The Padres were supposed to be a mess this year. But thanks to an unstoppable start, star power veterans, and some of the best young talent in the league, this has been a season to binge. When it comes to a World Series run, fans may still sometimes feel like cats in a room full of rocking chairs, but we’re glued to the show, and the Pads are packing Petco. It’s been a hell of a carnival.
After a 2024 season that crescendoed into the playoffs with the highest of high drama, only to end in a whimper, the team entered 2025 under a storm cloud. In the aftermath of beloved owner Peter Seidler’s death, the club’s front office had started to resemble a Succession spinoff. Lawsuits, power struggles, mysterious silence from the top—the vibes seemed cursed, unbefitting men of the cloth. 2025 appeared doomed to play out like a tedious hangover.
But, somehow, they kicked down the doors. The team opened this season 5–0, then hit 13–3, then went nuclear with a 11–0 home streak. Suddenly, this team that was supposed to be in a rebuilding phase became MLB trivia fodder: best start in franchise history, first team since the ’66 Indians with six shutouts in 16 games. And as of press time, the team leads the league in shutouts with 13.
Manny Machado has been Manny Machado. He smacked his 350th career homer, got his 2,000th hit, and was voted starting third basemen for the NL All-Star team. Elite. Jackson Merrill is building on his legendary rookie campaign and has committed his career to the Padres, signing on to a nine year, $135 million contract extension. Fernando Tatis Jr. started the season playing at an MVP level and was rewarded with a trip to his third All-Star game. Relievers Jason Adam and Robert Suárez are also headed to the Midsummer Classic.
And the city is showing up like it’s 1998 all over again. Petco is packed tighter than the 8 East at rush hour. It’s Mission Beach on the Fourth of July every home game—beach balls flying, swagger in the stands. SD is ranked third in the league for overall attendance this year. You’d think a fanbase that’s been through recurring heartbreak and an ownership system error might back off. Instead, they’re louder and more eager than ever.
This season shouldn’t be happening. But here we are, with a team worth celebrating. The Padres are chaotic, occasionally frustrating, and eminently watchable. SD didn’t merely get a solid baseball team this year. We got prestige programming. Now we just need that deep playoff run.
Photo Credit: Matt Furman
Q&A with Manny Machado
You’ve had an electric start this season—the best in team history. What changed?
I think it was kind of just a little bounce-back from last year. We had such a good year, but we fell short. So we really wanted to start this season on the right foot. That’s all we were talking about during spring training: “How can we be better than last year?” Once we got back to Petco and felt the energy of the fans and the city, we just hit the ground rolling.
Where do you like to eat around town?
I love pizza, so I go to Garage [Kitchen + Bar in the Gaslamp]. That’s one of my favorite spots. I keep it simple—pepperoni or cheese. Barbusa [in Little Italy] is another. The hospitality there is unreal. I’ve gone three times and haven’t even looked at a menu—they just send food out. Everything they bring is awesome. The Henry [in Coronado] is the same way—great people, great energy. I’ve always been that guy who sticks to a few good places.
What’s your pregame routine like? Any rituals?
I always listen to music. We’ve got a solid playlist in the clubhouse—Lil Wayne, Jay-Z, Bad Bunny, Rick Ross. That’s the rotation.
Do you have a go-to pregame meal?
Coffee. Always a latte. I make it at home. I’ve been working on my latte art. Sometimes it looks like a flower; sometimes it just looks like… something.
Do you have a guilty-pleasure snack?
It used to be Skittles, Goldfish, Cheez-Its. I’ve cut most of that out. But McDonald’s? That’s the one I can’t give up.
Have you ever had one of those surreal, slow-motion moments during a game?
Definitely. Big homers tend to do that. The walk-off we had here last year. A walk-off against the Giants. My three-homer game in Baltimore—my third was a grand slam. It’s like everything just slows down. You instantly know what’s going to happen. It’s kind of crazy.
If you could play catch with anyone, living or dead, who would it be?
Roberto Clemente. Not just for what he did on the field, but to pick his brain about what he did for Puerto Rico and the community. What he did was special. He influenced so many of us.
Yeah. I’ve seen one. It was actually my grandfather, at my house. Not haunted or anything—just him saying hello.
Photo Credit: Matt Furman
Q&A with Jackson Merrill
You guys came out blazing this season. What made the start so strong?
We wanted to hit the ground running. We didn’t want to be lackadaisical out there—we wanted to be dominant. Just play good baseball together, the way it’s supposed to be played.
