
Featured articles
Food News
Food News
Food & Drink
Featured articles
Things to Do
Things to Do
Everything SD
Featured articles
Things to Do
Things to Do
Everything SD
Featured articles
podcast-ep
podcast-ep
podcast-ep
Featured articles
Food & Drink
Everything SD
Everything SD
Featured articles
Food News
Things to Do
Things to Do
Ready to know more about San Diego?
SubscribeReady to know more about San Diego?
Building San Diego's private drone industry
Drones over San Diego
photo illustration by priddy smith |aerial Photo by Phillip Colla
General Atomics Predator
Datron Scout
Northrop Global Hawk
Northrop Fire Scout
Drone production is big business in San Diego. After national budget cuts, the industry stands to take a financial hit. But a pending application for private drone use could make the county the center for commercial development for decades to come.
Domino’s Pizza saw the future of drones. In a YouTube video shot outside London, a Domino’s employee loads a pizza into a warming bag, which in turn is gripped by a small helicopter, roughly 3 feet in diameter and powered by six small rotors. The Domino’s employee, holding a tablet computer, orders the “Domicoptor” into the sky. A camera follows the now-airborne pizza over field and stream until it descends outside a suburban home. A gray-shirted man removes the pizza from the bag and walks back to his house, and the helicopter pulls away, ready for another delivery.
The ad is a vision of a civilian, commercial drone economy that doesn’t yet exist. In this country, the Federal Aviation Association (FAA) bans all commercial flights of unmanned aerial vehicles, or UAVs. So far, that’s fine for San Diego County, center of the universe for the military drone industry and home to General Atomics Aeronautical Systems, and Northrop Grumman, both leaders in military drone production.
Even as wars in Iraq and Afghanistan wind down and budget squabbles in Washington force military cuts, local observers say funds for advanced military technology like UAVs should be safe—but they aren’t. The latest proposal from the Pentagon calls for deep cuts in purchases from both companies.
If San Diego wishes to keep its leadership in the drone industry, it will need the civilian market to make up for lost energy and money in military drones. That may depend on whether the county wins the right to become one of six drone testing areas proposed by the FAA. The application should be a shoo-in, but public concerns over privacy and a lack of local political support lengthen the odds against the region’s submission.
The first unmanned flying vehicles date back to the Civil War, when, in 1863, inventor Charles Perrey patented a device that used a timer to drop explosives on enemy troops, according to an article on Legal.com penned by San Diego lawyer and pilot David Cain. The device didn’t work, though both Confederate and Union troops tried it. Technology progressed slowly, from kites bearing cameras in 1898 to an explosive-laden biplane in World War I. Not until World War II did something resembling a modern drone appear, in the form of an automated propeller-driven aircraft used as target practice for anti-aircraft exercises.
The story moves to San Diego in 1947, when the Navy contracted aircraft manufacturer Ryan Aeronautical to build remote-controlled jet-drones for target practice. In 1968, Teledyne purchased Ryan Aircraft, forming Teledyne-Ryan, a force in UAV manufacture for the next three decades.
In the 1980s, the Israelis invented the first autonomous drone.
“Those early ones were based entirely on remote-control aircraft technology and mated with closed-circuit TVs,” says Ben Kristy, aviation curator of the National Museum of the Marine Corps in Virginia.
The Marines used the Israeli model as the basis for the RQ-2 Pioneer, a drone that could be launched from a ship-based catapult and sent out to take pictures of enemy lines. The Pioneer saw action through 2007, including a highlight in 1991 when a squad of Iraqis surrendered to one during the Gulf War.
In 1992, General Atomics formed General Atomics Aeronautical Systems in Poway, and began development of its signature Predator drone, which it flew successfully in 1994.
In 1999, Northrop Grumman, also in the drone business (Marilyn Monroe was discovered working a Northrop production line by an Army photographer shooting publicity photos on assignment from Ronald Reagan, at a factory in the 1940s), purchased Teledyne-Ryan, absorbing hundreds of experienced San Diego staff. In March, the company consolidated UAV design units from New York and Arizona into its Rancho Bernardo UAV Center for Excellence.
Together, the two companies are a powerful economic force in the region. According to a study from the National University System Institute for Policy Research, the two companies provided 7,135 direct and indirect jobs in San Diego County in 2011, and managed $1.28 billion in UAV contracts. Combined, they produce about 60 percent of all UAVs in the world.
With these two behemoths in town, other companies have found ways to draw income in the same business. SciFly in Kearny Mesa creates computer models to test drone designs, and Core Systems in Poway builds rugged computers for the aircraft.
“It makes sense that companies in the same industry with the same interests would be close by each other,” says Mike Rigney, a board member for the Association for Unmanned Vehicle Systems International, San Diego-Lindbergh Chapter.
These companies, largely high-tech and boasting high-salaried, highly skilled employees, joined the rest of the defense manufacturing industry to insulate San Diego County from the worst of the Great Recession and the sluggish recovery of the last five years.
Drones make the military’s job easier—that’s why they have been such a growth industry. Squads use small UAVs in Iraq and Afghanistan to scout enemy lines and look around corners or into caves. Large drones carry complicated instrument packages that let them detect heat signatures and intercept communications. A General Atomics Predator or a Global Hawk from Northrop Grumman can stay aloft for 30 hours, and a Northrop Grumman Fire Scout helicopter can stay up for 12 hours (compared to four or five for a manned plane), sending back live video streams to operators thousands of miles away.
