The right chocolate chip cookie can change the trajectory of a day. Feeling shrunken? Pessimistic? Morose? Try a chocolate chip cookie. Nothing flips the switch from morning ennui to afternoon ecstasy like a CCC. Butter, flour, sugar, chocolate chips—this is Cialis for the soul.
Chocolate chip cookies date back to the Old Testament. It was around 2 p.m. one day in the Garden of Eden, and Eve was like, “I could use a little treat right now.Not fruit.” And Adam was like, “No, yeah, no, for sure.” And so God said, “LET THERE BE COOKIES. SWEET BUT NOT TOO SWEET,” then baked up the first batch of choco chippies the world had ever seen. Truly, they are a creation from on high. A gift from the divine.
You know when you taste it—there is sorcery to a proper CCC. A feeling that moves in your marrow like a song from your ancestors, whispering more.
Photo Credit: Mateo Hoke
So, I’ve been on the hunt for the most extraordinary, transcendent, life-affirming CCC snuggled in San Diego’s pastry cases, and I believe I’ve found it—in a grocery store of all places, for the bargain price of $3.75. This is THE COOKIE at Lazy Acres.
Belgian chocolate, walnuts, sea salt. Perfection. The texture: creamy, crunchy, chewy. Everything you want in a little sweet treat. Grab napkins; it’s a gooey chocolate mess. Part of the allure here is that THE COOKIE is served warm. I never even make it to my car before I start eating. You can find me standing just inside the entrance of the store with a happy gleam in my eye, smiling like a baby, face and fingers covered in chocolate. There is really no dignified way to eat this cookie. It breaks all rules of royal etiquette. And it’s worth it.
Now, purists may argue that nuts don’t belong in a CCC, but they are wrong. When done well, nuts in CCCs are like truffles on pasta: a luscious addition.
So, next time you find yourself hungry for a little treat in Mission Hills or Encinitas, find your way to the Lazy Acres bakery. But fair warning: If I see a THE COOKIE sleeve on the front seat of your car, I’m breaking the window to get it. I want that cookie. It’s the best in town (so far).
These are the kind of cookies you plan your day around. The Hillcrest Shop’s classic CCC is as close to grandma’s as you can get, but the Golden Oatie chocolate chip is next level. A-plus texture.
Courtesy of The Kitchen Sink
The Kitchen Sink
Looking for a sweet little gluten-free treat? The choco chip from The Kitchen Sink is delivery-only and not cheap ($5), but you’re worth it. Crispy and viscous, these are some of the best cookies in town (regardless of your tolerance for wheat).
Maybe it was when Breaking Bad stars Bryan Cranston and Aaron Paul drank mezcal with chefs from San Diego and Food Network on the cliffs over Blacks Beach. Or the dinner outside under lights with Alex Morgan, celebrating some of the country’s most badass women chefs. Or the celebrity pickleball tournament hosted by NFL Hall of Famer Drew Brees, where the star of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia made thwacking sounds with locals. Or when Iron Chef winner Beau MacMillan commandeered (some say “stole”) a golf cart and delivered drinks and ice to chefs.
Whatever it is, Del Mar Wine & Food seems to have become the food and wine festival for people who don’t usually like food and wine festivals. The most San Diego thing.
Courtesy of Del Mar Wine & Food Festival
Two years ago, Thrillist named it one of the best food festivals in the country. Last year, 10,000 people came out to experience it, including Guy Fieri. Afterward, the founders spent a couple days trying to put their finger on why it felt so special. They had to name it, lean into whatever that was.
“It all came back to play,” says one of those founders, SDM co-owner Troy Johnson, a longtime San Diego food writer and Food Network judge. “Making world-class bread is serious, but breaking bread shouldn’t be. We gather all these incredibly talented people who take their craft very, very seriously—work their butts off all year to make some of the best food and drink in the country—and then we all just kinda play in the grass. We believe it’s possible to create something of incredible value and make the experience of that thing a laidback, easygoing, unpretentious experience. That’s what this is, and who we are in San Diego. The whole reason we did this was to shine a national spotlight on the people who make our food and drink culture hum.”
Courtesy of Del Mar Wine & Food Festival
The festival dropped its 2026 lineup today.
