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How the pandemic convinced us all to adopt telehealth, made San Diego's top docs social media stars, and changed healthcare forever
Influencer Doctors-lipstick
Stacy Keck
It was late one night in early March 2020, and Rebecca Fielding-Miller was on her laptop after putting her toddler to bed. As an epidemiologist at UC San Diego who specialized in infectious disease in sub-Saharan Africa, she was paying attention to the early spread of the Covid-19 pandemic and sensed what was coming.
That night, Fielding-Miller took case data from the San Diego County website and made a graph–not for research but simply to see what was going on. Then, she posted the graph on Facebook. A friend tagged Scott Lewis, editor of Voice of San Diego, and the next day Lewis called Fielding-Miller for an interview.
“It just kind of started snowballing from there, which was a little bit surprising and not what I anticipated,” Fielding-Miller says. “I would do an interview, and then somebody would see me or something I said and thought it sounded coherent, and then they would call me up, and I would speak to the next person.”
She had done just one media interview before Covid-19, and now, more than two years later, she’s done more than she can count, with outlets from Voice of San Diego and KPBS to USA Today and The Guardian. “Scientists can’t talk like [the average person],” Fielding-Miller says. “I don’t know what it is, but I understand. I recognize that one of the reasons that people call me up is because I can talk like a person. And that’s just not training that scientists get.”
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Fielding-Miller does talk like an everyday person–she’s lively and engaged and even funny. She’s also an expert in the spread of infectious diseases. The combination has made her into one of several local Covid-19 celebrity health experts–doctors and researchers who journalists call on to share information, give health advice, and generally try to make sense of this truly novel pandemic that has consumed everyone’s lives.
For years, healthcare professionals and insurance companies have been trying to get patients to embrace a certain amount of telehealth or remote consultations. The adoption was slow, and people were understandably reticent. The pandemic changed all that.
For the first time in American medical history, during the pandemic, people began getting their health information not from their own physicians but through doctors speaking via news stories, in soundbites on TV, or in short posts on Twitter. And it changed the lives and practices of those doctors. It exposed weaknesses in government health agencies and our healthcare system, leaving many with lingering misinformation about Covid-19 that has damaged public health on a larger scale.
“The Trump administration really tried to play down the virus, especially in the beginning, and there weren’t good federal guidelines. And so everybody was looking for an expert on something that nobody was an expert in,” Fielding-Miller says.
Doctors in the media have long been a thing. Of course, there are the medical dramas– General Hospital, M*A*S*H, ER, and Grey’s Anatomy–but there have also been several medical TV news shows. In 2003, Dr. Mehmet Oz launched his first TV show Second Opinion with Dr. Oz, and he became a regular TV personality through the 2000s. The Doctors, a news talk show offering medical advice, started in 2008. Then, during Covid-19, as the top news story for the entire planet became health-related, doctors became constant guests on TV news and regular sources in news stories.
Before Covid-19, Dr. Abisola Olulade, a family medicine doctor at Sharp, had done one media interview about vaping for CBS San Diego. Fast forward to February 2020, she was once again tapped as a source regarding Covid-19. Now, she’s done hundreds of interviews for outlets ranging from local TV to national publications, including Forbes, The Atlantic, Cosmopolitan, and NPR.
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“When I look back and think about the fact that I’ve been a full-time practicing physician as well, sometimes it’s been just really crazy,” she says. “There are times when I was interviewed four times in one day by different stations, back to back.”
Dr. Olulade learned how to communicate health information in a way that balances “educating people, not causing them to be panicked, and being reassuring as much as you can, but also being very honest.”
She says she’s always had a good bedside manner, which translates onto the screen. “Next to being competent, a good bedside manner is probably the most important thing for a medical provider to have,” she says. “You can have all the knowledge in the world, but if you can’t communicate it in the right way to your patient, it’s totally pointless. It is important to convey information in a clear and concise manner that is respectful, nonjudgmental, and empathetic.”