Also, with no pilot onboard, a downed UAV is less likely to need a search and rescue mission.
“Unmanned systems can do the dull, the dirty, and the dangerous,” says Mike Fuqua, a retired Navy helicopter pilot and director of business development for the Fire Scout at Northrop Grumman. “There were plenty of times I was flying around the ocean looking for things. A [UAV] can do those kinds of missions that you just don’t need a person there to do. The Fire Scout is cheaper to acquire and cheaper to operate than any manned platform.”
But there are problems, too. The cost of each Global Hawk has ballooned to $200 million. It carries a smaller payload than the U-2 spy aircraft it’s supposed to replace. The U-2 also flies 15,000 feet higher than a Global Hawk, giving it a greater horizon for surveillance. Development problems with the Gray Eagle, an Army version of General Atomics’ Predator, have led to delays in deployment.
These issues, the impact of half a trillion dollars in military cuts as part of the budgetary gimmick known as “sequestration,” and the intended reduction in spending after the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan end mean the military is primed to slash spending on UAVs.
The military is dropping its funding of Gray Eagle and Global Hawk by 16 percent to $869 million in 2013, and then by another 24 percent in 2014. Last year, the Air Force asked to mothball all 18 of the Global Hawks it had in its fleet in favor of the U-2 planes. The Air Force also plans to cut its annual purchase of General Atomics Reapers—armed versions of the Predator—from 48 two years ago to 24 this year, and then to 12 next year.
(A Pentagon spokesman did not respond to our request for an interview on the budget decisions.)
By contrast, the Navy is very excited about the drones it has in the offing. The X-47B, under development by Northrop Grumman, just successfully took off and landed from an aircraft carrier for the first time—a major technical achievement—and development is full speed ahead for the Triton, a customized Global Hawk made to handle the conditions of high-altitude surveillance over the ocean. The Navy also plans to keep purchasing Fire Scouts.
Congress could end up rewriting all these budget plans when it comes to appropriations, but the possibility of reductions bodes ill for San Diego’s future—unless private commercial UAVs, many of which use the same technology as the military drones, can grow to fill the economic niche. To do that, UAV manufacturers will have to allay the public’s fears about privacy and the use of armed drones to kill American citizens.
Domino’s shot its drone commercial in the UK for a reason: the FAA grounds commercial drones in the U.S., with the exception of a few universities and public agencies. But that doesn’t mean some companies and agencies haven’t found ways to use unmanned flyers in their work. During the wildfires that ravaged San Diego County in 2007, CalFire asked the Air Force to scramble a Northrop Grumman Global Hawk to look for hot spots and help track the fires. The Border Patrol is using UAVs to patrol the boundary with Mexico. A NASA-owned Global Hawk tracked a storm off the Mexican coast in 2010, according to U-T San Diego.
Last year, the FAA had to shut down a Los Angeles realtor who used a UAV to take aerial pictures at low cost. David Cain, the lawyer and UAV historian, expects FedEx and UPS will use pilot-optional aircraft to reduce the cost of flying freight (spokesmen from both companies say there are no such plans). Small drones could be put to work doing pipeline inspections, or scanning farms for pests or weed invasions. Cain believes the technology used in military drones will find its way into a private commercial market, much as the Internet and GPS technology did.
Cain says, “We have never not brought home wartime technology for commercial benefit.”
Small drones are easy to use and cheap to run. Datron World Communications in Vista produces the Scout helicopter in partnership with a Canadian firm. A Scout weighs less than four pounds. It’s designed for use by foreign militaries and public safety agencies, so it can handle high winds and rain. Its parts can be snapped on and off, so if one malfunctions, it can be easily replaced. The device runs on electricity, and charging it up is cheaper than filling a helicopter with aviation fuel. And it’s inexpensive to own: a no-frills Scout costs $60,000 to purchase, says Chris Burk, Scout program director for Datron.
“About as much as a police squad car,” he adds.
Much to the surprise of anyone raised on footage of Maverick wrestling the control stick of his F-14 high above the San Diego desert, flying a Scout is remarkably simple. Instead of months and years of training (or attending Top Gun flight school), anyone can learn to fly a Scout, with a three-day training class. The computer handles most of the hard stuff (as is the case for Predator and Global Hawk, though military operator training is more intense). The Scout can be flown from a tablet computer, or allowed to roam on a pre-programmed flight pattern for up to 30 hours. It can take off and land on its own, too, so theoretically—although Burk strongly advises against this—a Scout operator could let it take off, go out for lunch, and run some errands, and the Scout will do business on its own.
That kind of operation may be easy to perform within a few years. Under the FAA Modernization and Reform Act of 2012, Congress ordered the FAA to develop rules for small UAVs, defined as those under 55 pounds, and to find a way to integrate larger UAVs into the national air space by 2015.
The agency expects to develop rules for small UAVs—like the Domicoptor—by the end of this year. They should be published by 2015, after public comment and rules revisions, according to Jim Williams, head of the FAA’s Unmanned Aircraft Systems Integration Office.
Larger UAVs face more sophisticated hurdles, particularly the ability to automatically detect and avoid each other, and some legal framework for UAV liability in the civilian airspace.
