf bag, but our products are vehicles to help support that.”
Unlike legacy golf giants promising proximity to Rory McIlroy-level greatness, Sunday Golf leans into what Galvin jokingly calls “diet golf” or “golf light”—weekend rounds, driving range sessions, company scrambles. The bags are built for the casual golfer, and the fit feels obvious.
That philosophy resonates across Southern California, where year-round sunshine means golf courses never really hibernate for winter. As Galvin puts it, “the laid-back lifestyle of San Diego kind of seeps into everyone’s veins.”
Sometimes the validation arrives via email: a 76-year-old customer is able to walk the course again because their golf bag is lighter. Parents are able to take their children out with Sunday Golf’s kids line.
For Galvin, that’s the real win. Not perfection. Not prestige. Just more people outside, enjoying themselves. In San Diego, that might be the most natural mission of all.
Isabella Dallas is a freelance writer for San Diego Magazine and the Arts and Culture Editor at The Daily Aztec in her final year at San Diego State University. She previously worked as an editorial intern for SDM, but when she’s not writing, you can find her trying the best coffee spots in SD, devouring the latest rom-coms, and indulging in anything and everything pop culture.
Scripps study shows that some patients may be able to taper their dose and maintain results
While glucagon-like peptide-1 (GLP-1) receptor agents have been used to treat Type 2 diabetes for more than 20 years, their recent emergence as weight-loss wonder drugs marked a new frontier in medicine. But their effectiveness has left some patients wondering what to do once they’ve reached their goal. Stopping the medication could mean regaining some, if not all, of the weight. A Scripps Clinic internal medicine physician recently conducted a small study of whether GLP-1 patients who had reached their goal weight could maintain that weight by taking their regularly prescribed injection every other week instead of weekly. Spoiler alert: 30 of 34 patients did. Read more about the study here and what that may mean as pharmaceutical companies roll out oral GLP-1s.
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