Nowadays, for many of us, feeding ourselves is as simple as driving to the nearest Trader Joe’s (or tapping a few buttons on DoorDash). But some, including Gagneux, still occasionally venture into the brush for snacks. He’s scoured the county’s bike trails and hedgerows from Pacific Beach to La Jolla, documenting over 100 edible species in the process. For him, it’s a means of cultivating wonder. “I have biophilia,” he says-an affinity, love, craving even for the natural world and all the myriad ways it ticks.

Of course, dipping your toes back into ancient scripts can expose you to ancient dangers. Poison hemlock (Socrates’ last drink) bears striking resemblance to wild celery. Deadly amanita ocreata could be a direct dupe for button mushrooms. In fact, Gagneux himself recently had a particularly unpleasant gastrointestinal run-in with a chicken of the woods mushroom, an easy-to-identify and usually benign species with which he’s quite familiar.

To forage, one must assume a relative degree of risk. Yet for the adventurous (and deeply experienced) few, foraging offers a thrill hard-won. The elevation of gustatory pleasure. A precious link to history and heritage. Age-old medicine, straight from the land.

My own interest in wild foods started young. My father had a novice passion, and I was raised with stories of giant puffball mushroom discoveries in upstate New York, of collecting bamboo shoots and black fungus on a business trip to China.

Once, when I was in grade school, he was passing by a San Diego fire station after a storm. A bloom of morels sat in innocent abundance on the city block, unnoticed by passersby. He pulled the car over and picked the lot. I was mesmerized by their alien fruiting bodies and earthy scent. He strung them to dry from our porch, and we ate them all spring.

Since experiencing foraging in Washington, Colorado, and New Zealand, I’m still no expert-far from it. And my home of San Diego always seemed to me like a wild-food wasteland, subject to maybe a morel miracle after a rainstorm, but not much else. Yet how can that be, when the coastal scrub supported native communities for thousands of years? Who are the foragers here, and what drives them out into the woods?

For Travis Swikard, chef at Callie and the incoming, as-yet-unnamed restaurant at La Jolla Commons, foraging is ingrained in his philosophy on cooking as a whole. It’s a vital aspect of the natural cuisine of a place, he says. Wild ramps, porcinis, and morels were an everyday part of his childhood in Vermont. His training in Europe solidified the sense that what we eat should be reflective of not just the season, but the day. Is it raining? How hot is this summer in particular? What does this village or that have access to and at what time?

In early spring, it’s stinging nettles that are flush and verdant on the damp trails of our greater backyards. Swikard pairs his nettles with potato, also an early springtime staple, as a farce inside fresh pasta, served with parmesan and leek broth. “There’s nothing more signifying of time and place than something that is [growing] wild,” he says.

In summer, it’s about fennel. A transplant from Europe, fennel has invaded nearly every coast and hedgerow of our region. At Callie, all of the plant is used: the sweet stalk in vegetable and pasta dishes, the delicate fronds in salads, the pollen and seeds in hearty stews, the brittle husks for charcoal grilling. Foraging chefs feel like the natural evolution of American restaurants’ return to seasonal cooking.

“Follow what nature is giving you,” Swikard says.

The average home cook, however, may want to refrain. “I would generally discourage the everyday person to go out and forage,” Swikard cautions. The risk of misidentifying a mushroom or herb is too high. But if you’re at, say, Chino Farms or another local vendor, and they have nettles, lamb’s quarter, or purslane, consider purchasing something you wouldn’t normally try. You might be surprised at the complexity it adds to your next salad or potato-leek soup.

For other foragers, the pursuit of wild foods goes beyond flavor. Paul Sage Cannon, a tribal member of the Kumeyaay nation and a medicine bearer for his community on their reservation near Pauma Valley, views wild plants as inextricably linked to his sense of identity, how he interacts with the world, how he shares healing and connection with people.

Cannon lights a white sage bundle, letting the smoke waft gently throughout his home, surrounding our bodies. Sage, he explains, is used to rid the space of any negative energies. White sage is a prized plant among native communities, used as an ingredient in pinole (a kind of porridge), a powerful antibacterial, and a connection to the spiritual realm. It is resinous, leathery, growing in great plumes on the stalks of his backyard plants. It is now also a protected species due to overharvesting and habitat loss.

It’s witnessing the ingredients vital to his culture in peril that drives Cannon’s motivation for food sovereignty. Having seen firsthand the impacts of poverty on his community, Cannon believes there is immense value in learning your native habitat and food sources. Stable housing isn’t promised, and “that refrigerator can disappear rather quickly,” he points out.