What do you like to do when you’re not at the ballpark?
I like to drive around, go shopping a little, go to the beach. Mission Beach is fun. There are arcades and a roller coaster—I haven’t ridden it yet, but that’s my next stop. And, honestly, just walking around. It’s beautiful every day, so that’s one of the best parts of the day.
Where do you like to walk?
I live downtown right now, but we’re moving soon—undisclosed. My girlfriend likes to walk to Seaport Village, so I follow her sometimes. But anywhere downtown is fun. It’s always active. Good to see people out.
Is there something you crave when you come back to San Diego after a road trip?
Tacos El Gordo is always open, like until 2 or 3 a.m., so if I’ve got cravings, I go there. But I go to Barbusa in Little Italy the most. That’s my spot. Really good Italian food—and really good people. I get the vodka pasta, but I throw chicken in there to spice it up. The appetizers are unbelievable— lamb chops, meatballs, bone marrow. I wouldn’t say there’s a bad appetizer on the menu.
Any other favorite spots?
Lucky’s [Lunch Counter in] downtown is a good breakfast spot. That’s more of a day game thing, since most of our games are at night. Sometimes I get the burrito, but I also go for the Lucky’s Special—kind of an American breakfast with a pancake on the side. The pancakes are really good.
Any guilty-pleasure snacks?
I used to mash Hot Cheetos. But they messed my stomach up one time, and I’ve been off them ever since.
Are there any pregame rituals that have zero impact on your performance—but you still do them?
I play darts against our hitting coach, Pat O’Sullivan. Only when we’re home. I play every day before the game. Last year, it was back and forth. This year, I’ve been kind of getting beat a lot.
Have you ever had one of those moments when time slows down on the field?
Definitely the playoffs last year. Everything just moved so slow. The Wild Card games felt super long, but really they weren’t. I was just soaking it all in. It made the game more fun—and easier to play, too.
If baseball had a penalty box like hockey, what would get you in there?
Charging the mound. I feel like there’d be more fights if there were penalty boxes instead of ejections. Like, instead of getting tossed, maybe you just miss your next at-bat. That could work.
If you could play catch with anyone—living or dead—who would it be?
Dustin Pedroia. He’s been my favorite player since I was a kid. And he’s still alive, so maybe one day I’ll get the chance.
Are ghosts real?
I’ve never had an encounter, but I feel like they’re out there somewhere. So, yes.
Photo Credit: Matt Furman
Q&A with Fernando Tatis Jr.
The Padres are off to the best start in franchise history. What’s made the difference this season?
Everybody’s been committed since before spring training. Even in the offseason, we were communicating—checking in, talking about how we were getting ready. Then, we came in and clicked right away. Our manager has done a great job bringing us together. It feels more like a family this year. Really good, organic communication. That’s been the biggest thing.
When you get back to San Diego after a road trip, what’s the first thing you want to do?
I always eat at home. But just landing in San Diego—the air hits different. It’s refreshing. There’s nothing like it.
Where do you like to eat around town?
I never really had the chance to go out much over here. But I like Tacos El Gordo. I don’t go there—they bring it to me. I eat all of it: birria, carnita de res, pollo.
Do you have a go-to pregame meal?
Whatever I bring from home. I’m not picky. I just go with the flow. My aunt comes from the [Dominican Republic] and stays with me—she cooks for me.
What do you do on your days off? Where do you go to unwind?
I like to take drives. Sunset Cliffs is one of my favorite spots. And where I live, there are a lot of trails. I always walk. A lot of flowers, a lot of fruit along the way. It’s always beautiful.
Do you have any superstitions or rituals before games that probably don’t help, but you do anyway?
I drink coffee. I like a cappucino. No sugar.
Where do you get it? Any favorite shops in town?
Honestly, I just say I want coffee and someone shows up with it. It’s hard to just walk out and go get one. I try to stay low-key outside the stadium. I feel… cringey. Not for me, but for the people around. They’re like, “Who’s this guy? Why are people asking for photos?” And I’m just like, “Get me out of here.”
If sports didn’t exist, what would you be doing instead?
Living on an island. Spearfishing. Hiking. With my cows.
Do you surf?
I’m not supposed to.
When was the last time you did?
Before spring training, in the [Dominican Republic]. I got two boards this season from Rob Machado—really appreciate that. He made them here in San Diego.
Are ghosts real?