In order to gather data on just how the UAVs will work with piloted craft, the agency will name six regions around the country and give them permission to fly UAVs in their airspace. The program comes with no federal money, and the designation requires creating a research plan and collecting data on behalf of the FAA. Williams says 25 regions in 24 states applied (including a delegation from Ventura County in California).
“It would be very valuable from the standpoint of the operators to create jobs and prime the pump on the industry,” Williams said at a conference in Washington, D.C.
California stands to gain more from this commercial revolution than any other state, according to a study by the Association for Unmanned Vehicle Systems International (AUVSI). If the state wins one of the test-bed applications, it can expect total UAV jobs in the state to double by 2021, to 15,000, and for the economic impact to reach $1.7 billion by 2025.
San Diego’s application includes businesses and associations located in a wide swath of Southern California, from the Mexican border to Naval Air Weapons Station China Lake, 100 miles east of Bakersfield. Much of the driving energy comes from the San Diego Military Advisory Council (SDMAC), the San Diego Regional Economic Development Corporation (EDC), and the Indian Wells Airport District. Its business participants include a variety of companies, including General Atomics (but not Northrop Grumman, which said through a spokesman that it’s monitoring the situation closely).
“We see it (the UAV industry) as really being a huge economic driver for our region,” says Matt Sanford, a manager at the San Diego Regional EDC. “We think the growth potential is there. We have the talent and workforce to keep advancing and keep innovating in that space.”
With its base of UAV workers and companies, San Diego would seem to be a slam-dunk, but supporters are nervous, due to a lack of vocal support from the local Congressional delegation and privacy protection laws working their way through the state legislature.
While North Dakota, New York, Florida, and Texas all have full-throated backing and, in some cases, financial backing from their governors, legislatures, and representatives in Washington, most of California’s representatives have been silent on the subject. (The lone exception is Rep. Kevin McCarthy, the House Majority Whip, who represents Bakersfield.) Local politicians didn’t exactly line up, either.
“We went to San Diego County; they weren’t interested. The Airport (Authority) was kind of interested,” says Terry Magee, with SDMAC.
None of the legislators contacted for this story, nor Gov. Jerry Brown, responded to requests for comment. One Congressional staffer said on background that legislators worry about the problems of privacy inherent in the use of UAVs.
Privacy and safety are on everyone’s mind recently. In June, now-fugitive National Security Administration contractor Edward Snowden revealed that the federal government was collecting phone data from Verizon and had backdoor access to all the data from major Internet sites like Facebook, Gmail, and Yahoo.
Fears of weaponized drones compound public concerns. Drones have been weaponized for years for use overseas against America’s enemies, but in May, Attorney General Eric Holder revealed that four Americans had been killed in drone attacks. The announcement came on the heels of Sen. Rand Paul’s 13-hour filibuster to demand that the Obama administration promise not to kill citizens on American soil.
This is not a time when the American people want to grant their security agencies unfettered access to small, inexpensive devices that can spy—or possibly kill—from a great height.
While the Obama administration has promised not to kill “non-combatants” (as defined by the administration), the FAA itself has decided to tackle the privacy issue. As part of the application for test sites, applicants must explain how they’ll safeguard privacy.
In California, the American Civil Liberties Union leads the charge for getting privacy protection written into law.
“Drones are like any new technology; they can be used for good or for ill,” says David Loy, legal director for the San Diego chapter of the ACLU. “Because they are so potentially intrusive, we need checks and balances to make sure privacy isn’t abused, that it’s a respected, transparent system for collection and storage of data.”
According to Loy and Valerie Small Navarro, a Sacramento-based legislative analyst for the California chapter, the ACLU wants to require law enforcement to get a warrant from a judge before using a UAV for an investigation, and it wants all data collected to be destroyed after 60 days.
The group also worries about the sharing of data among government agencies.
“We don’t want to use this technology to let us live in a permanent surveillance state,” Loy says.
A pair of competing bills is working through the California legislature implementing some of the ACLU’s recommendations. Both place substantial restrictions on the use of UAVs by private parties—criminalizing some actions—and by government agencies, especially police departments.
The ACLU’s bills may be contributing to an image that San Diego is not a hospitable place for a FAA testing site.
“We haven’t verified this, but we’re told by those people that are watching the process that there could be negative impact, if you’re from a state that’s passed anti-[UAV] legislation,” says Eileen Shibley, a defense department consultant and the woman leading the FAA bid for Southern California.
The FAA will choose the six sites by the end of the year.
In the meantime, San Diego will wait tensely. And if indeed the last pilot has already been born, many San Diegans hope the reason for that will begin right here.
Food writer Beth Demmon names local bites we love—both at the high and low ends of our budgets
We love a mega-fancy tasting menu, but let’s be honest—we’re not all blessed with unlimited Wagyu funds. So we picked some of the breakout dishes of the last year (or couple of years) from the best chefs in the city, reverse-engineered their chief charms (salty, smoky, caramelized?) in the test lab of our mouths, and found some budget-friendly alternatives that hit some of the same notes with an everyday price tag.