Headlining the fest are Food Network chefs Jet Tila, Maneet Chauhan, and Aarti Sequeira; Top Chef winner and Michelin-starred Buddha Lo; Iron Chef alum Beau MacMillan; MasterChef winner Kelsey Murphy; MasterChef Latinos winner Michelle Mathelin, chef and Guy’s Grocery Games judge Catherine McCord, chef and former Masterchef Mexico judge Benito Molina, Top Chef alum Jackson Kalb, Michelin-starred chef Drew Deckman, Michelin-starred chef Javier Plascencia, James Beard award-winning chef Brady Ishiwata Williams, and James Beard-nominated chef Mawa McQueen.
The party kicks off on Wednesday, September 30 at Monarch Ocean Pub with Signature San Diego, a walk-around tasting of the city’s greatest bites, from Baja seafood to bold Mexican flavors. From there, the energy carries into a celebrity pickleball tournament hosted by Drew Brees at Barnes Tennis Center on October 2, pairing friendly competition with an all-inclusive tasting experience in support of Feeding San Diego.
The main event is the two-day Grand Tasting at Surf Sports Park on Oct. 3 and 4. The city’s top chefs, food people from TV lands, and local tastemakers gather on the weirdly perfect grass to serve up everything from juicy Wagyu burgers and beef tallow fries to yellowtail tuna tostadas and veggies dressed up in their Sunday best. Wine and cocktail pairings are designed to round out the whole experience, including activations from Aperol Spritz, Hendrick’s Gin, Tequila Ocho, Mezcal Vago, Rioja wines, and Temecula producers.
Courtesy of Del Mar Wine & Food Festival
A VIP lounge offers exclusive access to curated small plates from Michelin-level chefs and pour from some of SoCal and Napa’s finest wineries and drink makers. The Official After Party at Guesthouse La Valle on October 3, a spirited walk-around tasting just steps from the Grand Tasting, where cocktails take center stage through imaginative bites inspired by the smoky, citrus-forward, and bittersweet flavors of classic drinks.
Zones return with activations including the Big Queer Food Fest celebrating queer chefs and queer-owned businesses; the Wellness Zone led by Novo Dia offering a built-in reset with non-alcoholic mocktails, movement-driven activations, and wellness-forward moments. Coastal lifestyle and locally made brands are also integrated throughout the festival.
“We are excited for the fourth edition of the Del Mar Wine & Food Festival this fall, which has quickly become one of the largest food and wine experiences on the West Coast,” says co-founder Chris Finn. “As the festival continues to grow, we are constantly looking to add events, experiences, and partners that will resonate with our San Diego community, and embody the Southern California way of life.”
Returning as the festival’s partner is local nonprofit Feeding San Diego. To date, Del Mar Wine & Food has raised $100,000 to support their ongoing fight against hunger across the region.
Stay tuned for additional events hosted by festival partners including Rob Machado, San Diego Wave, San Diego FC, Town & Country, and San Diego Mojo.
Courtesy of Del Mar Wine & Food Festival
Del Mar Wine & Food Fest: Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs)
When is the 2026 Del Mar Wine & Food Festival?
The 2026 Del Mar Wine & Food Festival will take place September 30–October 4 throughout San Diego County.
Where is the Del Mar Wine & Food Festival?
The week culminates with the Grand Tasting at Surf Sports Park (formerly the Del Mar Polo Fields) at 14989 Via De La Valle, Del Mar.
A wide variety of exclusive dinners, drink tastings, and other lifestyle events will be announced soon and available for purchase individually on Del Mar Wine & Food Festival’s website. These festivities include chef-curated dining experiences across San Diego’s hottest restaurants, a celebrity pickleball tournament, wine tastings, and more.
When is the 2026 Grand Tasting?
The Grand Tasting takes place this year on Saturday, October 3 and Sunday, October 4.
How much are tickets?
General admission for the single-day Grand Tasting starts at $185. An Early Access option is also available at $235, which includes an extra four hours before general admission to meet, mingle, and feast. For a two-day pass, General Admission starts at $275, while Early Access is $375.
VIP tickets begin at $425 for a single day, offering access to pre-festival experiences, exclusive food vendors, a dedicated VIP area, and more. For the full weekend in VIP, passes are priced at $765.
Where can I buy tickets for the 2026 Del Mar Wine & Food Festival?
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.
Encinitas nigiri fanatics, I bring you good tidings. Oto Sushi is slated to open in late July. After nearly two decades of experience in operations for Tao Group Hospitality and Ace Hotel, Ash Cintas opened the first Oto in Laguna Beach in 2024. She focused on from-scratch dishes, fish sourced from Smart Catch and Seafood Watch–approved suppliers, and a wide swath of gluten-free options.