She says sometimes she was recognized on the street (other doctors said they weren’t), a new phenomenon in her world which is typically a private, closed-door experience with patients. Anyone who’s been on TV knows it takes a bit of putting together to not look shadowy, ghostly, or wholly unprepared for the on-screen experience.
“I do prefer to wear makeup for interviews,” she says, “but I can’t exactly do it in the morning because it gets ruined by the mask, so I do it immediately prior to interviews. It’s an added time commitment in addition to preparing for what I am going to say in the interviews. Lighting is also important. I have gone through several lighting kits both at home and in my office. I would recommend using one.”
Fielding-Miller also started paying more attention to her appearance–and that of her office–due to TV. “I wore a lot more makeup than I would have otherwise,” she says. “My usual amount is none, but I realized that some mascara and good red lipstick make a difference on camera. I keep an extra tube of lipstick and some eyeshadow in my office at work now in case I get asked to do an interview that I hadn’t planned on.”
She also changed up her office, making it Zoom-ready. She hung a “very cute, bold curtain from Anthropologie” over the window, added throw pillows for the couch and liked to play around with the bookshelf behind her. “There is often a copy of How to Survive a Plague back there, and sometimes the board game Pandemic,” she says.
For Fielding-Miller, another big lesson was learning about the different types of media outlets and what each needed. “Some people do long, thoughtful investigations where they do background reading and they really want to give an accurate portrayal, and some you just have to get news on at 5 o’clock and they want the soundbite, and they’re done,” she says. “Both are valid things, and I get it. People watch the 5 o’clock news, and people hear things in soundbites. And so I want people to hear the clip that says, ‘Hey, maybe wear a mask.’ If that is the sound bite I can get out into the world, then that’s all right.”
Dr. Mark Sawyer, an infectious disease specialist at Rady Children’s Hospital, has done tons of interviews, especially about Covid-19 vaccines, and recalls one interview with a local TV station that was a challenge. “Clearly, the agenda of the person doing the interview was to cast a negative light on immunizations for Covid-19, and they wouldn’t accept my explanations for why I didn’t agree with that approach,” he says. “We ended up agreeing to disagree at the end.”
Meanwhile, Dr. Christopher Longhurst, now the chief medical officer at UC San Diego Health, says he worked with his media relations department to learn how to “frame things” during interviews. Before Covid-19, he had done one interview. Now he averages about five a month. “There were a couple of interviews where I flopped and said things I wish I hadn’t, and our media folks were patient with me,” he says. But, he notes, he never had a bad experience with a reporter editing his soundbites incorrectly, and though he didn’t always get much airtime, he felt the stories were always accurate.
“They were looking for sound bites that would play well, but they also were trying to educate, be accurate,” he says. “Even some of those in the more far-right kind of news were looking for the angles that would help people understand that getting vaccinated could save their life. It’s a tough job, I think, to be fair and balanced for a lot of different audiences. And I just appreciated the role that they played in communicating accurate information as opposed to misinformation.”
Another critic, Longhurst says, kept him humble: his wife.
“We’d flip on the local news, and there I was,” he says. “That got really old for my wife after two or three times, and she’s like, ‘Oh, local Brad Pitt here.’”
As these doctors were getting spun up on how to talk to the press, they also had to navigate where to get their own information about a virus that was so new. Quickly, the CDC began holding regular briefings, as did the California Department of Public Health and San Diego County. The daily press briefings were live streamed, so anyone could watch.
Dr. Ghazala Sharieff, the chief medical officer at Scripps Health, said following instructions and guidance from the different agencies took a whole team–people to listen to briefings, read papers, and then meet with her and other decision-makers to decide what to do.
“Covid-19 was brand new, right? No one knew anything, and there was so much conflicting information. So how do you communicate something when nobody even knows the answer?” she says. “Frankly, that is why our team felt like I should get out in the media. I wanted to be the voice of reason, but also we wanted to be the voice of truth. So, we decided to go with, ‘Here’s what it means clinically, here’s what we are going to do,’ because some of the recommendations that were coming up actually made no clinical sense to anybody, and it was hard to follow some of the guidance.”