Where do delicately plucked marigold blossoms adorn Deer Isle scallops, or ingredients like fermented raspberry precede roasted coffee oil, shiro miso caramel, or bronze fennel in a parade of hit-after-hit dishes? Lilo in Carlsbad, of course. San Diego’s newest Michelin star changes its menu with the seasons, but one stalwart dish has kept tongues wagging since opening day last April: the caviar ice cream. A boat-shaped sliver of orgeat ice cream, smoked celery root bushi, and freshly pressed almond oil are topped with a generous heap of caviar. It’s a dish so good and defining that chef Eric Bost will tire of talking about it for a very long time.
Price: $265 for the tasting menu (before tax, tip, and drinks)
There’s a reason Stella Jean’s s’mores ice cream is part of the local scoop shop’s “always available” menu. Made with fire-roasted marshmallows and coconut ash ice cream mixed with dark chocolate-covered graham crackers and mini marshmallows, its strangely ashen hue dabbled with flecks of tawny brown is a far cry from the wildly vibrant ube and pandesal toffee flavor seemingly made for Instagram reels. But it’s a sensation in your mouth—smoky, toasty, torched, creamy, marshmallowy, coconutty, ashy, and bitter from the dark chocolate. Pro tip: If you really want to DIY Lilo’s ultra-luxe treat, bring your own caviar.
Price: $6.25 for a single scoop
There’s no question what comes first at Lucien. It’s the egg. Chef and co-owner Elijah Arizmendi’s 12-course tasting menu begins with welcome bites under the calamansi tree before moving inside to start the Journey (the actual name of this section of the menu). The first step is one of the most astounding—a perfectly intact, upright, ochre-hued eggshell containing his take on Japanese chawanmushi (egg custard), topped with a dollop of caviar. The accompanying ingredients have ranged from sweet corn and huitlacoche to banana and buckwheat, but each one has precisely demonstrated Arizmendi’s commitment to French technique with California experimentation and global influence.
Price: $260 for the chef’s tasting menu (before tax, tip, and drinks)
The biggest difference (besides price) is that while Lucien’s dish changes with the season, Sushi Ota is comfortably predictable. A San Diego staple since 1990, the legendary Sushi Ota has been one of those if you know, you know joints that locals try to keep off the radar. (It hasn’t worked at all.) Known for ultra-fresh fish and ultra-traditional service, the small Pacific Beach restaurant also serves Japanese comfort foods like udon noodle soup alongside sashimi, nigiri, and rolls. But it’s the savory steamed egg custard, called chawanmushi, that really gives you the warm and fuzzies. Add a side of salmon roe (ikura) for a few bucks more, and this dupe is about as good as it gets.
Price: $12 for chawanmushi, $11 for ikura

Enough ink—and tears, I’m sure—has been spilled over Chick & Hawk’s long and arduous journey to opening its doors. But now that the Encinitas eatery is in full swing, chef Andrew Bachelier’s tightly curated menu of fried chicken sandwiches, fries, and bowls command lines of hungry locals and skate-culture loyalists. The Birdman, the signature hot chicken sandwich named for partner and skateboarding legend Tony Hawk, is piled with cabbage slaw and pickles and slathered with a tangy kimchi comeback sauce on a soft brioche bun. Although this Nashville meets California meets Mississippi meets Korea sando doesn’t command a triple-digit price tag, the fact that it’s nearly a $20 chicken sandwich (sans side) has been a topic of conversation. Bachelier—who worked at Addison before opening Jeune et Jolie, then launched SDM’s 2024 “Best New Restaurant,” Atelier Manna—and his team earned that price tag.
Price: $18
It’s hard to beat Koreans at the chicken game. Korean fried wings are defined by a double-fry technique—first at a low temperature to ensure the chicken is cooked through, then at a high temperature to ensure the famed extra-crispy, ear-splittingly crunchrageous magic. At Cross Street, they follow a similar fusion ethos as Chick & Hawk, using inspiration from the American South as well as Thailand, Korea, Vietnam, and more, with flavors like “Seoul Spicy” or “Honey Butter” for whatever you’re feeling that day. Pair it with a cold beer to go full chimaek (a popular Korean combination of pairing fried chicken and beer). Now that’s a combo—and price tag—that’s hard to beat.
Price: $8.75 for five wings

PB&J. Captain & Tennille. Brad Wise and steak. Steak frites ranks among the iconic global duos. And when the holy union of prime cuts and twice-fried carbs comes from Wise and the meat-loving masters at Trust Restaurant Group, it’s a pretty safe bet. À L’ouest—the group’s newest fancy, but not fussy, drippy plant dreamscape of a French steakhouse on the prime corner of 30th and University in North Park—gives guests a choice: 12-ounce New York strip, 8-ounce filet mignon, or 8-ounce Wagyu hanger, topped with sauce au poivre (the classic French pan sauce—peppercorns, shallots, heavy cream, brandy) and served with a heaping pile of 24-hour salt-brined fries and a watercress salad. One bite acts as a transport to a Parisian brasserie, so if you think about the cost in terms of time-space travel, it’s a pretty great deal.
Price: starts at $48
To satisfy the same urge for meat and potatoes, feel at least moderately European while doing so, and save a couple quid, a trip to The Shakespeare in Mission Hills ticks all the boxes. The classic British shepherd’s pie arrives in a piping hot oval au gratin dish, smothered with a thick layer of mashed potatoes. Beneath it lies a hefty portion of marinated ground beef and vegetables in the pub’s secret sauce, and while there are a few choices of sides, the correct order is peas and “proper” chips (a.k.a. chunky, thick-cut fries versus the typically thinner American “French” fries). It’s more tickety-boo than très bien, but it’s immensely satisfying in any language.
