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A discussion with six iconic San Diego chefs and restauranteurs who helped make our culinary landscape what it is today
To say San Diego’s restaurant scene has gone through an evolution in the last few decades is an understatement. Gone are the days of just California burritos and surf ’n’ turf. Now we have Michelin-level chefs, award-winning design, a fine dining scene that rivals that of many big cities, and more than 7,000 restaurants in our county.
Diners are eating out more, experimenting more, and expecting more—in quality, presentation, and experience. But now everyone’s a critic, thanks to Instagram and Yelp. Add to that California’s convoluted regulations for small businesses. Just look to the closing of Cafe Chloe (RIP) for proof. No matter how good the food and ambience may be, it seems like it’s harder than ever to keep a restaurant open.
But there’s a group of trailblazers who appeared on the scene more than 20 years ago, opening restaurants before it was trendy, shaping our city’s food scene when we didn’t have one. Several are still slinging dishes today, and many of them are women.
Here, Senior Editor Archana Ram sits down with Urban Kitchen Group Principal Tracy Borkum, Barrio Star founder and The Mission Shareholder Isabel Cruz, Cafe 222 Proprietor and Bankers Hill Coproprietor Terryl Gavre, Extraordinary Desserts Owner and Executive Pastry Chef Karen Krasne, Cohn Restaurant Group Executive Chef and Partner Deborah Scott, and Saffron Thai founder Su-Mei Yu to discuss the struggles they faced to open their restaurants, what it’s like to be a woman in a male-centric industry, the new challenges they’re tackling, and how they continue to thrive.
Deborah Scott: In Little Italy I think I was the first restaurant that wasn’t Italian. Here I come, this gay woman with combat boots and shorts. I’d call my produce guy and say, “I want black plantains and chapulines.” And they’re like, “What is she talking about?” All of us here have that—we were pioneers in what we do. We had a vision, something original and creative. Now there’s so much new blood that brings so much to the table. San Diego when we started was not the San Diego of today.
The Women Who Revolutionized San Diego’s Food Scene
Deborah Scott, executive chef and partner of Cohn Restaurant Group
Tracy Borkum: It was so much easier. It wasn’t easy—it never has been—but it was more fun.
Terryl Gavre: More innocent.
Borkum: The challenges we had were convincing people to try a new food item. I remember putting lentils on the menu. No one ate lentils. Or look at how popular Brussels sprouts are today! No one ate that then.
Scott: If I couldn’t sell the chapulines, I would walk around the dining room with chapulines flatbread. It was free, so they’d try it. I said, “You just have to pick the little legs out of your teeth.”
Gavre: In the beginning at Cafe 222, I’d have days when I had only a few guests. I was sitting on table one and I had turkey dinner on the menu, and I would eat it every night because I didn’t want to throw it away. This guy used to walk by and feel sorry for me in there by myself; he’d bring me magazines. I’d be in there reading magazines because no one was coming in yet. It was seven years of waiting it out.
Scott: That was very ballsy of you, to do that in that kind of area!
Gavre: But I was young and had nothing to lose. When Bud Fischer gave me my lease, I didn’t have any money for the $5,000 security deposit. We were all broke when we started; I spent every nickel I had. He explained the consequences and I said, “My dead body will be in the freezer anyway. I got nowhere to go! This is all I have.” I was willing to live in the back room for many, many years, which is now our prep room. We were young, we didn’t have families; I put everything in storage and you made it work. Nowadays you don’t have that time. Rent is too high, costs are too high.
Isabel Cruz: I gave my wedding ring for my security deposit. I let them hold on to it until they felt like I wasn’t going to run out of business and leave them without paid rent. I finally got it back after years. I got divorced anyway—I didn’t care! But that’s how we did it. On a shoestring. I lived above The Mission in Mission Beach in a one-bedroom apartment with my two kids. They stayed with my parents at first because it was too hard. I was waking up to bake muffins and scones, and little by little started adding things to the menu. I was so tired that my boyfriend would hit the ceiling with a broom to wake me up. Half the time, he’d have to physically get me out of bed.
The Women Who Revolutionized San Diego’s Food Scene
Isabel Cruz, former chef-owner and now shareholder of The Mission, founder of Barrio Star
Su-Mei Yu: A friend of mine was helping me put together the Saffron concept. He said, “You gotta give some bread.” I said, “We don’t eat bread in Thailand.” He said, “They’ll ask for bread! What are you gonna do?” “I’m gonna cook rice.” “Rice?! People don’t eat rice in America!” I said, “I’m going to teach them.” People wanted butter and sugar for their rice! We couldn’t sell Sriracha because people didn’t understand spicy. I opened in 1985. People would come into my restaurant and ask me if I cooked cats or dogs. That’s the negative part of it. But I educated Maureen Clancy and Antonia Allegra, who were food writers. They knew nothing about Thai food!
Scott: Remember Eleanor Widmer?
Yu: She knew nothing!
Gavre: I was afraid of her.
Yu: Back then, with Italian food it was salty spaghetti with meatballs and red sauce. El Indio was making lots of money with little taquitos for a dime. Coconut? They had never heard of it. That’s what’s changed in San Diego. We’re always a little bit behind, and we catch up with whatever the scene is. The computer, iPhone, Instagram, Facebook revolutionized San Diego’s food scene. It opened an avenue for people to try it. And 90 percent of people don’t cook.
Gavre: Everybody does want to go out to eat, but it’s not just restaurants. Grocery stores and prep meals are taking over the business. There are so many other places for people to get pretty good food. We have to adapt the businesses; we have to be more delivery and pick-up friendly …
Karen Krasne: … and Instagrammable.
Scott: Oh yeah, that’s the wave of the future.
Yu: Food has become entertainment. They order something they read about, they know nothing about it, and they want to take a picture of it before they eat it.
Scott: And they want to be a critic. They want to get on Yelp.
The Women Who Revolutionized San Diego’s Food Scene
Terryl Gavre, proprietor of Cafe 222, partner of Market Restaurant + Bar, coproprietor of Bankers Hill Bar + Restaurant
Gavre: It’s becoming less about the food. It’s about how much they spent on the build-out, and the lighting, and getting the good Instagram. I worry about that.