Dr. Sawyer says it was a huge challenge simply sifting through the sheer volume of information being dispensed. “There have been thousands and thousands of papers published about Covid-19,” Dr. Sawyer says. It was impossible to read everything, so he had to pick and choose which sources were most useful.
To explain something very simply, you have to understand it very deeply, Dr. Olulade says. “The first step is always to make sure that you are up to date on all the correct information and have the right sources. You also need to stay up to date on what’s coming in terms of research and be able to communicate that on the fly.”
In early Covid-19, the Trump Administration was downplaying Covid-19. (“I think that’s a problem that’s going to go away… They have studied it. They know very much. In fact, we’re very close to a vaccine.”) And there wasn’t enough information to satisfy an increasingly concerned public.
“The federal government was not putting out trustworthy evidence-based guidelines, and we were dealing with a novel coronavirus, so this wasn’t something that anybody had studied for 20 years,” Fielding-Miller says. “The public was watching scientists learn in real-time, and those of us doing science communication were trying to educate ourselves and provide clear information on a topic where the picture was still coming into focus.”
The gaps in information drove some people to the internet to find answers, and the media rose to the demand–some of it fact-based, and some of it wildly not. There were online posts, videos, podcasts, and social media accounts making all kinds of Covid-19 claims—like recommending people take Vitamin D or chloroquine phosphate (a fish tank cleaner) to avoid Covid-19 or claims about why masks do more harm than good. The endless information was overpowering to people like Vicky Sorriso, a 39-year-old pastry chef who lives in San Diego.
“I was obsessed with the county counts, the nation counts,” she recalls. “I do have diagnosed OCD, and one of my things is germs and cleanliness. I wanted to know the numbers everywhere for everyone.” Sorriso follows local news like NBC San Diego on Twitter, plus subscribes to national outlets and constantly watches MSNBC. In early Covid-19, she could not look away, and it affected her mental state.
“It was just like a constant stream of bad information,” she says. “I used to walk my dog every day before work down by the Embarcadero, and they’d have these weekly marches and were so vicious to anybody wearing a mask.” Sorriso also has ADHD and says in the past, she’s fallen victim to social media accounts convincing followers not to take medication. “The best resource for me was getting myself to the doctor,” she says. “That was it. Don’t rely on the internet to diagnose yourself.”
Local doctors had to make their voices loud enough to overpower bad information coming from questionable sources. During this time, there was a considerable increase in telehealth, especially as people were avoiding going into doctors’ offices to risk exposure.
But doctors also saw the importance of putting their voices out on social media as well. While it hasn’t changed his overall clinical practice, Dr. Hardeep Phull, Palomar Health Cancer Institute Director of Oncology, said that he’s “very careful” what he posts, “knowing that a broad audience, including patients, could be reading what I have to say.” To that point, he thinks there are differences between social media platforms: He has recently increased his use of LinkedIn, considered to be a more professional network, where he feels he’s gotten positive responses to his posts. But he completely locked down on Facebook. “I feel I have too much personal stuff there, [like] posts from friends, photos, et cetera.”
Dr. Olulade took another approach. She launched an Instagram account where she recorded videos answering common Covid-19 questions. Fielding-Miller made her graphs on Facebook and spoke out about the virus on Twitter.
Dr. Longhurst had a Twitter account for years but rarely used it. In March 2020, he noted another doctor, Dr. Bob Wachter at UC San Francisco, was tweeting about Covid-19. “I intentionally spoke to our media team about it, and I said, ‘Look, here’s Dr. Wachter sharing a lot of information with the public, and we could do something similar. Can I get your permission to do that?’” Longhurst recalls.
Permission was granted, and soon Longhurst was blowing up. He now has nearly 10,000 followers and regularly makes news with his tweets. “I would sit there in the evenings after the kids went to bed, and I’d think about the data I wanted to share and the message I wanted to send, and I’d hit send,” he says. “Then, the next day, it’s, ‘We saw your tweet, and we’d like to interview you,’ or there’d be even a KPBS article with my tweet embedded in the article.”