Price: $22.95
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.
SDM owner and food critic Troy Johnson identifies some standout stars in SD's food scene
I spent time in a hot dog stand on the edge of San Diego Bay, looking out a window that mattered. Mattered to a kid whose mom taught him to fish on this pier. They’d turn on a little transistor radio, find a signal through the static, stare at the water, and talk life and his dad. Dennis Borlek’s dad was out there, somewhere, commanding a naval submarine through god knows what. When his dad would dock in Point Loma weeks or months later, Borlek biked down the street along Shelter Island to see him and steal back stolen moments.
Later, Borlek helped midwife the craft beer scene, managing seminal spots like Small Bar and Liar’s Club. Wondering what to do with the rest of his life, he went back to that pier and saw a for-lease sign on the bait and tackle shop. He tore through the public library and spent the whole night learning how to write a business plan (he had no clue). A couple days later he found himself at the intimidating end of a massive conference table, pitching his dream to the very official Port of San Diego executives.
They gave it to the San Diego kid. Not sure if they ever imagined Fathom Bistro—the tiniest, mightiest craft beer and hot dog stand, filled with spear guns, ocean monster figures, and seafaring oddities—would still be there 13 years later, let alone be a local’s favorite. It’s the most San Diego place in the world. Borlek taught himself to make kimchi and puts it on his Explodo Dog. His friend Kevin, who played with him in a punk band, dresses as a pirate and works the door on weekends. Has done so for years.
And when Borlek stares out the window, he can see the sub base and the memories of his dad.

Later, a few beach towns over, I sat in an employee break area—a shaded back-alley alcove with grape vines that serves as an escape garden for the crew. The place used to be a taco shop. Owner Crystal White points to a window of a single bedroom behind the dough-mixing part of the kitchen. She lived there when she started, often finding herself on the roof at midnight, staring at a broken compressor, trying to will it into working.
A blue-collar kid who fell in love with bread, she moved to San Diego with a business plan and zero cash. Banks don’t loan money to bread dreamers. Fate, kismet, and door-knocking found her enough investors. In the weeks leading up to opening that dream—perfect croissants, kouign-amanns, sandwiches, pizzas, baguettes fermented with wild La Jolla yeasts—she was outside hammering and painting. Locals would pause to ask what she was putting into the spot. “A bakery!” she’d reply.
“Oh, we don’t need one of those,” they’d say. Eight years later, White has moved out of the bedroom, and Wayfarer Bread is one of the best bakeries in the land. I ask if she’ll ever open another location. “I grew up dirt poor,” she says. “This has surpassed even my wildest dreams. This is enough. Please make sure you mention Emma Koehler, K-O-E-H-L-E-R, my kitchen manager. She deserves the credit now.”
These are the people and the stories behind “Best Restaurants.” This issue is dedicated to them, the culture they’ve gritted into being. On the surface, the annual tradition—naming a list of “winners,” my favorite places and my honest answers to “who has the best taco/pizza/Thai…”—is a good-natured competition among friends. But the deeper point is that it’s a way to highlight hundreds of places that have risked it all to build a little magic across the city. Sure, some owners were born in the stars and used that dust to make more stars. But many or most restaurants started with a scrappy go-getter or two. And now those places are filled with dozens or hundreds of people who love the work, show up day in and day out, for years. People like Koehler and the ones we feature in our story, “Behind the Line”.
So please use this list as a beachhead. Try these places, email me ([email protected]) to say “thanks” or “you truly messed up.” Eat, drink, commune, say hello, get to know the stories of the people making your favorite food. Make your own list, and share it with us.
(Note: Fathom didn’t win anything, probably because there’s no category for “Best Hot Dog Craft Beer Stand on a Pier with a Pirate,” which is a shortcoming on our part. So I put him here because he should be a part of any conversation about best San Diego things.)
Troy Johnson is the magazine’s award-winning food writer and humorist, and a long-standing expert on Food Network. His work has been featured on NatGeo, Travel Channel, NPR, and in Food Matters, a textbook of the best American food writing.
As Rancho Valencia's Chef Concierge and US Nominee for Les Clefs d'Or Young Leader Award, Simona Marciulaityte is equal parts doer and fixer
Your cup of coffee shows up exactly how you like it. The fully booked restaurant suddenly has a table. The last-minute, once-in-a-lifetime experience somehow comes together without a hitch. In the world of hospitality at top resorts, there’s an iceberg of scrupulous planning for each guest.
A concierge is in charge of that iceberg. There’s even an award for the best in the world: the Les Clefs d’Or Young Leader Award. It’s a months-long, multi-stage process with interviews, tests, and international competition, culminating at a global congress. Each member country only gets one nominee. Representing the US this year? Simona Marciulaityte from San Diego.
As Chef Concierge at Rancho Valencia Resort & Spa—a Relais & Châteaux retreat with Forbes Five-Star and AAA Five Diamond, a highly accoladed place with commiserate expectations—Marciulaityte is equal parts doer, fixer, and project manager for guests’ sometimes wild travel dreams.
“We see hospitality as theatre,” she explains. “There are a lot of moving parts, but when we arrive to the stage, it’s always with grace and a performance to create an incredible experience for the guests.”