Year one worked, so she started eyeing her ideal second spot—North County San Diego. “I grew up spending time in San Diego visiting family, and my grandfather built a fishing business here, so the area has always felt familiar and meaningful to me,” says Cintas.
Cintas’ twin sister Alysha Rabb spearheaded the Japanese coastal design of the new Oto, which takes over the former Mrkt Space. The 3,200-square-foot eatery flows from the indoor dining room to large outdoor patio, as well as a private dining room—a total capacity of 95. Chef Connor Mathison has worked as a sushi chef for over 15 years at venues like Bamboo Sushi SW in Portland, Oregon. His menu includes classic sushi offerings like nigiri and sashimi, specialty rolls, bento boxes, tempera, karaage, Wagyu burgers, and robotayaki.
Robatayaki, sometimes called robata, is a method of slow-grilling meat, seafood, and various vegetables over premium Japanese binchotan charcoal. Basically, it’s the gold standard for grilling, thanks to its intense, clean heat that imparts a smoky, savory char on the outside and a rich, tender inside.
“One of the defining characteristics of Oto is that much of our sushi is served yakumi-style, meaning it arrives already seasoned with ingredients designed to complement the fish rather than relying on soy sauce,” Cintas explains.
Courtesy of Oto Sushi
There will also be a large number of vegan and vegetarian dishes, plus scratch cocktails with housemade syrup, fresh juice, sake, Japanese whiskey, wine, and beer selections curated by beverage partner Gavin Grum. Cintas says she hopes to continue expanding across Southern California, ideally opening six to eight locations in different coastal communities.
“The goal isn’t to build the biggest restaurant company,” she says. “Encinitas is the next step in proving that model can scale.”
Oto Sushi opens July 2026 at 782 N. Coast Hwy 101 in Encinitas. Initial opening hours are from 11:30 a.m. to 9 p.m. daily.
Courtesy of Silver Hoof Creamery
San Diego Restaurant News & Food Events
Silver Hoof Creamery Coming to Old Town
First more sushi, now more ice cream? Someone pinch me. Later this June, Silver Hoof Creamery will open in Old Town at 2548 Congress Street, Suite G, bringing artisanal soft serve, waffle tacos and waffle bowls, sundaes, and milkshakes to the Old Town Urban Market food hall. Everything is made with 100 percent California dairy milk (except for the dairy-free options, of course), and the small-batch menu of flavors ranges from dark chocolate soft serve to blueberry lavender milkshakes, matcha garden sundaes, and the signature Silver Hoof sundae made with vanilla swirl soft serve, caramel drizzle, topped with candied pecans and various candy gems and topped with whipped cream. Personally, I’m a sucker for strawberry, so I’m looking forward to giving the strawberry fields milkshake a slurp once the doors open.
The San Diego Natural History Museum (a.k.a. The Nat) tends to make good use of its rooftop space with events like Nat at Night every Friday during the summer, but now it’s getting into the brunch game as well. Brunch at the Nat kicks off Sunday, June 14 with Wolf in the Woods taking over the menu from 10 a.m. to 2:30 p.m., followed by Hash House A Go Go (July 12) and Wolf in the Woods making a sophomore appearance on August 9. (Yes, there will be Bloody Marys. How could there not be when Johnny Rivera is behind the bar?)
North County isn’t just getting more sushi—it’s getting a sweets upgrade as well. Desserts By Clément, the Pacific Beach-based French pastry shop is opening two new locations this summer in Del Mar and Vista. Owner (and French native) Clément Le Déoré has made a name for himself from his super realistic (and absolutely adorable beyond belief) desserts like these “Petit Bears” and fruit collection, but will also offer traditional pastries like croissants, macarons, kouign-amann, and chouquettes. There goes my summer bod… (just kidding).
Non-alcoholic options are gaining major steam on drinks menus across the country, and the gang at Cesarina and Elvira are cashing in. Both concepts just released new cocktail menus to be fully 50 percent alcoholic, 50 percent non-alcoholic so people can easily jump from one to the other, if they so choose. (Or just stick with one category—it’s just nice to have options.) Bar lead Sydnee West’s concoctions range from the Super Fico at Cesarina (made with porcini-infused rye, Nonino Amaro, Averna, and clarified fig demerara) on the hard side to the Roma Esotica at Elvira (with NA gin, pineapple, passion fruit, and lemon) on the soft side. As someone who actively enjoys zebra-striping (going back-and-forth between cocktails and mocktails), it’s very refreshing to have curated choices on either end that aren’t an afterthought.