Definitely real. I’ve seen one. Back home—and in Milwaukee. The hotel there is haunted. I heard stuff, and in the shower, words came out in the fog on the mirror. That happened to me.
“This is insane!” the guy filming it seems to proclaim. “It’s the best fireworks show ever!” a companion confirms, inspiring a debate lasting over a decade.
All told, 7,000 fireworks exploded in the span of 25 seconds over San Diego Bay on July 4, 2012. A Michael Bay amount of unison. $125,000 worth of shells, cakes, Roman candles, and skyrockets had been placed on a barge—enough for 17 minutes of decorative sky flares—and…
Boom.
The sky looked like someone had set a giant Rorschach test on fire. Or as if whatever we all see in our Rorschachs—butterflies, clowns, tongue kissing, dads—was being electrocuted and lifted heavenward, amen. It was shocking how bright it was, how much it sizzled the local cosmos. Could’ve been one of those sci-fi films where a hole is ripped open between warring universes. But angstier, more metal—the work of some methy creator in a sleeveless concert tee.
The sound?
Lou Reed once released an entire album that contained 64 minutes of mindflaying guitar screeches and machine noises. No regular songs, just a fascinating amount of ear distress. His record label reps no doubt heard the melodic outro of their careers, but everyone else was in pain and stumped. That album still sounded better than the bay did that night. The bay sounded like a god who struggled with emotional regulation had blown his speakers and was working through the anger stage of AV grief.
In the left frame of the video, a middle-aged woman is attempting to drag her husband off by the hand. In no way does he want to go, possibly because he had missed the time Roseanne Barr sung the national anthem at a Padres game, simultaneously disemboweling and amusing America through the power of song. He would not willingly abandon an equally worthy San Diego trainwreck.
Another woman in the video appears to have just filled her beer, rushing to sit down for the show. She pauses mid-sit and returns to the full and upright position to properly bear witness. What was supposed to be prolonged entertainment has been so radically shortened that she will have to find another reason to drink. Lucky for her, drinking will be the only way to adequately process.
Locals remember the conspiracy theories. People wondered if the fuses had been tripped by a saboteur who was sympathetic to dogs, fish, or the growing suspicion that late-stage capitalism is a gorgeously branded but impossible dream sustained by remarkably efficient top-tier wealth retention and the soft compliance of fireworks-watchers who can no longer afford a house, a beer, or the personal impacts of human reproduction.
Speaking of being terrified of babies, babies were terrified. The children who witnessed it probably still can’t go near a candle store. But those kids will be tougher, perfectly scarred kids. They’ll write better songs.
That night helped us absolutely dominate the national news cycle. For a hot minute, we became America’s water-skiing squirrel. Now, years later, when you Google “fireworks gone wrong,” San Diego is always a top contender, along with that poor Nebraska family who nearly wiped out a couple generations in their front yard, their minivan somehow turning into a howitzer of recreational TNT.
There is still debate as to whether Big Bay Boom 2012 is the worst or greatest fireworks show of all time. But the advanced parts of civilization arrived at the truth as quickly as the women in the video did. It was undeniably amazing.
First of all, the point of Fourth of July fireworks isn’t “the intricate choreography of sky fire over a guaranteed amount of show time.” It’s about creating a vivid memory shared with some people you like, love, or would like to love.
BBB2012 used large-scale chemical fire to create the ultimate memory.
Sure, some people who iron their jeans subjected their family to a sermon about how San Diego managed to botch America’s birthday like a Disney princess-for-hire who smelled of quite a few Sauvignons.
The rest of us saw how perfectly it nailed the actual feeling of being an American. Because only a miniscule percentage of us bake postcard apple pies where every inch of crust is perfectly laminated like the wood in an Irish bar. Very few of us can paint on par with Picasso. The rest of us—despite truly believing in our America-activated abilities to achieve greatness in almost any field of our choosing—burn pies. We try to paint only to realize it looks like our fine motor skills have entered active death.
That’s why BBB2012 was the most perfectly American fireworks show ever: A wildly ambitious idea galvanized thousands upon thousands of people to both work on it and come to hold a beer and gawk at it, only to have it fail in the most glorious TMZ-level spectacle.
America isn’t about immaculate, storyless wins. It’s about how the framework of a country is solid enough that we can accidentally detonate our entire lives—a few times—and still probably be OK.
No one has America’d quite like San Diego did on that day. It was performance art. Lou Reed’s heart slow-clapped. Any brief municipal embarrassment quickly became a pride of our people. I can only hope the same for the Nebraskan yard family whose Dodge Aerostar became a hyperactive Death Star.