That impossible-to-get reservation with custom cake and balloons at the table? She’s already texted three people. A guest calling on their way to the Zoo requesting a VIP-tour in 15 minutes? Booked in seven. The usual ‘Hey can you schedule me an appointment with Hermès to buy a $30K Birkin bag and plan my proposal in Italy’ request? Oddly specific, true story—and fully handled.

“Great concierge work truly begins long before a guest ever steps on property,” Marciulaityte says. “Who is traveling, notes from prior visits, special occasions, and dining history help me understand the nature of the stay. For new guests, I read between the lines: the questions they ask, the pace they seem to want, the kinds of experiences they gravitate toward.
“Curation draws on something that can’t be replicated by a search engine. It’s years of genuine relationship-building with partners across San Diego and beyond.”
Nearly a decade ago, Marciulaityte was juggling life as a personal stylist at Nordstrom and hostess/server at Brian Malarkey’s Herringbone and Searsucker. After working an event for the San Diego Concierge Association, she had a moment of clarity: “I remember thinking, oh my god—this is exactly what I want to do.”
Being a part of Les Clefs d’Or grants entry to a global network of concierges who operate like a very discreet, very efficient hotline (“In service through friendship,” as their motto goes). When local super-chef Tara Monsoud was nominated for a James Beard, Marciulaityte worked with the SD Concierge Association and Le Coq to send flowers and photos to Chicago where the chef was staying.
“It’s not only guests—we hope to touch everyone with our concierge magic.”
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.
The 29-year-old culinary director at Herb & Sea is making seafood sexy (and approachable) again
Implementing a farm-to-table model hardly deserves acknowledgement these days. It’s not a stretch. It’s not innovative. “It’s the bare f**king minimum,” says Herb & Sea‘s executive chef Aidan Owens.
When I arrive at the Encinitas restaurant, I’m ready to talk sustainability, farm-to-table stuff, with Owens. “Did you see the chin on that?” he says of the extra big jiggly chin on the sheephead that just arrived with the day’s fresh catch. I did. It was Jay Leno adjacent.
I learn quickly that he somehow oozes both charm and stone-cold honesty. Maybe he could construct a new dish with chin goo, like he did when he had a bunch of tuna scraps and voila’d it into a smooth and crowd-pleasing ‘nduja. “I want to know what’s in there,” he says.

The instinct to look closer, to dig into what others might discard, says a lot about the chef’s approach. I guide him back to our topic, but he has something else on his mind. “We’re overcomplicating food—what happened to just cooking good food and having fun with it?”
Owens grew up on a farm in Byron Bay, Australia, where sustainability wasn’t a concept you chat about so much as a way of life. Think dirt roads, backyard chickens, pulling vegetables straight from the ground, and a mother who believed that if you couldn’t pronounce the ingredients on a package, you shouldn’t eat what was inside.
Food wasn’t precious or performative. Making it was what you did because you were hungry and that’s still what inspires Owens today. “I like to cook good food because I like to eat good food,” he says.
His approach to sustainability at Herb & Sea began so naturally that it felt just like instinct. “I was just like, ‘Let’s order food from the people who live and work here,’” he says.

And why wouldn’t he when lives in San Diego? Cities all over the world vie for our goods. Our tuna is sent overseas. Our spiny lobsters hit dinner plates in China and Japan. Not to mention California’s producing a third of the country’s vegetables and three-quarters of its fruits and nuts.
“Why would we outsource when it’s all here?” Owens asks.
Sustainability, in this context, is about cooking what exists in abundance, nearby, right now. “I love the local fish here. It’s f**king delicious and San Diego citrus, I mean, it is so f**ing good,” he says.
Instead of importing ingredients, Owens also looks for nearby alternatives. “You can find really cool things in the local waters,” he says, pointing out that stingray cheeks taste similar to scallops.

Whatever he finds in that sheephead chin might just be the next substitute for marrow. But to make this work, it means getting diners amped up about the slightly unfamiliar.
Tasting menus, where diners are completely in his hands, become an opportunity to gently push boundaries. “I’ll serve mackerel, because people think they hate it,” Owens says, noting that the abundant local fish can have some fishiness. “But when it’s fresh, it’s arguably one of the best fish in the ocean.”
He also tweaks the language on the menu so people might feel more compelled to give dishes a try without preconceived notions. He might use “lengua” instead of “tongue.” “Whelk” instead of “snail.” When he puts “stingray throat” on the menu, he disarmingly calls it “skate.”
To reduce waste, scraps aren’t always discarded but rather turned into something new. Sometimes they’re smoked, cured or fermented. Apples going bad turn into apple ponzu. Lemons turn to marmalade, which stretches their usefulness far beyond peak season. “And it’s super tasty on our pizza,” he says.
What makes the food even richer, is the relationships he’s built with farmers. Though it didn’t always feel natural, Owens sought personal connection first. He recalls approaching a fisherman at the Tuna Harbor Dockside Market. “I was awkward,” he says. “I went up to him and said, ‘I like your fish.’”
Owen’s is now so close to his suppliers—like fishermen Ryan Sebo and Joe Daly—that he gets texted pictures of fresh catches right as they flop on the boat. The messages always ask if he wants first dibs. “I say yes to a lot of fish,” Owens says, noting that Herb & Sea can go through 2,000 pounds of seafood a week.