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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.
His ascent has been stealth and humble, which fits the man. When Liberty Station was struggling to convince people it existed over a decade ago, Sicilian chef Accursio Lota’s food at Solare Ristorante was a tractor beam for food people who sniff out hidden talent like truffle dogs. In 2017, he won the World Pasta Championship (a legit competition from global pasta brand Barilla) and struck out on his own, opening his and his wife’s from-scratch pasta trattoria in North Park (Cori Pastificio). Gambero Rosso—the Italian version of Michelin, the most respected source—has clamored for the restaurant since it opened, naming it “New Opening of the Year” and this year giving it their highest award, “Tre Forchette” (Three Forks), only knighted on a handful of US restaurants.
So this year, Lota opened his grandest thing—Dora Ristorante—and it pulls everything together. Steps from San Diego’s world-class theater, La Jolla Playhouse, it’s laden with brass and large-format murals, tile work and mosaics—like the one on the wood-burning oven that blisters, chars, and smokes a good portion of the menu. Their housemade focaccia is a new street drug (try it with the puttanesca, his grandmother Dora’s recipe). The olive oil-cured sardines make “sustainable seafood” and ethics not taste like a compromise. Dora might finally be the one to solve the “where do I eat before the world premiere at LJP” dilemma.
The yuzu-colored building that helped build North Park’s modern food culture is alive again. Years ago, the ornate French Quarter–inspired spot on 30th Street was home to chef Matt Gordon’s Urban Solace (duck macaroni and cheese). Then it laid conspicuous and fallow until a few months ago when Bacari took it on. It’s an LA transplant, but they’re proving forgivable of that trespass. Chef and co-founder Lior Hillel cooked at Jean-Georges before opening the first of this Venetian-style restaurant in 2008 with brothers Danny and Robert Kronfi (Bobby started his food venture with a pop-up dinner series in his college apartment at USC).
For dinner, it’s house-baked bread, crudo and shrimp ceviches, Mediterranean street corn, lamb hummus, shawarma, and glazed pork belly. Weekend brunch is bellinis and French toast and burekas (famed Jewish stuffed puff pastry), and chef Noa’s cauliflower (caramelized with chipotle). It’s Italian-ish with a heavy dose of pan-Mediterranean and Middle Eastern. Doesn’t hurt that they left the iconic exterior as is, adding chandelier-farmhouse insides with charm that echoes two of the city’s dearly departed (Jayne’s Gastropub, Cafe Chloe).
Courtesy of TRUST Restaurant Group
À L’ouest
Much tolerance for friends who hate mussels because they look too biological. But if they manage to dislike À L’ouest’s—served over ice with vadouvan curry aioli and chili crisp—then you’ve successfully identified your brokemouth friend and should try bicycling or crafting with them to bond instead of eating in public places. It should be on everyone’s short list for dish of the year.
Chef Brad Wise and his team have earned their rep over multiple concepts—Trust, Fort Oak, Cardellino, Wise Ox, Rare Society. But he’s been eyeing this corner of North Park since before he opened his first (Trust, in 2016). North Park has been rising for a while, and À L’ouest feels like the missing piece—an indoor-outdoor brasserie stunner on the marquee spot of 30th and University, which long sat boarded up and vacant like a neighborhood missing a front tooth.
As with his other concepts, woodpile is king; smoldering red oak boosts the flavor of just about everything. Get the spätzle with braised rabbit, maitake mushroom, secret de compostelle (the famed Basque sheep’s milk cheese), and black truffle. Or the chicken liver parfait with persimmon, fennel aigre-doux (sweet-sour), and chives on toast. Or, like everyone else in there—the steak frites.
Photo Credit: Eric Wolfinger
Fleurette
Chef Travis Swikard’s first solo restaurant, Callie in East Village, proved how details can make the most composed of us blubber a little in fine places—from citrus left in ovens overnight to blacken and transform, to the Scripps Oceanographic Institute saltwater he keeps his spot prawns thriving in until ordered, to the days-long fermentation and stone-ground dukkah that turn carrot shavings into a statement piece.
Now, he’s focusing on French food with a fitter, less buttery San Diego heart. Fleurette is his doubling-down, a SoCal riff on the food he learned under mentors Daniel Boulud and Gavin Kaysen. The French gave us the mother sauces, and Fleurette showcases the lightest and brightest evolutions. Like the anchoïade on his beef tartare, which uses famed Italian anchovy sauce colatura di alici, mixed with cured egg yolks over tiny, uniform-sized cubes of raw, USDA Prime Flannery beef.