Longhurst says his biggest social media moment of fame was getting Mark Hamill to tell his 5.2 million followers to download the CA Notify contact tracing app. “Luke Skywalker used the force to boost public health, definitely a social media highlight for me,” Longhurst says.
Being a warrior against Covid-19 misinformation also sometimes involves personal attacks and even safety concerns. Fielding-Miller says after watching heated San Diego County Board of Supervisors meetings where public commenters hurled insults and threats at officials, she signed up for a service that scrubbed her personal information from the Internet.
“Because, who knows, right?” she says. “I did one interview with an outlet that skews a little bit to an audience that’s a little bit less enthused about Covid-19 regulations, and I did get at least one weird voicemail on my office phone—to the point that my mentors suggested, ‘Maybe we should just get security.’”
Dr. Sharieff says there were times when her hospital altered security because “we’ve got some people that are pretty angry out there— and so they walked me to my car sometimes.” She also received threats and vitriol when vaccines first became available from people who didn’t want to wait in line–especially on one online forum in particular.
“The NextDoor people, they were awful,” she says. “I don’t know why they just start slamming you. Let me explain why we didn’t have things for you. Believe me, as fast as I get it, I get it out to you.”
Along with safety concerns, Dr. Sharieff worried about looking like a hypocrite–not wanting to be in a Governor Gavin Newson eating indoors at the French Laundry situation. “I think I went to my first outside restaurant just last week with a friend because I have not done that,” she says. “So I have to learn myself. How do I reemerge back into society? I’m not going to go to the restaurant and tell everybody else not to do it. And so it’s taking a personal toll.”
The fact that anyone was looking to Dr. Sharieff or any of these doctors to answer their questions about when to eat at a restaurant, or any other Covid-19-related question, is somewhat strange in actuality, though it’s become part of everyday life. The most privileged members of society have doctors they’d normally turn to for health advice and pay for anytime access. But during Covid-19—when everyone had questions at the same time, and everything was so new—the country’s health system didn’t have the capacity for individualized attention, and not everyone has good access to quality care.
“People don’t have health coverage that good,” Fielding-Miller says. “There’s not a number that you can just call and get advice.” Most doctors’ offices didn’t usually provide Covid-19 vaccines or testing, and doctors didn’t have information beyond the little that was coming from government agencies. They’re also not trained in public health, biology, and immunology, “and all of the different things they would need to be an expert in to be able to give up-to-the-minute advice,” she adds. So media, and social media, became the doctor’s office that gathered all the various specialists under one virtual roof.
Research consistently shows people are more likely to listen to their primary care doctors, with whom they feel more comfortable, about things like masking and vaccines, Dr. Olulade explains—and that’s a bad thing when it comes to a crisis like Covid-19. “[Having a primary care doctor] is not available to a lot of people, and we really saw the impact of that during the pandemic,” she says.
Influencer Doctors-Spine
Stacy Keck
Dr. Sharieff says she was aware of the weight of her messages and would choose the timing of her media appearances judiciously as a result. When case counts were lower, she’d be more likely to turn down an interview because she didn’t want to wear out her message.
“I don’t want to be that lady that tells everybody they can’t have fun because there was a trust that was developed. I don’t want it to pivot to the point where people don’t listen to me anymore,” she says. “So [my media team] and I kind of go back and forth sometimes, and I’m like, ‘I don’t think the time is right. We’ll do it when the surge comes.’”
Doctors communicating about Covid-19 through the news created an unusually symbiotic relationship between journalists and doctors who wanted to get information out there, and journalists wanted that information plainly, with very little spin. All the local doctors interviewed for this story say they had largely positive experiences with reporters– the facts were usually right, and the message was rarely skewed. And the experience of communicating life-or-death health information to as many people as possible left them with a new appreciation for the media.