The next evolution of sustainability, in his view, will be chefs working directly with producers such as his alliance with Sebo, cutting out middlemen and purveyors where possible. “It will put more money in the pockets of the people doing the work,” he says.
It will mean that chefs can’t just know their local farmers and producers, but they’ll choose to work with the ones who have the best practices. Dining and sustainability will become much less about the final plate. “It will be more about the impact that plate has on the Earth,” he says.
Ultimately, he believes sustainability doesn’t need to be loud. It doesn’t need hashtags. It just needs to be honest.
“We aren’t saving lives. We’re feeding people good food,” he says.
And yet, in feeding people well—simply, thoughtfully, responsibly—something meaningful happens. Guests leave satisfied. Ingredients are respected. Local ecosystems are supported and food returns to what it has always been at its core: nourishment, pleasure, and a quiet reflection of the place it comes from.
No buzzwords required.
We asked 12 golf pros from across the county to choose the city's top holes to create the "Dream 18"
At the top of a golf swing, the world settles into a hush. Anyone within 50 yards kindly shuts up in reverence. Steady heartbeats tuck inside the sound of the wind. Time stands still.
Or—panic sets in, a thousand warnings from coaches and YouTube tutorials prattle through your brainpan. You wonder if a good walk prepares to be ruined.
On descent, the club rearranges air particles as it slices on a perfect or unwise line toward an earth so green, it seems like AI. The iron face meets the ball, and the satisfying or unsettling thwack echoes across the fairway like a nonviolent gunshot or a cry for help. Breath catches, curse words load in the prefrontal cortex. Eyes squint to follow the hard-to-see projectile zip majestically through the air or bounce lamely along the ground like a failed hurdler.
Sometimes it goes a couple hundred yards in the right direction, other times a couple yards into uncaring swamps. Golf’s beautiful and hard as hell.
Mindfulness and stillness reign over speed and might—which goes against most basal American instincts regarding sport. Its quiet, serene mocking of our human abilities is what brings so many of us to the life-long process of sharpening the skill. Because who hasn’t stared at the most beautiful parks and lawns in the world and said, “How can I turn this into a game and win it?”
Luckily, San Diego has an abundance of courses to improve and curate self-doubt. The county is home to over 70 courses that attract the top golfers in the country. Some of the biggest names in the sport—Callaway, TaylorMade, Cobra, Titleist, Odyssey, Honma—are based here. Perfect weather never hurts. But San Diego golf courses also promise a smorgasbord of terrains: rocky canyons, hot deserts, and lush greens overlooking the expanse of the Pacific Ocean.
If you could take the 1,300-ish holes around San Diego and pick the very best ones to create your ultimate course, which would they be? We asked some of the top golf pros in the county to do just that. The result? San Diego’s Dream 18. Think fantasy football but for golf.
Just like any great course, our Dream 18 includes four par 3s, 10 par 4s, and four par 5s—everything from tricky dog legs and psychological tee shots to just pretty, pretty views. Once we had our list, we either asked the head golf pro what makes a hole so special, or other pros spoke on its behalf. Go ahead, tell us what we missed.

“One of the most iconic par 3s on the West Coast. The cliffside setting above the Pacific and the constant ocean breeze make it both beautiful and demanding.”
—Anthony Valverde, Director of Golf, The Crosby Club at Rancho Santa Fe
“It’s a downhill par 3 over water with a great view from the tee down to the green. It’s surrounded by bunkers as well, so it almost feels like an island green even though it’s not. What’s really cool is once you drive to the next hole, if you look back on No. 14, it’s a great view as well. One of the signature holes [at Santaluz].”
—Josh Rider, Head Golf Pro, The Santaluz Club
Hole 15
“Hole 15 is widely considered one of the best and most memorable holes on the course. At about 250 yards, it’s a long downhill with multiple tiers and panoramic views into the valley. It looks intimidating at first, but there are lots of recovery contours and the green is fairly large.”
—Editor’s Choice
“Sitting high above the green with views of the Pacific Ocean, this dramatically downhill par 3 requires the perfect club selection.”
—Mike Mulford, Director of Golf, Omni La Costa

“While it’s beautiful with the backdrop of the Batiquitos Lagoon and the Pacific Ocean, this finishing hole demands both precision and nerve. The water guarding the right side and fairway bunkers ahead create a visually striking, strategic tee shot, while the expansive green rewards a confident, well-placed approach. If you can make a par on this hole, you’ve played it very well.”
—Renny Brown, Director of Golf, Aviara Golf Club
“The 18th hole at Del Mar CC is a demanding par 4 with an elevated tee box. Water guards the right side of the green, and a player must hit a precise shot into this green.”
—Renny Brown, Director of Golf, Aviara Golf Club
“It’s a difficult 428-yard par 4 playing into the predominant west wind. The hole is post-renovation and the vegetation was trimmed back, so now it exposes a penalty on the right. It’s uncomfy at the tee but a good challenge. Plus, it’s the No. 1 handicap for [all players].”
—Chris Lungo, Head Golf Pro, Rancho Santa Fe Golf Club
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.
CEO Claire Johnson introduces the May 2026 issue by reflecting on the necessity of creating a deeply human, non-AI guide to San Diego
There are many reasons an issue like this is a bad idea. Let’s focus on two.