There is soubise (onion sauce), a sauce vierge (tomatoes and herbs), and a fennel marmalade on the duck liver and bone marrow pâté. Although the structure is stunningly pure glass, Fleurette’s in a location—an office park on the edge of La Jolla, near UTC—that few chefs would be able to pull off. But Swikard’s Michelin-bound house of saucework pulls hard.
The Escondido taqueria from Rosarito-born-and-trained chef Juan González and farmer Megan Strom took the county by storm this year. The married couple started as a popup four years ago, hosting farmside dinners before taking up residency at Vino Carta in Solana Beach. Strom was working a small, 5-acre heirloom bean farm in Valley Center owned by Mike Reeske (aka “The Bean Man”) when he retired and sold them the plot.
The huge bonus was that the sale included Reeske’s famed collection of beans, curated over 20 years. The couple planted other things and now grow much of what they serve in the form of tacos and burritos at a permanent spot in Escondido: Mesa Agrícola.
The menu’s bone simple: housemade tortillas in your choice of taco or burrito norteños (which are smaller, like burritos de hielera) that change constantly and often topped with guisados (Mexican braises or stews) like lamb and garbanzo, birria, chicharrón, mushrooms al ajillo, rajas, you name it. And, of course, some of the best beans honoring the local legend of Reeske.
Courtesy of Lucien
Lucien
San Diego is now the recipient of national food buzz. The dark ages—during which we learned how to sear ahi and asada some carne and called it a day—felt prolonged, and they were. The problem was never ingredients. San Diego County always had the best raw dinner materials (more small farms per capita than any county in the US, seafood right there); it just didn’t have a critical mass of highly trained chefs to do them justice. Easy to understand the chef dearth.
For a very long time, if you wanted to be a serious chef you had to go to the restaurant superplexes of New York, San Francisco, or Chicago (which imported their raw ingredients from places like San Diego). But now—credit farmers or Alice Waters or Dan Barber or Michael Pollain or the reasonable conclusion that food picked right here tastes better than food picked way over there—some of the most talented chefs are moving to the ingredients, not the other way around.
In San Diego, we got Richard Blais, Swikard, and now Elijah Arizmendi, who cut his teeth in Vegas with Joel Robuchon (plus Boulud and Thomas Keller) and was chef de cuisine at NYC’s L’abeille when it got its first Michelin star. His debut restaurant in La Jolla—with partners Brian Hung and Melissa Yang—is a dark, moody multicourse tasting-menu hideaway with one of the best egg dishes in the city.
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 this city, chef Brian Malarkey and restaurateur Chris Puffer are kind of like peanut butter & jelly, tacos and Tuesday, Padres and Petco—they just go together. This month, the duo celebrates 10 years of partnering on some of San Diego’s top restaurants including their first venture, Herb & Wood.
To celebrate this milestone, we stepped back and revisited their journey becoming some of this city’s most successful restaurateurs.
But first, let’s go back to the beginning. The duo met at Oceanaire in 2007 where they both worked. Malarkey was still riding the high from his stint on Top Chef Season 3 where he won runner-up. He was a great chef, Puffer recalls, if not a tad arrogant. Whatever he was doing, though, it worked. Sales doubled under his watch.
In 2009, Malarkey was approached by some patrons to start what would become Searsucker. He knew he wanted Puffer to be his partner. They had great chemistry and loved hospitality and food. “We both came to this with a bit of a chip on our shoulder,” says Malarkey. “We wanted to prove it to other people that we know what we’re doing.”
Courtesy of Puffer Malarkey Collective
Searsucker, Gabardine, and Herringbone (under the Fabric of Social Dining restaurant group) were born through the new partnership. But in 2012, they sold their concepts to Hakkasan and soon partnered on a new lease.
That building would eventually become Herb & Wood. “We were going to do it differently this time around,” says Malarkey as he reflects on Wood’s early days. “And we [wanted to] build it to last.”
The vision: Great food. Great music. Great service. It’d be a place where diners would let go, put their phones down, and be fully present to enjoy a meal together. When they walked into 2210 Kettner Blvd, they knew they had found their spot.
The only problem was that, at the time, that area of Little Italy was still severely underdeveloped. In a 8,500-square-foot space, they were going to have 230 seats to fill. “It may as well have been on Mars,” says Troy Johnson, San Diego Magazine publisher, content chief, and the city’s longtime food critic.