P.S. Local writer Maya Kroth compiled a quite great oral history of that night for Thrillist. The bottom lines for me were—it took nine months to prepare, no one was hurt, and even though the pyrotechnics company tried to zero out the bill, Big Bay Boom founder H. P. “Sandy” Purdon refused and paid them in full. This year will mark the 25th Anniversary of the yearly Big Bay Boom.
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.
If absence makes hearts (and stomachs) grow fonder, then shuttered restaurants quickly become the hottest tickets in town—something a number of iconic institutions found out after taking very public hiatuses after historically long runs. For instance, following a lengthy (and extremely flip-floppy) closing process after 92 years in business, Las Cuatro Milpas reopened two blocks away in Mercado del Barrio. Similarly, Carlsbad butcher shop Tip Top Meats reopened in the same location (albeit a smaller space) after the death of founder Joachim “Big John” Haedrich in 2023. Finally, after a whopping decade out of business, Sami Ladeki and chef Alfie Szeprethy brought back Roppongi to its original Prospect Street space, where it was the talk of the town in the late ’90s. All came back under the same proprietors, so they weren’t third-party nostalgia-licensing deals. The algorithm may have ravaged our attention spans away from all but the newest and shiniest, but this proves there’s still hope for our collective prefrontal cortex.
Other local eateries honored their pasts by bringing in new perspectives. The Lion’s Share in Embarcadero, Milton’s Deli in Del Mar, Dudley’s Bakery in Santa Ysabel, and J-K’s Greek Cafe in La Mesa handed over the keys to new owners willing to take on a big task: maintain the soul of icons through particularly rough economic circumstances for restaurants, navigate big feelings from longtime regulars (who often don’t take kindly to change), and make some necessary changes to keep going for another few decades. Taking over a project in process can be a lot harder than starting from scratch. But building that feel-good nostalgia doesn’t happen overnight, so it sure helps to have a well-established playbook of success passed down from those who came before.
Courtesy of Sugarfish
The Expansion Class Arrives
It wasn’t just restaurant groups from Los Angeles that decided to put down roots en masse, although San Diego saw plenty of LA transplants recently (Sugarfish, Mr. Charlie’s, For the Win, Katsuya Ko, Bacari). Global brands like Chef Fei, Zuma, and Pepper Lunch have locations of their own on the way, and upscale Canadian eatery Joey joined to the inescapable gravitational pull of Westfield UTC’s culinary cosmos for its first spot in America’s Finest City. Good to see the rest of the world is catching up with what we’ve been seeing the last few years—San Diego is a dining destination already on the rise.
Choosing To Not Choose
Between the never-ending news cycle of doom and perimenopause brain fog, I’m at the stage in life where I’m more than happy to let someone else make a decision for me, especially when it comes to what’s for dinner. And based on the way a lot of menus look right now, I’m not alone. It seems like half the places I visit offer some version of a prix fixe, omakase, or tasting menu. Restaurants are embracing the curated experience to solve the problem of affordability (a fixed menu reduces food and labor costs, guarantees an acceptable check average, etc.) and critical thinking in one fell swoop. Omakase (meaning “I leave it up to you”) is far from a new concept in high-end Japanese sushi culture, but now that it’s popping up everywhere from coffee experiences to grab-and-go sushi and sandwiches, it’s gone from somewhat niche to nearly omnipresent.
Courtesy of Rikka Fika
Local Coffee Hit the World Stage
The world got an up-close look at San Diego’s coffee industry when we hosted the premier specialty coffee expo World of Coffee for the first time this April. San Diego’s long and rich coffee history stretches back to the late 19th century. Things percolated fairly quietly for around a century before really picking up steam. Today, there are nearly 200 specialty roasters and cafes across the county, with many earning national accolades like the Good Food Award (Steady State Roasting, 2020; Bird Rock Coffee Roasters, 2023, 2021, 2019, 2017, 2016), Roaster of the Year by Roast Magazine (Mostra Coffee, 2020; Bird Rock Coffee Roasters, 2012), and the Specialty Coffee Association Coffee Design Award for packaging (Rikka Fika, 2026). Now that we’ve moved past the comically insufferable coffee snob era of the early 2000s, even java newbies can feel comfortable walking into pretty much any coffee shop in San Diego, asking questions, trying a few things, and feeling confident they’re going to get great service and a great beverage.
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.
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.