Krasne I started working in restaurants in the back of house during my senior year of high school and I liked the late nights, the ebb and flow of the rushes and the team spirit. I felt the same way about it in college and during my years in France. I didn’t know it was my calling until I opened my own late-night pastry shop. I liked the idea of sleeping in mornings and having time to exercise, do things for myself, then work the evening shift.
Cruz: I always knew. Since I was a little girl, big family gatherings that centered around cooking and eating were a weekly ritual. I was always fascinated with the kitchen. Other kids were playing and I was in the kitchen trying to help.
Gavre: There was one absolute defining moment I knew. It was my birthday, and I was treated to dinner at the original Stars restaurant owned by Jeremiah Tower in San Francisco. It changed everything for me. It was the most glamorous crowd. Everyone was dressed to the ’80s hilt. Jeremiah was walking around in a beautiful white suit with a glass of Champagne, stopping by all of the tables. The food was delicious and beautiful. It was the first time I had foie gras. We drank a bottle of wine from my birth year—it was super spectacular. I thought, this man had the talent to create this feeling. What a fun thing to do. When we opened Bankers Hill, the details were important to me—what music would be playing, what the space looked and felt like, the handmade light fixtures, the vintage freak show poster.
Scott: I was an English major at Old Dominion University in Norfolk, Virginia, and I worked at Steak n’ Ale in Virginia Beach. I loved literature, but the restaurant was right up my alley. Talking to guests from all walks of life and creating an environment was gratifying.
Yu: I started Saffron in 1985. Prior to that, I founded and administered a nonprofit to assist newly arrived refugees from Southeast Asia. When I realized the foundation was no longer viable, with the approval of the board members, we discontinued its operation. I was 40 years old and found myself in a career transition. I was blessed, because my companion at the time was Raoul Marquis, who owned the India Street block. The tiny, vacant space that eventually became Saffron was going to be a pizzeria, but the deal fell through. I had the brilliant idea of starting a Thai restaurant. The original concept was based on Thai grilled chicken stalls. I grew up eating it and wanted to try my hand offering the same fare at Saffron.
Borkum: Growing up, it was my dream to be in performing arts. I studied theater in London and attended BFA programs at NYU and USC. Eventually, I realized that path wasn’t for me. In between my time at university, I spent a year at home in San Diego and decided I wanted to learn how to cook. I worked my way through the ranks at a local Italian restaurant. After that, I had this innate passion for everything hospitality. It’s now a 23-year career in an industry that I obsessively love.
Cruz: It’s horrific, and it’s getting worse. You don’t know when you first get in because nobody tells you about the changing laws. A big part of it is people in general, especially politicians, are making it impossible for someone to do what I did 20 years ago. I shoestringed a career, and I shoestringed employment for hundreds of people throughout my career. Now you need upward of $400,000 to open a small restaurant. You need a lawyer on retainer and an HR department. It’s really sad and unnecessary that California has set up a system where law firms are making billions of dollars closing small businesses. Small businesses close every day, and when a small farm—somebody who’s working in the dirt, trying to do organic produce—has to shut down, everybody is losing. Everyone should know about that and be afraid.
Yu: When we started doing this, you think you’re a good cook, you’re a good baker. You think, “This is going to be fun!” And you realize it’s really not fun—it’s a lot of work. The fun part is coming up with a cake or making a dish from Thailand no one ever heard of. It’s like building a castle. I started with no money. I had a partner who gave me a building until he dropped dead. I didn’t have to pay rent. A restaurant is an extension of your family, but you can’t do that today. Your family can turn against you, call a lawyer, and charge you for everything you have. I’d had my restaurant for 31 years when I sold it. I realized I didn’t want to spend all my time putting out fires.
Scott: Everyone’s in a protected class these days. You can’t look at someone wrong. Mike, my chef at Island Prime, tells a story of when he came to Indigo Grill and applied for a job. He goes, “Deb, you are so politically incorrect. You asked me where I lived, you asked me if I was married.” Once, my hostess at Kemo Sabe called in sick, so I grabbed a six-foot-two African American drag queen off the street and had her hostess for the night. But you can’t do that stuff anymore!
Cruz: You can’t ask anything. I feel like I have to call my labor lawyer every day. If you make a mistake, the punishment should fit the crime, and it doesn’t. It would be cheaper in legal fees if you murdered somebody than a labor class action lawsuit. I’m not exaggerating. Our lawsuits may not be millions of dollars, but fifty $200 lawsuits over something you didn’t even know you were violating will shut a small business down.
Gavre: My dream was to have a little place where all the employees had Thanksgiving together and we’d do holidays and close and go bowling. In the early years we did that.
Cruz: I know—I used to do that, too!
Gavre: I went out to dinner with some of my male employees for fun. Now you can’t do that. You can’t have a relationship with anybody who works for you. You can’t be anywhere and have a little wine if they’re in the room, because if something happens the next day you could be sued because it’s construed as a business function. That’s the part that’s been sad. It’s more about running a business. One day I was telling my managers, “We’re not allowed to take you to a brewery; I can’t drink with you, and you can’t drink because it’s sponsored.” I said no to about 10 things and they left really bummed. And I’m like, “You guys, wait! I used to be popular!” Everyone used to like me and now no one does. Because it comes down to me protecting what we all have.
Cruz: I used to have Christmas parties at my house where I’d cook for everybody, then we’d dance all night long. We can’t do that anymore because of HR and lawsuits and insurance.
Gavre: If two employees get amorous and kiss and fall in love for a week, then it’ll come back to you because they aren’t comfortable working in the kitchen together. And the whole back and forth about tipping is making me think about not having servers because it’s so difficult dealing with that.
Krasne: And the hierarchy of that. I would like that to completely go away. They don’t want to share.
Gavre: How are you going to get a whole group of servers, who are used to making their bundle, to share?
The Women Who Revolutionized San Diego’s Food Scene
Scott: First of all, they’re getting minimum wage, which they shouldn’t be. Secondly, they’re working half or less of the hours than the kitchen people are and making five times as much money.
Gavre: I’m right there with you, sister, but how do you sell that?
Scott: At some restaurants, we do a tip pool. All their tips go into a pool, then they’re divided up.