Courtesy of Puffer Malarkey Collective
And, of course, there were the naysayers. The prevailing feeling in the dining world was, “Let’s see what these f**king idiots do,” recalls Malarkey. The duo let all the noise be noise. In fact, the noise fueled them. “We weren’t going to cater to the haters,” Puffer says.
Their next hurdle would be to tackle the restaurant’s design. “There was nothing. It was literally a box,” says Puffer of the former space. Design teams were too expensive or didn’t quite get their vision—no, they didn’t want exposed beams or wooden tables made from reclaimed barns. “Then, Puffer was like, ‘f**k it, dude, I’m going to design this restaurant.’”
Having never really designed something like this before, he decided not to work in the programs that most professionals use to create their layouts. 3D mockup? Didn’t need it. CAD? That’s what a paper and pencil are for.
Courtesy of Herb & Wood
“It was all in my head,” he recalls. “I had this moment where I was like, ‘If I died right now, no one would know where any of this shit goes.’”
“Yeah, it made no sense,” Malarkey says.
And it still doesn’t if you hear him explain it. A mishmash of vignettes from the inner workings of his memory bank, evoking everything from Mississippi riverboats to Eiffel tower ironwork, Kensington home façades, an old theater he frequented, and a canoe, because why not? Yet somehow, it all worked.
“It’s a sense of nostalgia,” says Puffer. “People might say, ‘Oh, my gosh, this feels good’ and they don’t realize it reminds them of the time they were in Paris.’”
“We don’t play trends,” Malarkey says. “We play timeless.”
Courtesy of Herb & Wood
Over the course of many years and plenty of trial and error, the partnership has continued to thrive. And, the Puffer Malarkey Collective has found its sweet spot within their restaurants: The service had to be kind and unpretentious and the food had to come out quick, delicious, and consistent. “Consistency is key!” says Puffer.
They also learned to balance out one another. “He’s a go-go-go-go [person],” says Puffer, “I’m a let’s-take-a-deep-breath-and-sleep-on-it [type of person].”
So, when they opened the doors to Herb & Wood in April of 2016, with those lessons in place, everything was just right. “We knew it had to fire on all cylinders,” says Puffer. “And it did.”
Courtesy of Puffer Malarkey Collective
There was no pretense and the dress code was exceedingly simple. “Money in your pocket,” says Malarkey. “That’s all you need.”
The phones rang, the seats filled, and the haters had to give it to them, those gnocchi hit. People began embracing every aspect of the place, even the edgier ones.
“We thought people were going to complain about all the paintings with boobs,” says Puffer of the many John Lanes on the wall. “But the amount of people who take pictures in front of the boobs is amazing.”
They even had a middle finger statue that Puffer had picked up from a yard sale. If a table was rude or antagonistic toward the staff, he’d walk over to them with the finger. “Congratulations,” he’d say, handing it over. “You’ve won asshole of the night.”
Courtesy of Puffer Malarkey Collective
The point is, they were ready to laugh (and not take shit from anyone). When someone wrote a review of Herb & Wood and called it Weed & Boners, they both had a laugh. It’s one of the keys to longevity.
Along with the fun and deliciousness, they’ve also served as a culinary talent incubator for San Diego. “It’s like a centrifuge,” says Johnson about Herb & Wood. “They train up all these young chefs and start spinning all this talent into different parts of the city.”
There’s Sebastian Becerra with Pepino, Samantha Bird of Relic Bakery, Aidan Owens at Herb & Sea, and Tara Monsod of Animae and Le Coq (San Diego’s first James Beard award finalist) to name a few. “They’ve expanded the footprint of the food revolution in San Diego,” says Johnson.
Their plans for the next 10 years?
“We’re just going to keep the magic going,” says Malarkey.
Some keep lists of favorite books, of quotes, of enemies whose time shall come. At SDM we keep vast, nuanced, hotly debated lists of the best food and drink in the city. Menus are our smut novels. From Michelin stars to mom and pops, our list constantly evolves over hundreds of new bites tried every year. Here’s the 2026 list from food critic Troy Johnson and 129,000-plus votes from our readers, who really, really know their food.
Scroll down for the full list of Best Restaurant winners
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.
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.
Courtesy of Wayfarer Bread
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.
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.
Courtesy of Herb & Sea
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.
Courtesy of Herb & Sea
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.
Courtesy of Herb & Sea
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.
Courtesy of Herb & Sea
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.