Photo Credit: Kimberly Motos
Kimberly Motos
Birdman Sandwich at Chick & Hawk
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.
Photo Credit: Lucianna McIntosh
Lucianna McIntosh
Oysters + Jewel of the Sea Martini at The Fishery
“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.”
Photo Credit: Eric Wolfinger
Eric Wolfinger
Herb-Roasted Golden Chicken at Fleurette
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.
Photo Credit: Dee Sandoval
Dee Sandoval
Espresso Ice Cream at Lucien
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.
San Diego summers can be brutal. But since the hottest period is typically late summer into early fall, San Diegans still have time to prepare. The pros at Mauzy Cooling, Heating, Plumbing, and Electrical are standing by to help homeowners fortify their homes against the elements and ensure their air conditioning is as frosty as the penguins that serve as the company’s mascots.
Many homeowners underestimate the load their AC system faces, especially in the inland valleys where temperatures regularly top 100 degrees. San Diego regularly sees multi-day heatwaves each summer, and a system that struggles on the first day will likely fail by the third.Longer run times, unusual sounds or smells, and uneven cooling from room to room are all signs that your system may not survive the next hot spell.
Systems typically last 12 to 17 years, but there are exceptions. If a system is approaching that, or is already there, a professional evaluation is recommended before summer really heats up. A good rule of thumb: If you can’t remember when your system was last serviced, it’s due.
“As technology changes, systems become smarter and smarter,” says Sean O’Connor, an install manager at Mauzy with 42 years of experience. “There are a lot of people out there who will say a system’s only good for 10 years. I don’t buy that—these systems are built to last as long as they’re taken care of.”
There are also a few steps homeowners can take between services to extend the life of their system. Regularly changing a dirty filter—especially if you have kids or pets—and keeping an outdoor unit clean can help head off problems in the future, says O’Connor.
Also, be realistic about whether it’s time to replace a unit. O’Connor likens pouring money into salvaging a faulty unit with patchwork repairs and replacement parts to “tripping over a dollar to pick up a dime.” When one part fails, others are sure to follow, and newer parts may not be compatible with older units. Mauzy recommends homeowners use the 50% rule: If a repair costs more than 50% of the system’s replacement value, and the equipment is over 10 years old, replacement is usually the better long-term value. And don’t forget the ducting. An older house that was built with heat and later had air conditioning added may not have sufficient airflow, regardless of how good the system is.
Last but not least, homeowners should know who to trust when it comes to their homes. Built on three generations of professional integrity, Mauzy has grown into not just a leader for cooling, heating, plumbing, and electrical services, but a leader in the community known for supporting local nonprofits across an array of causes. To ensure complete peace of mind, Mauzy stands behind a comprehensive 12-point guarantee that outlines its commitment to outstanding service, quality equipment, expert technicians who understand how the local microclimates affect HVAC performance, and no upsells or surprises on the bill.
“We go the extra mile. That’s what sets us apart,” O’Connor says. To get a free quote today, visit mauzy.com.
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.
When three nations and 16 cities come together to host the FIFA World Cup 2026, the scale stops feeling like a tournament and starts feeling like geography. A continent becomes the stage as borders soften into corridors. And Southern California—shaped by migration, sport, entertainment, and constant movement—sits inside that landscape with all eyes on it.
San Diego and Los Angeles have always felt connected. Hop on the Pacific Surfliner, and the trip unfolds in one continuous stretch of coastline, passing beach towns, neighborhoods, and city centers.
Traveling from San Diego, everything still feels slightly suspended as the Pacific Surfliner follows the coast north with ocean on one side and a slow suburban blur on the other. San Diego stays in exhale. Los Angeles is already building toward something louder.
This summer, Los Angeles will host eight matches of the FIFA World Cup at Los Angeles Stadium, including the US Men’s National Team opener on June 11, while the region stretches into 39 days of programming across stadiums, parks, transit hubs, beaches, and neighborhoods. Instead of one massive fan hub, Los Angeles is embracing a citywide celebration, with fan zones spread across its entirety.
But this pattern has been rehearsed here for decades. In 1994, Southern California became one of the defining stages of the World Cup, when matches at the Rose Bowl placed global attention on the region and turned local stadiums into international landmarks, confirming its ability to hold the world at scale.
What distinguishes Southern California is not just infrastructure, but cultural permeability. Fashion, music, film, art, and sport constantly overlap here, creating an environment where identity is flexible and always in motion. From the Venice boardwalk, where skate culture shaped modern street style, to global soccer stars rubbing shoulders with Hollywood celebs, to authentic Spanish cuisine moving up and down the I-5 corridor, everything circulates.