Borkum: That’s a big frustration and challenge with the politicians. We’re immediately the enemy, and we’re truly not. We’re actually employing those they want to help most. And in our business, those we want to help most are the people in the back of the house. When we sit down with the politicians and want to work with them and tell them how to help these people, they don’t want to listen. If they would consider tip credit, which we’ve brought up a million times…
Scott: … but they’re never going to do it!
Gavre: Well, the Restaurant Association spends a lot of time in Sacramento with their lobbyists. David Cohn goes, Susie Baumann goes …
Scott: … Mike Feinman goes. But it’s not lining their pockets. It’s not serving their purposes.
Borkum: We’re missing with our messaging somehow, as well. I speak to so many people that come into the restaurants. I have these conversations often, because I want to educate them. They don’t know! It’s shocking, right?
Borkum: Failing is not a pleasant experience. For me, I had two failures. First was purchasing Laurel and not understanding at the time what it costs to transform a restaurant, not being able to negotiate a lease properly. Bad timing. Through that came Cucina.
Scott: You have to learn. Sometimes it’s a hard lesson.
Borkum: The second one was replacing Kensington Grill with a seafood restaurant [Fish Public]. It was a really, really bad decision. But again, something I don’t regret.
Gavre: But you didn’t know it was a bad decision at the time!
Scott: It brought you to where you are today.
Gavre: I opened Acme Southern Kitchen in 2012. To this day, it’s my favorite concept. I love the food, the style of the food, how homey it is. It was really hard to close it. It was three blocks outside the East Village, it was a bit too close to the [E Street] post office, and people didn’t want to cross those streets to get there. It was the beginning of the whole gluten-free, vegetarian, let’s-eat-clean thing—Southern food is none of that. I thought, “They’ll still come. I eat biscuits; they’ll eat biscuits!” It was a miscalculation. Now I look at Instagram and Southern food is the rage! It was wrong place, wrong time. I had other restaurants I needed to be at. If I were 28, it probably would still be there because I would’ve worked every shift.
Borkum: We get asked this question a lot. I’ve started to feel almost guilty answering, because you want to stand up for the women in our industry. I was shocked by the numbers. We’re a group of strong, independent women with a conviction that this is what we’re going to do and we’re going to make it happen.
Gavre: I never felt I had a leg down because I was a woman. I still don’t feel that way.
Scott: It’s easier to come up with excuses why you can’t do something. “Oh, it’s a male-driven industry.” Well, it’s what you make it, and you’re an individual. You’re not a woman, you’re an individual. The more excuses you come up with—suck it up, do the job, and make it happen. I’m tired of people feeling entitled with reasons why they can’t function as well as somebody else. If that’s the case, find something else to do. Life is tough—make it work.
Borkum: But why do you think it happens? If you look at those statistics, it’s shocking.
Gavre: Did any of you get asked on a survey if you felt harassed?
Scott: No way.
Yu: Occasionally you get hit on by a customer who would say, “Do you ever go out?” “So, you ever get off work?” “Can I help you with the dishes?” It’s like, “C’mon. Go away.”
Krasne: I’ve fished off my own pier!
Gavre: That’s where we spend most of our time! I have to admit—if I wouldn’t have met them at the restaurant, I wouldn’t have met them at all. I remember the days as a cocktail waitress in my 20s—we’d have to wear spandex dresses and high heels and I did it happily because I knew that’s how I made my money. If I wanted to be a server, I could’ve worn a tuxedo shirt and black pants, but it was quicker money and shorter shifts. So I did it, not thinking I was degrading myself in any way.
Scott: You did what you had to do.
Gavre: I did. I was saving money for my restaurant. I know that it existed. Some cocktail girls would go out with the manager or whomever. But I went home.
Borkum: Certainly, we all have had that experience of the screaming asshole chef that’s degrading everyone, but I don’t think that particular chef would’ve been any less degrading to a woman than men in that time. It was everyone.
Scott: People got harassed then, but they either left or dealt with it. They wouldn’t file a lawsuit.
Borkum: I’ve terminated someone for taking advantage of a position where they made other team members feel uncomfortable. We very quickly acted on it. It’s a positive statement for where we are today. We’re more responsible to be protective of our employees. There’s the extreme side of it, too—I now have an HR person full time. I only brought them on two years ago. Before, we didn’t feel like we needed it. Now you need the attorney on speed dial.
The Women Who Revolutionized San Diego’s Food Scene
Gavre: How do you control other people’s behavior? We’re responsible, and that’s the hard part. It’s like having all your kids keep their hands off each other.
Scott: It’s when you don’t act on it when the problem comes in.
Gavre: And creating the culture in the first place.
Krasne: You’re really trying to create a culture of appropriateness. You can’t change people. You set your policies up to fish them out faster. When you get someone inappropriate the whole vibe can change instantly.
Borkum: A positive for being a woman-owned business is that a lot of people who work for you—there’s an expectation, but I think we live up to it, that we’re more compassionate, our motherly instinct is in place to take care of people. Hopefully that filters through our business.
The Women Who Revolutionized San Diego’s Food Scene
Gavre: It’s in our DNA to be nurturing. It might be a bit of a softer kitchen. Maybe.
Scott: Well, not back in the day for me! Maybe now.
Scott: Those relationships are such a huge part of our business. Some of my best friends are people who’ve been coming to the restaurants for 25 years. Regulars become close friends. That’s the culture, because we all live and breathe it. I spend 80 percent of my time in the dining room. I like the way you can walk through and go to their table. You can tell they’re excited you’re there. That’s the most fun experience—being out there with people.
Gavre: And if you open up something new, they’re the first people at the door. That’s an important part for me—they know they’re going to see me every once in a while and I’ll remember their kids’ names. Especially at Cafe 222, I would see people in clothes from the night before and they’re all in love now. Five years later they’re married and they have kids, then their kids are in college. Karen, don’t you love knowing people enjoy your cakes? When you see all the memories that have been created around your cakes?
Krasne: In the last 15 years I’ve become much more reclusive. I’m not a front person because I’m not able to switch hats comfortably. I’m either front or back, but don’t make me come out to the table to say hello. It’s not my comfort zone.