Cannon champions the preservation of wild food sources and community and backyard gardening as ways to fortify vulnerable communities from food scarcity. Cannon does his part, replanting areas where sage has been impacted, and tells me there are also safe cultivating spaces specifically set aside for the tribe.

Graciously, he opens his cabinets to me, showing me plump acorns collected from Palomar Mountain. Another rich source of nutrients, they are vital to native food systems, as well as a host of indigenous species like the acorn woodpecker. He nods to the mugwort growing out the window, an aid in astral travel. He then pulls out a jar of innocuous dried twigs and opens the lid. I’m immediately hit with a powerful blast of sharp-smelling herbal potency.

“That’s native creosote. That’ll save you from death,” he says. It’s used as a cure-all for native peoples, known to help everything from the flu to pain. It’s even being explored in clinical studies as a potential inhibitor of cancerous growth, though the research is still evolving.

Cannon takes me out into the San Luis Rey riverbed near his home. He points out edible local buckwheat, and we rub our hands on hollyleaf cherry leaves, relishing their marzipan scent. The berries are safe to eat, he tells me, but the seeds are poisonous. We pass arroyo willow. A hallmark for sourcing water, it’s also used to make ewaa (traditional nomadic shelters) and may host oyster mushrooms.

Cannon pops a few pinches of sagebrush into his leather medicine bag. In it, he keeps a “prayer blend,” a constantly rotating assortment of wild flowers and herbs picked up from each foray, local or otherwise. He’ll bestow a small offering of this blend to those he meets, those he sits with in their own times of pain or need. This medicine is about bearing witness to suffering and providing to it an offering. A talisman of connection to the abundance of life. A symbol of our relationship to the land and our commitment to protect it and each other.

Foraging can be a similar kind of cure, safeguarding and nourishing you as you work to respect and understand its offerings. After all, Cannon says, “the number-one medicine is getting your hands in the dirt.”

The post The Wild Community Of San Diego Foragers appeared first on San Diego Magazine.

“There is an inventiveness in the people of Tijuana, a creativity to solve things with what they have and as they can,” Marisa Raygoza says. “That’s how this city was born—[from] people who came from many places and had to succeed as best they could.”

The artist flexes her own inventiveness to craft magic with a needle and thread. Her textile sculptures and other works explore femininity and the human body, using her border city’s dynamics as inspiration to create.

In 2014, she received a Baja California state grant to produce a three-minute short animation called Trayectoria de una lágrima (A tear’s path) with more than 2,800 pieces of hand-embroidered fabric. This year, the short was selected for the Annecy International Animation Film Festival tribute to Mexico in France.

She will be using another state grant in 2024 to focus on a new embroidery-animation project called Modos de saltar el borde (Ways of jumping the edge).

San Diegans can see her work in a collective exhibition at the Visions Museum of Textile Art in Liberty Station. The showcase, on view from May to September 2024, is part of a series of events celebrating the San Diego-Tijuana region’s designation as a World Design Capital.

Javier Salazar Rojas

Javier Salazar Rojas grew up in Oakland believing he was an American citizen—only to learn at age 11 that he was undocumented. After facing two deportations (one as an adolescent and one nine years ago), he began painting to combat his anxiety and depression.

His earliest work depicted Mexican and Hispanic cultural icons. Over time, he began infusing his canvas with pro-immigration messages. Now known in the region as “Deported Artist,” he considers himself an “artivist.”

“I want to change people’s perception of deportees through my art,” he says. “When we get deported, people forget about us. If they don’t see us, they don’t think about us anymore. I want to give deportees a voice and visibility.”

Earlier this year, he collaborated with another deported artist, Chris Cuauhtli, on a provocative protest mural on the Mexican side of Playas de Tijuana’s Friendship Park: former president Donald Trump and President Joe Biden kissing above the words “My God help me to survive this deadly love.” Salazar and Cuauhtli designed the piece to call out Biden’s broken promise to stop the construction of a border wall.

Salazar vends his work at Tijuana and California art shows and online through Hijas del Maíz, a project that Salazar’s wife Joanna Garcia Salazar started in Oakland to fund her monthly visits to Tijuana.

Enrique Chiu

Eighteen years after starting the Mural de la hermandad (Brotherhood mural)—a colorful community project that covers over 60 miles of the international border wall’s Mexican side—Enrique Chiu watched American authorities begin to dismantle his work. The poles of the border wall are being replaced. The first one came down this fall exactly where Chiu’s efforts started: in Playas de Tijuana.

But Chiu’s not giving up. “I’m a very positive person in all that I do. I have spent thousands of dollars of my own on this project, planning, painting, and organizing, but I also knew that it was something ephemeral,” he says. “What I see now is a new canvas and an opportunity to renew our project.”