“I have felt a real sense of responsibility to try and get information out that can help keep people healthy,” Fielding-Miller says. “And if I can do an interview right before New Year’s reminding people to be a little bit extra careful and provide information that can prevent an infection or can prevent somebody from getting very ill, that has been really amazing and just something that I don’t take for granted.”
Dr. Longhurst says he appreciates the role of journalism far more now, from KPBS to print media like The New York Times and The LA Times and “even [San Diego Union Tribune health reporter Paul] Sisson.”
Dr. Sharieff says she has gotten to know several local TV newscasters. “We know who the friendlies are, and they do such a good job of getting the word out there,” she says.
On a larger scale, she says Covid-19 made Scripps Health see the importance of engaging not just with their patients but the community as a whole. “Really, we have to have an impact on our community which does, of course, benefit our patients in the long run,” she says.
Now, as Covid-19 seems to drop on the list of pressing concerns for many people, the question will be whether they still pay as much attention to health news and these celebrity doctors. Signs point to yes. Some news organizations have expanded their health coverage, and these doctors are now out there in the media and on social media and aren’t likely to lose their followings. For example, Dr. Sharieff says there is much more attention to monkeypox and demand for vaccines than there might have been pre-Covid-19.
Meanwhile, Dr. Olulade says she’s finding patients are asking more questions about the risks versus benefits of medications and interventions, “and that is a very good thing.”
“When patients can understand things, it makes it easier for them to make healthcare decisions. They often feel more empowered,” she says. “Overall, patients seem to be doing more of their own research into health topics, and it’s obviously an opportunity for us in the medical community to corner that space with the right information.”
Dr. Longhurst says the question of whether people will be more likely to listen to medical advice about things other than Covid-19 is a double-edged sword. “People who were looking for a trusted source followed doctors and other experts on social media, but social media also clearly exacerbated misinformation,” he says.
One change he is confident will last and have a positive impact: the rise of telehealth.
“Three years ago, telehealth visits accounted for less than 0.1 percent of our visits, and now account for an average of 15 percent to 17 percent,” hesays.
At Sharp, the experience with media during Covid-19 has led to a systematic change. Dr. Olulade has been promoted to Chief Impact Officer, with a focus on how to better communicate and engage with the larger community, not just individual patients, and that will include engaging with the media.
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“Public health messaging has to improve, and that is going to have to be done in partnership with the media, and I think it should be a partnership,” she says. “Of course, Covid-19 has created the rise of the celebrity healthcare professional in a way. There are lots of talking heads on cable news, TikTok, Instagram, and those types of things, but it’s just so time-consuming. And so that’s why the health care systems and organizations have to buy into it and support providers in doing that.”
Claire Trageser has been writing for San Diego Magazine for 10 years. She also is a reporter at KPBS and writes for The New York Times, National Geographic, Marie Claire, Elle and Runner's World.
We take a look at how the use of AI, hospital openings, and new advancements are shaping shape one of the largest healthcare companies in the United States
In Kaiser Permanente‘s hospital exam rooms, artificial intelligence is listening—and that’s a good thing. “It brings the joy back into… getting to know a patient,” says Assistant Area Medical Director Dr. William Tseng. “It restores the connection between doctor and patient, allowing us to actually see each other during the exam.” AI is now a routine part of patient care at Kaiser’s Southern California facilities, where it’s replacing “COWS,” computers on wheels, that can act as a physical barrier between physicians and their patients. Ambient AI functions as a scribe, listening to the exam room conversation (with patient permission), taking notes, and later transcribing everything to the medical record.
In collaboration with generative AI platform Abridge, Kaiser’s San Diego facilities have rolled out the region’s biggest deployment of “assisted clinical documentation” technology, and Tseng is excited about its potential for the entire healthcare industry.

His AI assistant, he says, “[doesn’t] miss things. It improves quality and efficiency.” AI has applications for diagnosis, as well. For example, “in radiology, we can use it to pick up diseases earlier by analyzing images of potential strokes and [helping doctors prioritize which scans they review,] based on severity,” Tseng explains.