Yu: My customers think I’m part of their family because our food is health oriented. We got a lot of people who were sick who wanted to come in. They’d tell me, “I have this and this and this—what should I eat?” If I was there, I’d make something special for them or recommend something. I had a special relationship with my customer. When I sold my restaurant, people I saw would come hug me and say, “Where have you been? We want you to come back!” It’s like sending your kids to college. You gotta cut the ties.
The Women Who Revolutionized San Diego’s Food Scene
Su-Mei Yu, founder of Saffron Thai
Gavre: I’ve gone into Tracy’s place in Kensington and Tracy, operator of many years, she’s hostessing! I’m like, “What are you doing hostessing?”
Borkum: When I’m really, really desperate!
Gavre: You’re always about two people calling in sick from working the door. Last time I walked into Indigo Grill, there was Ms. Scott. I loved it! I love seeing these women in their places, and if I do, I know other people do. It’s part of the fun.
Scott: It’s because we’re all type As. I’m sick because I’m always looking for new things.
Borkum: It’s the need to be creative. I think you’re right—you used the word “sick.” It’s a sickness that we have to keep going and going.
Scott: If you’re going to have an addiction, it’s not as bad as some addictions.
Borkum: Food is a super-personal thing in our world. And I don’t think we stop enough to recognize the significance of what we’re providing to our community. It sounds so spiritual and ethereal, and obviously we’re not thinking in terms of that day-to-day, but it’s an addiction to provide that experience.
Scott: It’s an intimate exchange.
Borkum: It is! And we want to provide it on all levels. Our environments are really important to all of us. The space also tells that story, and then our style of service is very personal. Then the food speaks for itself. It’s in our blood. It’s hard to let it go. You get home at night and go, “Wow, I had a full house. They were smiling and happy and we filled their souls with who we are.” There’s a real positive.
The Women Who Revolutionized San Diego’s Food Scene
Tracy Borkum, Principal of Urban Kitchen Group, including Cucina Urbana, Cucina Enoteca and Cucina Sorella
Cruz: That I still have a pulse after all this time!
Scott: It’s a miracle.
Cruz: It is a miracle! Oh my god. Everything we went through to open, how hard we worked and thinking about how much harder it is now—now I got a breather from everything going on. I know exactly what my next move is going to be. I’m teaming up with Tami Ratcliff, who used to be at Cafe Chloe, and we’re going to work on a couple projects. We’re simplifying. Food is about well-being, and for me, I feel better when I eat a certain way. That’s going to be next—having those things on the menu.
Scott: For me, it’s creating the brand “Deborah Scott.” The fact that when I walk into a dining room, people are whispering and wanting me to come over, or people are coming up to me at Costco. It’s creating that culture that isn’t me, but it’s something I helped create. I’m proud of the way it’s recognizable and that it does have its mark in time. My most fun thing to do now is take these chefs up to the next level, make them shine, because I’ve had my time in the sun. I still enjoy what I do and love my guests, but I want to cultivate other people. That’s a focus for me now.
The Women Who Revolutionized San Diego’s Food Scene
Borkum: I’m proud of being in this group trailblazing our way in San Diego. All of us individually have made a mark and created businesses that others have tried to emulate. I’m proud of Cucina, especially at the time we created it, and the statement it made that you can dine on a much-less-expensive budget and still have the same quality and experience that we weren’t used to back then. When someone leaves the restaurant, I don’t necessarily want them to immediately say, “I loved this dish or that server”; I want them to just say, “I really enjoyed being at Cucina.” There’s nothing more to ask for.
Krasne: I spend a lot of time being grateful that a little idea of mine is able to raise a child and sustain a marriage and travel and go to yoga and walk dogs—all this stuff I love. I’ve never wanted to own tons and tons of restaurants, because my life is so important to me. Every day I try to live the mantra of the name of my company and what that means to me. I’m going to use the best ingredients and I’m going to charge for it—but I’m going to deliver. I try to have that permeate throughout my staff. I have a dozen and a half people who’ve been with me for over 20 years. My front staff has been there for over 10 years.
Scott: The cool thing about what you do is that it comes through in so many restaurants. I see a Karen Krasne cake every two to three days in my restaurants. That’s cool!
Krasne: I’m in people’s weddings, birthdays, anniversaries. I get the juicy good stuff. That’s really fulfilling.
The Women Who Revolutionized San Diego’s Food Scene
Karen Krasne, owner and executive pastry chef of Extraordinary Desserts
Yu: I wanted to open a restaurant that teaches people about food without being in their face. That teaches people they could eat healthy inexpensively, but eat well if they don’t feel like cooking. I’m the oldest one here! I’ve been in business a long time, but it’s time for me to do something else. I was very fortunate to sell Saffron to a family that’s like my family. They came and fixed my ceiling when it collapsed! They had more business strength than I did. It’s not the same, but my face is Saffron. The imprint of the recipes was created. It was an important part of my life. But Saffron can go on with these wonderful people.
Gavre: I’m proud I’m still here in my 26th year. I still love to get up and go in every day. I’m proud that I recognize my customers and that they’re following my career. I’m proud I’ve employed people who’ve worked for me for 15 and 20 years. I have a server—this is the American dream—when I hired him he spoke very little English. He started working for me 18 years ago. Beautiful English now. He works days for me and nights at Best Western. He put three kids through college. He bought a house in Point Loma, then he bought the house next door, which he rents. Every day when he comes into work, he’s in the most wonderful mood; he brings everyone up. I’m proud that I was able to keep the waffle house going so he could do all that. All of us have that story, of employees who’ve worked for us and gone on and bettered their lives. I’m also really proud when people say, “Hey, aren’t you the girl with the waffle on your head?”
Scott: Everyone remembers it
The Women Who Revolutionized San Diego’s Food Scene
From left: Isabel Cruz, Su-Mei Yu, Deborah Scott, Terryl Gavre, Tracy Borkum and Karen Krasne
At The Delicate Squash, Shannon English is rethinking cookies, cakes, and pastries with seasonal ingredients and natural sweeteners
Midway through my phone conversation with Shannon English, owner of The Delicate Squash, I hear an alarm shrilling in her background.
“Sorry, I’ve got to pull some cookies out of the oven right now!” she apologizes. After a few beats, she picks the phone back up and laughs. “I feel like I’m bouncing around all over the place.”