The World Cup is not introducing anything new here, it’s showing up for the summer and showing out, revealing what this city has always known about itself. What follows is a look at the fan zones and how Los Angeles turns itself into a city-wide stage for the tournament, one neighborhood at a time.
Courtesy of Los Angeles Tourism & Convention Board
Los Angeles Union Station
As the heart of Los Angeles, Union Station is an official Fan Zone June 25-28 during the World Cup, but in practice it never really stops being one.
It is the city’s circulation point, its meeting ground, its pressure valve. Commuters, travelers, match-day crowds, and everyday Angelenos all move through the same space, and everything mixes, overlaps, and scales in real time. In a way, this is where the World Cup stops arriving in Los Angeles and starts moving through it.
The Pacific Surfliner from San Diego to Los Angeles makes that shift feel almost too easy. No stress or gridlock anxiety, just a straight line up the coastline with ocean on one side and everything slowly becoming more built on the other. It’s one of the rare ways into LA that doesn’t feel like arrival as friction. You can sit with a laptop, watch the Pacific drift past, grab coffee from the café car, and let the city come to you in pieces.
That’s the beauty of arriving at Union Station. Instead of feeling like you’re on the edge of the city, you’re immediately surrounded by it. And, inside, the station already reads like a World Cup nerve center: banners, movement, multilingual energy, the sense that something global is about to funnel through this exact point. The Heart of the City Fan Zone only sharpens that feeling, with simultaneous match screens, DJ sets, meet and greets, and immersive activations built around marquee games like USA vs. Türkiye.
ROW DTLA feels like the first exhale after arrival. A converted industrial campus turned creative district where restaurants, retail, and open-air courtyards form a self-contained ecosystem. If you’re looking for the perfect first meal in LA, make it lunch at Pizzeria Bianco. The thin-crust pizza is reason enough to go, but the space leaves just as much of an impression.
What I liked most about ROW DTLA is how quickly it resets you after the train. One minute you are stepping off at Union Station, and the next you are in a space that feels like its own version of LA, a city inside a city with some of the most curated shopping I’ve ever seen.
Bodega hides itself behind a convenience-store front, a sneaker and streetwear space disguised as something ordinary, like LA refusing to make anything feel too obvious. The whole campus moves like that, part retail, part gallery, part neighborhood you are only temporarily inside.
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.
First, the upfront: This is a paid partnership with the Padres. Second, that’s not going to stop me from reliving one of my favorite kid memories.
I was 11 years old when the Padres played the Chicago Cubs in the playoffs. The Padres were a large part of my world. My mom, a baseball nut, taught me how to keep score in an official book that year. We had season tickets, which meant we were able to get seats for the playoff games. Padres lost the first two games, came back to San Diego on the ropes.
Mom and I were sitting in the left field bleachers when Kevin McReynolds hit a towering fly ball in our direction. The ball got bigger and bigger and bigger. The Cubs’ left-fielder ran toward us, ran fast until he ran out of room. The ball landed, and the stadium exploded.It landed right… HERE. It landed at US.
Up until that moment, I’d always envied the other, closer seats.
Three days later, I was sitting in the upper deck when Craig Nettles threw the ball to Alan Wiggins and the team rioted into a human pile of happy in the center of the field. The Pads’ first trip to the World Series.
The bleachers are where us fans harvest homers. Send us your dingers, your dongers, goners, taters, oppo tacos, no-doubters, moon shots, your grand salamis, and your Machados. Slam Diego isn’t a fictional place. It’s a seat. And that seat… is right here. It’s a tad louder in the bleachers because, well, joy and happiness aren’t quiet. Welcome to the party at the end of the home run rainbow.
It’s down to the wire, the biting of nails. Machado and Soto and Joe and Yu and Snellzilla and all the players with great hair could use locals at the finish line. Get a seat. Any seat. All have their unique charms. And should you decide to become a member (partial or whole season tickets for 2023), the list of perks is pretty impressive, including:
—priority access to Postseason tickets (and, baseball gods be willing, World Series)
—before each game, it’s happy hour (more than half-off select beer, wine, and cocktails)
—invitation to watch batting practice to catch homers (if you get a ball with gold-stitching, you get a free Pads jersey of your choice)
—10% off all schwag (City Connect calling your name)