Kaiser Permanente also rolled out two new hospitals in San Diego County in recent years. The latest, San Marcos Medical Center, opened in August of 2023. It has a labor and delivery ward, a neonatal ICU, a 24-hour emergency department, and 206 single-patient rooms.
Like many health systems in the area and the nation, Kaiser Permanente is no stranger to struggles with staffing. In late 2023, San Diego Kaiser workers went on strike as part of walkouts across four states to protest exhausting working conditions related to labor shortages and pay that didn’t cover the current cost of living. The walkouts resulted in a new contract that led to what President Biden called “historic” increases in healthcare worker wages.

Two of Kaiser’s San Diego medical centers nabbed a top-60 spot on US News and World Report’s 2023 list of the best hospitals. The publication named Zion Medical Center in Mission Valley and San Diego Medical Center in Kearny Mesa (both Kaiser facilities) among the best hospitals for maternity care this year. Contrasting a recent trend in maternity ward closures across California, the new San Marcos maternity ward opened shortly after two local facilities shuttered L&D services.
Additionally, the organization’s cancer survival rates consistently beat the National Cancer Institute’s SEER (Surveillance, Epidemiology, and End Results) averages. A study published in 2024 showed Kaiser patients with colorectal, breast, and lung cancers have better survival rates after five years than other patients tracked in SEER data.
Tseng attributes this to Kaiser Permanente’s integrated model, where members have access to preventive care, smoking cessation programs, and cancer screenings—along with a national referral system providing regional Kaiser doctors with a comprehensive database related to cancer treatment, to ensure they’re delivering the most up-to-date and effective therapies.
Leorah Gavidor won her first essay contest at age 5. She writes features, news, and non-fiction in San Diego.
Established in 1924, the health system remains a medical leader while tackling healthcare's emerging challenges
It’s a big year for Scripps. The healthcare institution is celebrating its 100th birthday, and in its century in SD, it’s racked up its fair share of accolades: US News and World Report has named Scripps in the top 50 hospitals for cardiology and orthopedics for 19 and 11 years running, respectively.
And it’s not letting age slow it down.
At Scripps Clinic’s Shiley Center for Orthopaedic Research and Education (SCORE), scientists are currently in the discovery phase of developing tissue from human stem cells to use in rotator cuff treatment. The eventual goal is to create a biologically engineered tendon to replace or repair the patient’s torn rotator cuff.
“This is a common injury, and as our population ages, there’s a pressing need to find new solutions,” says lead researcher Darryl D’Lima, MD, PhD, and director of orthopedic research for SCORE at Scripps Clinic.

This year also marked 40 years of the Mohs Micrographic Surgery and Dermatologic Oncology Fellowship, led for all four decades by Dr. Hubert Greenway. Dr. Greenway teaches doctors a technique pioneered by his mentor, Dr. Frederic Mohs, who developed a method of removing skin cancer layer by layer, checking for cancer cells along the way and preserving healthy tissue in the process. Dr. Greenway has performed 45,000 Mohs surgeries and trained 68 physicians to disseminate the technique as skin cancer cases increase each year.
Aside from treating formidable health issues, Scripps Health faces a growing, industry-wide challenge: violence against healthcare workers. Workplace violence at all five Scripps hospital campuses jumped by 31 percent in 2023, reaching 2,335 total incidents. Healthcare staff experience demeaning comments, verbal abuse, and assaults on a regular basis.
Scripps Health President & CEO Chris Van Gorder is part of a countywide task force addressing the problem, and the organization recently hired a retired FBI special agent to enhance staff security and safety training.

Next up for Scripps Health? A new, 227,000-square-foot, three-story building that will expand acute care services and increase the number of hospital beds. Lusardi Tower at Scripps Encinitas is scheduled to open in 2025, housing private inpatient rooms, operating facilities, intensive and progressive care units, and a pulmonary institute.
Leorah Gavidor won her first essay contest at age 5. She writes features, news, and non-fiction in San Diego.
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.
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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