After hearing her run through a list of her professions and current hobbies, I’d have to agree. English runs The Delicate Squash, a gluten- and dairy-free bakery; teaches cooking demos; pops up at farmers markets; wrote a book of poetry (Deep Water came out this month from Beyond the Veil Press); hosts a monthly open mic night; dipped her toe into ballet; recently joined a running club; volunteers at local farms; and finally, teaches at a play-based, nature-based preschool.
I’m tired just talking to her.
Surprising no one, English seems to have unlimited energy and enthusiasm for all this work, notably in education. Early childhood education is one of the most pivotal times for nurturing lifelong learning, but she also aims to educate the public on how to eat cleaner, feel better, and support your local food systems. She started The Delicate Squash in late 2023 after discovering she has a chronic illness, going through the typical standards of care and even strict elimination diets, to no avail.

“I’m not going to say I found a diet that has ‘cured’ me, but I have found that taking a more mindful approach to a lot of things, including diet, has made symptoms far more manageable for me,” she says.
Even people with dietary restrictions deserve a little treat from time to time, but she had a hard time finding anything that tasted good and made her feel good. Thus, The Delicate Squash was born.
All of her baked goods avoid gluten and dairy, and use natural sweeteners like coconut sugar or maple syrup as well as herbs, fruits, foraged flowers, and other natural flavorings. Her signature cookie, the “Delicate” cookie, is a sea salt dark chocolate cookie that’s soft, a little salty, a little sweet, and made with oatmeal to keep it gluten-free. Other crowd favorites are thumbprint jam cookies with jams made from scratch with change seasonally; breakfast pastries like orange, dark chocolate and cardamom scones; brownies; orange and black sesame banana bread; seasonal pies; and custom and seasonal cakes (currently, the late summer flavor is a dark chocolate coconut milk ganache with berry jam).
English says some people are surprised she can produce such a variety of goods with the dietary restrictions she adheres to. “A lot of feedback I get is ‘I could never do that,’” she says. But if she can do it, she assures me that anyone can. “I like to say ‘practice makes progress, not perfection.’”
Her advice? Focus more on being present than presentation, and don’t be afraid to experiment to keep things interesting. And if that doesn’t work, you can always hit her open mic night to ask for tips.
Customers can order from The Delicate Squash’s online store, check her upcoming schedule of pop-ups, or find her goods at various independent retailers around San Diego.
Escondido is getting in on the listening bar phenomenon. On September 5, musicians Mat Rakers, Kevin Capacia, and Billy Petty will open Plot Armor, a Japanese-style vinyl listening bar that Rakers says they aim to feel “curated and intelligent.”
“Currently, there are not a lot of ‘cool’ spots in Escondido,” he says. Backed by The San Diego Music And Art Company and The Escondido Music And Art Company, Plot Armor will soon offer sake, wine, beer, and soju cocktails, plus Japanese non-alcoholic options and cold brew. Eventually, they’ll add Japanese-inspired snacks, but the focus will be creating a small place (very small—the seating capacity is 20) where vinyl junkies can come listen, linger, and libate.

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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.
Meet the artists, makers, and advocates whose work shapes how the city looks, sounds, gathers, and connects
San Diego is full of people who deserve a few thousand words on what they make, who they bring together, and how their work changes the city around them. The artists, makers, advocates, and behind-the-scenes talent below are a small part of that larger ecosystem.
To help us narrow our list, we looked for names that kept coming up, work that reflects the diversity of our region, and people building something bigger than themselves.
Jackie is a long-time freelance journalist covering cannabis, food/restaurants, travel, labor, wine, spirits, arts & culture, design, and other topics. Her work has been selected twice for Best American Travel Writing, and she has won a variety of national and local awards for her writing and reporting.
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.
Matt Eisenberg is an award-winning writer and photographer based in San Diego. A former ESPN editor, his work has also been published by CNN, Bleacher Report and the New York Daily News.
Aaryn Belfer is a writer and editor specializing in nonfiction across art, architecture, and culture. Once upon a time, she wrote a provocative column for San Diego CityBeat (RIP). She was a runner up in the 2025 Matchbook Stories contest at the San Diego Central Library and is irrationally happy about it. Currently in her Soft Girl Era, Aaryn has expensive taste in (mostly flat) shoes and will choose a great art exhibit or live jazz concert over almost anything else. Except, possibly, Javier Bardem.
Leorah Gavidor won her first essay contest at age 5. She writes features, news, and non-fiction in San Diego.
Lili Kim is a content coordinator and writer for San Diego Magazine, with experience highlighting local businesses and communities. When not writing or shooting film, she is likely brewing her seventh cup of tea of the day or strolling along Sunset Cliffs.
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.
Gail Czyszczon is owner/copywriter at Z3 Writing and best-selling author of a children’s book series. As a strategic communications professional and editorialist, she's passionate about discovering untold stories and themes that ignite fresh conversation and true change in communities.
For Jonathon Glus, San Diego’s next chapter begins with the artists who help us understand where we’ve been
Some ancient philosophers believed that humans experience seven-year life cycles or phases of life. Some went so far as to believe that every cell in the body regenerates every seven years.
Much later, in the 1800s, Austrian philosopher, architect, and social reformer Rudolf Steiner developed anthroposophy—an integration of science, art, and spirituality—into his understanding of the human experience. Steiner believed that each of us changes every seven years—from spiritual beliefs to physical evolution—and art is the connective tissue through each of these cycles. Still today, Steiner’s teachings are foundational to the principles of Waldorf education.
While I’ve certainly experienced more than a few human life cycles of my own, I believe that, just like us, cities have their own life cycles.
Cities are living organisms, regenerated every day by the people that live, work, and gather there. Environmental changes, human migration, economic shifts, technological advances, politics, and public policy—they all inform a city’s evolution, sometimes intentionally and sometimes by forces outside of our control. But ultimately, we as humans respond, adapt, and sometimes make our most important new advances.

In the aftermath of World War II, in 1947, the Edinburgh International Festival was established to promote international peace through the performing arts. Today, that festival continues as a global gathering place to experience some of the world’s most innovative dance and theater.
In post-revolution Mexico, that country’s government launched a monumental muralism program to celebrate the history of its Indigenous cultures. Today, that tradition still informs the way Mexico tells its stories and how we understand its history.