First, AI can whip up something like this in a jiffy.
In 30 seconds, it can summon the data of the internet, scrape together the activities humans in a place called San Diego have publicly declared to have enjoyed, and spit out a biblical list of commonly recommended things. You want 20? Seven thousand? How many em-dashes? A lot?
Here’s why we do this anyway: AI can’t hear music.
Its throat doesn’t tighten with the rise of the symphony’s violins at Rady Shell. A song can’t remind them of their mom or a breakup. It can describe it using a data set of past descriptions of music, even rearrange those words in new ways. But AI can’t feel any of these things.
It never stood astounded beneath Salk Institute’s brutalist science castle and said, “This makes me feel so small and I like it.” It never felt the vibration of 20,000 Wave fans stomping and cheering in its chest, and the almost too-big emotion that massive energy creates when you feel it in person.
AI can describe an experience by corresponding words previously arranged around a human experience—but it can’t have an experience. It can list a place to visit, but it can’t process wonder. Only you and I can do that.
We have a basic set of analog tools that make us humans: sight, sound, smell, taste, feeling.
This issue was assembled using the wildly inefficient process of being humans in San Diego. To make this, we had to live here. We had to try things firsthand, over and over, learn the city’s nuances, adapt to its changes, experience its greatness and its meh-ness. We had to find parking, wait in line, pay too much, be impressed, be surprised, be disappointed, go back, and make judgment calls.
Then, as San Diego Magazine, we had to answer one question honestly: Would we recommend these things to a friend?
If the answer was yes, it made the list.
The second reason this issue was a bad idea is that 101 is not enough. San Diego isn’t a city you finish. It’s a place you keep discovering, revising, and arguing over. This list isn’t definitive. It is meant to be lived with, debated, dog-eared, and added to. It reflects the habits, quirks, guts, and glory that make this place feel like home.
So yes, on its face, this issue is a ridiculous idea.
And that’s our job: to pay attention and chronicle the unruly, specific, deeply human, and slower business of being alive in San Diego.
In a world overflowing with shortcuts, marketing fluff, and “good enough,” there are still companies that choose a different answer. And in San Diego, there are plenty of them.
In a world overflowing with shortcuts, marketing fluff, and “good enough,” there are still companies that choose a different answer.
Integrity guides how they show up every day. They make hard decisions, hold themselves accountable, and build trust the old-fashioned way, one action at a time. At the Better Business Bureau, we call these businesses Torch Heroes: leaders who demonstrate that ethical leadership strengthens businesses and drives long-term success.
And in San Diego, there are plenty of them.
Take House Collective Marketing Solutions, a Carlsbad-based digital agency that won the 2025 Torch Award for Ethics for its people-first approach to marketing. Instead of pushing flashy campaigns, the team often takes a step back to make sure clients’ foundations are strong before going big. Their philosophy? Truth over transaction builds partnerships that last.
Or look at Young Black & N’ Business, where integrity shows up through community action. When a local school lost art funding, founder Roosevelt Williams III and his team stepped in with workshops, mentorship, and hands-on support to help restore creative opportunity. That kind of engagement reflects ethical leadership rooted in real impact.
And in Vista, Lotus Sustainables carried its commitment to ethics all the way to the product line. After discovering defects in a shipment of eco-friendly products, the company issued full refunds and redesigned its offerings at its own expense, a choice that shaped its identity and reinforced to customers that ethics guide every decision.
In North County, Greenway Landscape Design & Build brings integrity into everyday service. When a client’s glass was damaged, likely not by their crew, owner Scott Lawn chose responsibility over blame and covered the repair personally. For Greenway, doing the right thing serves as a north star, guiding every interaction through transparent pricing, accountable partnerships, proactive communication, and follow-through long after the job is done.
Other honorees include At Your Home Familycare, whose leadership turned down a lucrative state contract during the pandemic to protect vulnerable clients and staff, and Bill Howe Family of Companies, where hiring practices, training, and service centers around shared values, every day, on every call.
What connects these diverse businesses, from marketing to nonprofit support to home services, isn’t size, industry, or revenue. It’s something deeper: a commitment to trust as a business strategy.
In San Diego’s competitive marketplace, that trust gives companies an edge. Clients invest in relationships. They refer friends. They stay loyal when others fade.
As one Torch Award winner puts it, integrity isn’t a section in the employee handbook. It’s the operating system of the company, the invisible code that determines every choice, every day.
And that’s exactly the point of the BBB Torch Awards for Ethics: to spotlight companies that dispel the myth that ethics and success are at odds. These businesses show that when leaders choose honesty, fairness, and accountability, especially when it’s hard, they build brands that matter.
At BBB, we see nominations come in from clients, employees, and business partners who have witnessed ethical leadership up close. These submissions aren’t polished promotions. They’re stories of moments when a company chose people over profit, clarity over confusion, and trust over convenience.
The nomination window for the 2026 Torch Awards for Ethics is open through March 31, 2026, and there are more Torch Heroes waiting to be recognized.
Who comes to mind in San Diego’s business community?
And yes, businesses can nominate themselves. We encourage it. If you’ve built your business on principles rather than buzzwords, we want to hear your story.
Because in a world full of noise, integrity still deserves the spotlight, and San Diego is full of stories worth telling. Nominate your hero now.