Here in the US, the National Endowment for the Arts was established in 1965, at a time when the arts were seen as part of our national strength and resilience. For the first time, federal funds were directed to communities across the country to invest in the arts at a local level.
San Diego may be relatively young as a major American urban center, and even younger on the world stage, but our region as home to humans is ancient. Today, we love a San Diego that is built on roads and traditions of the Kumeyaay Nation, where we share a modern mega-region with our sister city and cultural twin, Tijuana, on unceded Kumeyaay land.
History has shown us that the arts generate the very human connection and understanding that allows our politics, policies, technological advances, and human migration to move forward. In that way and more, the arts are the very heartbeat of our city.
In this issue of San Diego Magazine, we celebrate the artists, creatives, culture bearers, and workers who keep our region connected and in conversation as we take on challenges big and small—internationally as well as on our own neighborhood streets.
Artists are our storytellers. They respond to and chronicle the best and the worst of us—our foibles and weaknesses, our struggles, and, undeniably, our successes.
Now: a look back into the past seven years in history. They have not been a walk in the park, with a pandemic, global unrest, and shifting domestic politics as only a few forces that have challenged our lives and our region. Together, we experienced some of our greatest struggles and witnessed tremendous resilience.
That’s exactly why this is an exciting time for the arts in San Diego. We are on the precipice of an even more fertile, sustained, and inclusive time for the arts in our region.
In some ways, Covid seems like an eternity ago. I remember all too well the massive economic impact on our cultural institutions, some of which have never fully recovered. I remember the mass layoffs of the workers who keep our arts institutions going and the teaching artists who were suddenly out of work.
I also remember the poets, filmmakers, actors, and musicians who helped us grapple with the disruptions of the pandemic. Our communities became virtual, and artists gave us the space to make sense of it all.
In fact, a common phrase emerged from the Covid: artists as second responders.
Still today, I think about the short film made by San Diegans Susanna Peredo Swap and Gill Sotu called History of Joy, which captured so brilliantly what we were experiencing during those days of lockdown.
Since then, as an arts community, we’ve pushed forward transformational work that we will continue to build upon in this next seven-year cycle and well beyond.
Hundreds of artists and culture bearers have spent the past several years going to work with community groups across the region as part of Far South/Border North, our region’s component of the California Arts Council’s groundbreaking artist work program, Creative Corps. The impact resonated so deeply that local government and philanthropy partnered for a second iteration, Artist Count, this time a binational initiative launched just a few months ago.
We’ve invested mightily in cultural infrastructure. Need some examples? There’s the reimagined Jacobs Music Center and Museum of Contemporary Art San Diego, the Black Arts & Culture District, the state designation of Arts District Liberty Station, and now the burgeoning Art + Design District downtown.
World Design Capital San Diego Tijuana 2024 elevated what we already knew—that the two neighboring cities are culturally and creatively intertwined as one region—and boosted our global presence as a creative juggernaut. Artists, designers, and community leaders worked together to produce more than 600 events across our region that year, and the impact continues.
And “Creative City,” the City of San Diego’s first cultural plan that incorporates arts and culture advancements in the city’s development, was crafted by thousands of San Diegans as a roadmap to take us into the future.
Here’s what I know about the past seven years: San Diego’s artists, creatives, and culture bearers showed up for our region as our storytellers, second responders, and creative workforce.
And for the next seven? San Diego will morph and change, as every city does. Sometimes because of us, sometimes in spite of us. But our city’s creative community has a solid foundation on which to build, led by the artists who witness and tell our stories each and every day.
—Jonathon Glus, Conrad Prebys Foundation’s Senior Fellow for Art and Design in Residence at the Downtown San Diego Partnership
Earlier this year, Fit quietly dropped "athletic" from its brand, from Fit Athletic Clubs to simply Fit, and started calling itself something new: a social wellness club.
There’s a version of San Diego that lives in two extremes. On one side, the 5 a.m. crowd: biohackers, marathoners, people who’ve already logged a cold plunge before your alarm goes off. On the other, the after-dark crowd, the ones chasing sunset happy hours and late dinners with friends. Everyone seems to be either optimizing or unwinding, and most of us feel like we’re failing at both.
Fit, San Diego’s reigning Best Gym for the third year running, has built its entire identity around erasing that divide.
Walk into one of Fit’s three San Diego locations on a Tuesday afternoon and the lines blur fast. Someone’s mid-set on the squat rack. Someone else has a laptop open at a café table a few feet away, half-working, half-people-watching. A group is trading plans for the weekend’s event by the recovery lounge. Nobody’s in a rush to leave.
“We’re not competing for the same people,” says Emily Waybright, Public Relations Manager at Fit, addressing the arrival of a national luxury gym chain in San Diego this year. “We don’t really feel like we’re in the gym category. It’s this unique thing.”
That unique thing has a name now. Earlier this year, Fit quietly dropped “athletic” from its brand, from Fit Athletic Clubs to simply Fit, and started calling itself something new: a social wellness club.
It’s a small wording change with a bigger idea behind it. Fit was never built around escaping the workday. It was built around the people who genuinely like what they do, and who want workouts, work, and friendships to happen in the same place instead of three separate ones. Because sometimes red light therapy with a stranger turns into weekend plans.
Fit’s philosophy traces back to its founder, who started the brand nearly two decades ago after failing to find a gym he actually wanted to belong to. He looked instead to the old-school country club, where people came for a shared interest and stayed for the community. His version was made for a younger generation, minus the golf, plus the loud music.
Which makes it a little ironic that the very award putting Fit back in the spotlight this year is Best Gym.
What does the best traditional gym look like when the definition of a gym is becoming less traditional? It’s a fair question, and Fit’s answer is that the fitness industry itself is shifting. The 45-minutes-in, 45-minutes-out model is giving way to something closer to a genuine third space, the kind of role the office and the bar used to play before remote work and changing nightlife habits rearranged how people spend their time
For Fit, community isn’t a marketing add-on to fitness. It’s the through-line. Members aren’t just paying for a treadmill; they’re paying for an entire day of social wellness that’s built on performance, recovery, connection, and a plan for the next event on the calendar. That’s a much harder membership to walk away from.
Ambition and ease aren’t opposites here, they exist side by side, where passion and play share the same morning. On September 12, Fit is hosting Sol, a full day wellness festival at Fit Social. The morning focuses on wellness classes and vendors and then the evening is a full party with multiple DJ sets and an open bar. Think of it as a kick-off to locals’ summer in San Diego.
Ready to see what a social wellness club actually looks like? Visit fitclubs.com, or follow along at @thefitclubs on Instagram.
Editor at large, Aaryn Belfer, introduces the September 2026 Arts issue featuring 31 artists, makers, builders, and doers.
What makes San Diego, San Diego? That’s the question at the heart of this issue.
Over the course of eight weeks, San Diego Magazine staff and I spoke to dozens of people, from long-time leaders at some of our biggest institutions to emerging artists working alone at night in studio apartments after eight hours (or 10 or 12) at their day jobs.
Tasked with bringing this issue to life as editor at large, I’m just one member of a stellar team of artists in their own right. I repeatedly told owners Claire and Troy Johnson: This is your baby, I’m just the babysitter. Which is wink-and-smile cute, until you spend two months with the kid and realize you’d take a bullet for it.
San Diego’s beaches are gorge and the weather the envy of those who spend winter scraping ice from their windshields. But sand and sun are the least interesting things about this place. Traditional territory of the Kumeyaay people, San Diego is a majority-minority region with cultural and artistic depth that’s unmissable unless you’re looking directly at the sun (don’t do that, please).
For me, the creatives make San Diego. The composers, the painters, the sculptors, the writers. From Oceanside to the border, and Tijuana too, this is arguably the most culturally layered region in the country. That shows up in murals, music, textiles, food, dance, street art, and beyond.
Almost nobody I talked with does just one thing. The visual artist is also a musician. The culture keeper is also a painter. Their personal stories shape their work and compel them to create in San Diego, even when staying costs them more than San Diego gives back.
That world is what San Diego’s artistic and cultural community gives to us. It’s the mural on the side of the building at Ace Parking on the corner of India and A streets. It’s the buskers overlooking the pier in OB. It’s cultural drumming classes at WorldBeat Center. It shows up invited (or not: we see you, street artists), and we’re all better for it.
I believe we’re all artists, by the way. That natural state gets trained out of us early, in favor of deadlines and the idea that anything made with your hands needs to justify itself with a return on investment. A lifetime doodler, I picked up a sketchbook three years ago; watercolor followed. Talent’s debatable, but that was never the point. When I’m creating, my brain quiets; I can’t be anywhere else in my head except exactly where I am. My work won’t be on gallery walls, but it’s not a hobby either. It’s a portal to the world I want to live in.
For this issue, we reached out to dozens of people across the arts community and asked them to give us names—artists and culture makers they felt were especially crucial, compelling, moving the city forward. The result was a list of 190 artists, makers, builders, doers.
We also wanted this issue to be its own art project, not just a write-up of one. To give artists proper acreage, we enlisted one of the city’s top photographers, Matt Furman, to capture their image.
Then we began the Sophie’s Choice process of narrowing the list of talented humans—each deserving of their own 2,200-word profile—down to 31. Our criteria was broad with bumper rails: Names that kept coming up again and again had to be included; so did people doing work that reflects our diverse region; and people building something bigger than themselves, gathering others, and galvanizing pockets of scene. Individually and collectively, these creatives are reaching toward a future in which art and culture is what brings people to San Diego; a main attraction before getting a sunburn, not a side quest after.
Strip all of it away—the murals, the music, the makers, the stories—and what’s left of a city? Concrete and buildings with the Pacific Ocean and a mythological green flash. That’s it. That’s the whole inheritance.
Turns out the babysitter fell hard for this one: Seeing these artists through Furman’s lens made me feel all the things, and I hope it will do the same for you. I hope this issue compels you to get out your calendar and make a plan to buy the ticket, step into the gallery, sit in the audience. Showing up is how you tell San Diego’s creatives that art and culture matter—and that they matter, too.
This issue is my love letter—San Diego Magazine’s love letter—to them. To the people working and fighting to ensure that the stereotype is never all we are.
Aaryn Belfer is a writer and editor specializing in nonfiction across art, architecture, and culture. Once upon a time, she wrote a provocative column for San Diego CityBeat (RIP). She was a runner up in the 2025 Matchbook Stories contest at the San Diego Central Library and is irrationally happy about it. Currently in her Soft Girl Era, Aaryn has expensive taste in (mostly flat) shoes and will choose a great art exhibit or live jazz concert over almost anything else. Except, possibly, Javier Bardem.
After a blind taste test, these four desserts came out on top—see the winners here
Basque grandmothers have not been making it for centuries. If you’re a millennial, there’s a strong possibility you’re older than the dessert itself. Yet somehow in less than 40 years, the Basque cheesecake—a half-pudding, half-cake creation with a top that looks like a mistake—managed to ooze its way onto menus all over the world.
It became the undisputed dessert star of San Diego’s restaurant world this year. So we invited 19 of the top restaurants, pastry chefs, and bakers to bring their best to the San Diego Magazine office for a blind taste test to find the best in the city.
First, a little history and context.
In 1987, after failing to find a job as an electrician, Santiago Rivera started working as a bartender at his parents’ unassuming pintxo bar La Viña, in San Sebastián, Spain. He was a naturally curious, self-taught cook who spent his free time testing recipes, tinkering with ingredients, and tweaking techniques.
So when it came to the cheesecake—which hadn’t changed much since its invention (a rudimentary version was served at the first Olympics in Greece 4,000 years ago, and the modern New York version in 1872)—he got radical with it.
He removed the crust (partly just to speed up the process because time is money for a small business). Without the crumbly crust, the experience was far creamier, less granulated. Then he cranked the oven to 400 degrees, nearly 100 degrees hotter than the normal baking temperature.
The result? The top became deeply caramelized, almost burnt, while leaving the center luxuriously soft and loosely set. The restaurant became a legend because of this breakthrough in the dairy arts, and his father never let him stop making it after that.
Now, 67 years after the restaurant’s opening, La Viña stands out for the unceasing line spilling onto the street, and the remarkable amount of curd cultists standing nearby, hovering over cream-smeared plastic containers. It’s the kind of scene that makes you stop and think: What the hell are they eating?
Now, the blind tasting. To keep things fair, the contenders were divided into four categories: Restaurant Traditional, Restaurant Flavored, Bakery Traditional, and Bakery Flavored. (It’s a tad unfair to pit a baker who specializes in the one glorious thing against a restaurant that cooks dozens of things.) Each entry was served blind and judged on texture, flavor, and number of vaguely inappropriate food moans.
The logistics were chaotic, to say the least. Our fridge—not a walk-in, sadly—was packed to the brim. Each cake was sliced, secretly labeled, and shuffled onto plates while the team gathered in the conference room. The whole shebang was not in any way sponsored by Lactaid, despite our various attempts to convince them of this ripe marketing opportunity.
The judging became gloriously unhinged. We heard it all, from “I don’t care how the cheesecake gets in my mouth, it just needs to happen,” and “Is it supposed to be this jiggly?” to “Kind of a baby throw-up situation,” “Straight cheese,” and “I’m getting vague socks there.”
But four Basque cheesecakes stood out among the rest, earning themselves the title of Best Burnt Basque Cheesecake in San Diego.

A restaurant for the people. Rosarito native chef Juan González and Megan Strom are the ideal married couple to be running a farm-to-table joint. She’s been a farmer for decades, selling top-notch produce to some of the best restaurants in California—which is how the two met. A couple years ago, she started working at the small organic farm in Valley Center run by Mike Reeske, who had spent decades breeding the perfect heirloom beans for SoCal’s climate. He recently retired, and gifted those strains to Strom—who grows them (and other crops) for their tiny Escondido taco/burrito shop specializing in guisados (Mexican stews).
A Basque cheesecake in a taco shop? You bet. Juan’s got family roots in Spain and has cooked in Spanish kitchens.
Mesa Agricola’s winning Basque is by far the most “burnt” of all contenders—so much so that an Instagram follower declared it a mistake. But as Chef Juan notes, there’s an art to hitting the sweet spot where “the bitterness of the char balances the richness and sweetness without turning it into ‘chicharrón.’” Plus, char is a core charm of Baja cooking. It’s the perfect Basque for the people who prefer setting their campfire marshmallows fully on fire.

With red leather booths and a retro steakhouse vibe, Moe’s in Mission Beach is a good cheat day destination. The menu is flavor maximalism—dry-aged steaks, housemade pastas, brown liquors, and sides like the lobster truffle mac ’n’ cheese. Pastry chef Eli Peralta (whom some might remember as the creator of The Patio on Lamont’s “Twisted Elvis”—a peanut butter-banana brûlée stunner) brings that same intensity to the dessert menu.
Baked at sister restaurant Molly’s (6 feet away), his Basque is served on a bed of caramel with walnut brittle and a dollop of whipped cream, an indulgent recipe that converted the pastry chef himself. “I wasn’t crazy about cheesecakes,” Eli admits. “Then I started making different flavors, and I started to like them.” He’s not the only convert: During our blind tasting, one judge likened the cake to crème brûlée, concluding, “I don’t even like crème brûlée, but I like this.”

Every creative pursuit starts with a muse—and Lada Sadovnyk’s has been the Basque cheesecake for years. In Ukraine, she baked them for friends and family gatherings, never imagining she would one day build an entire bakery around them in the US. “When we moved to San Diego,” she explains, “I kept thinking, ‘What can I do? What do I really love to do?’”
The answer is pretty fantastic.
After obsessing over proportion and techniques, chasing that molten center and deeply caramelized top, what began as an online recipe evolved into something entirely of her own.
She moved from her home kitchen to a rented commercial kitchen close to Sports Arena. The orders kept coming, and so did the pressure. “At one point, I was thinking about divorcing my husband,” she says with a laugh (while sitting next to him). The grind paid off: Today, Muse Cheesecakes bakes roughly 1,200 cheesecakes a month and is planning to open its first brick-and-mortar home in Pacific Beach.
For our competition, the expectations met reality. Muse has made a quick name in San Diego as the Basque to beat. In a blind taste test, there’s no bias, no reputational shine to sway a room. The response on reveal: “Oh, of course.”

Husband-and-wife duo Alex and Anastasia Kiperband pulled off the number of failures (and then some) that are required of any search for the best recipe. After adjusting baking temps, sugar rations, and experimenting with different brands of cream cheese and heavy cream—they finally landed on something worthy of a business license.
“When we started this business in America, we were really nervous,” Anastasia says, co-owner of Bite Cheesecakes & Bakery.
Once they won over those first customers, their confidence grew enough to start tinkering. When Dubai chocolate took social media by storm, they developed their own version, making the pistachio paste from scratch before layering the buttery kataifi pastry beneath a glossy chocolate shell to create its signature Dubai Chocolate Basque Cheesecake.
“In a lot of situations, we’re converting cheesecake haters to cheesecake lovers,” they say. “That’s probably the best feedback that we get.”
Camila Ibarra Gallego is a CaliBaja native pursuing a master's degree in culinary journalism at the Basque Culinary Center. Shaped by the culturally rich, bicultural megaregion, she's passionate about sniffing out stories that connect people, territory and culture through food. When she's not tumbling down internet rabbit holes, you can find her pretending to be a wine connoisseur at a local wine bar or nose-deep in a good book.
Laika Nur, MD, takes her love of volleyball from the court to the clinic as team physician for the San Diego Mojo
Growing up, Laika Nur, MD, Scripps Clinic sports medicine specialist, loved watching beach volleyball when the Association of Volleyball Professionals tour came to her hometown of Chicago. A talented volleyball player herself, she remembers sitting in the stands all day, and once, even got a couple autographs. Years later, Dr. Nur was attending a professional event focused on women’s sports, and the discussion turned to a new professional women’s volleyball league. The general manager and coaching staff for San Diego’s team, the Mojo, happened to be in attendance, and Dr. Nur took the opportunity to ask them if they needed a team doctor. Flash forward to the Mojo’s inaugural 2024 season, when Dr. Nur officially became the team physician. Click here to read more about Dr. Nur and how she incorporates lessons she learned on the court into her practice.
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