Over nearly two decades, the mural became a community effort, bringing local and migrant families together to paint on weekends throughout the year. Now, Chiu envisions composing a section of the mural in every city on the US-Mexico border.

In addition to his own work as an artist, Chiu is a promoter of the arts and an activist. He believes that art can be a way to deal with social issues, advocating for a culture of peace and migrants’ rights in a city that saw more than 2,000 violent killings in 2022 and receives thousands of migrants every year.

Chiu’s work is visible in public buildings, over bridges, and at his 11 galleries in Tijuana. He has painted more than 350 murals throughout Mexico.

His latest project will bring 30 murals to the pedestrian entrance to Tijuana on the Mexican side of the San Ysidro Port of Entry in 2024—the biggest public art display in the city.

Angélica Escoto

After more than 15 years in the art business, visual artist Angélica Escoto knows that it’s not an easy world to navigate—especially because people tend to forget about the “business” side of things.

“Being a creative artist is challenging because some people believe that the artist doesn’t deserve a profit,” she says. “Being a woman makes it more challenging. They all want a piece of your art for free. They don’t want to pay for the time, the supplies, and the effort you have invested in it.”

But, increasingly, institutions have recognized and emphasized the value of her work. In 2022, a panel of arts professionals selected her as a 2022 San Diego Art Prize recipient, an annual regional award that includes exhibition opportunities and a cash prize. Her photos, videos, and performances have appeared all over the world, from Mexico and the US to Europe and South America.

Frequently shot in the breathtaking natural landscapes of Baja California, Escoto’s work has a solemn, cinematic quality. The artist’s body, often nude, engages guilelessly with the earth around her.

In 2018, she presented a project entitled They don’t dance alone, documenting 300 quinceañeras. The 15-year-old girls photographed are the daughters of Mexican migrants from Oaxaca, Guerrero, and Michoacán living in San Diego.

After being shown in Tijuana, the project appeared at a museum in Oaxaca. In 2024, seven photos from the series will be displayed at the San Diego International Airport.

The post 4 Artists Shaping Tijuana’s Art Scene appeared first on San Diego Magazine.

Krasne began remodeling her 1970s craftsman into the dynamic, contemporary space it is today with the help of local architect Aaron Anderson nearly 15 years ago. “We started with this custom gate, actually,” Anderson says, pointing to a large, suspended steel-and-glass opening at the entrance of the Krasne residence.

Past the gate, guests step into the front courtyard that serves as an outdoor dining room. Beneath a custom steel canopy filtering sunlight into the space—an effect inspired by the oak trees of San Diego County—sits a grand stainless-steel communal table topped with zebra quartzite stone. Along the north wall, a smoky gray mirror magnifies the space.

The intimate courtyard brings the outdoors in, while the architecture and design of the house spill outwards.

“Both Karen and I grew up in San Diego, so the house is heavily influenced by that sort of outdoor living,” Anderson says. “But the interesting thing about Karen is her travels. What she does, as a chef, is heavily influenced by her international travel, so we also brought all that influence into the house. It’s anchored in San Diego, but it has all kinds of international flourishes.”

The south wall of the courtyard is a striking cement fiberboard privacy screen that’s been pierced with an intricate design. “The very first day I met Karen, she brought these Moroccan lanterns she bought on a trip to Marrakech into my office and she said she wanted the front part of the house to be about these,” Anderson remembers. “I had [the lanterns] on my desk, and we just thought about unrolling them and cutting out the design onto a piece of slim fiberboard. The piece is backlit so, at night, this side glows just like a lantern does.”

The old-world, international influences don’t stop in the courtyard. Inside the home, Krasne’s love of traveling is reflected in every room. A hand-carved wooden Moroccan cabinet has been repurposed into a bathroom door. Ornate candle holders from Bali adorn the master bathroom countertop. And in the living room—which expands into a second, bamboo-flanked courtyard through massive stacking glass doors—a feature wall was inspired by traditional azulejos tile Krasne once saw in Spain.

“We tried to take all these different influences—Morocco, Bali, and Paris, where Karen went to culinary school—and balance them with the edgier, modern stuff,” Anderson says. “It’s really hard to take a craftsman house and modernize it without it looking terrible, so I think one thing we all did well was elevating it without overtaking it.”

The kitchen, where Krasne spends most of her time while she’s at home, was renovated last. A large island topped with a Japanese-inspired lithograph on natural quartz sits in the middle of the sunlit room, nearly always covered in a food spread for Krasne’s family and friends. Floor-to-ceiling, built-in cabinetry is coated with a self-healing gray Fenix laminate, giving the space a calming atmosphere.

“Those,” Kranse says, gesturing to ornate, art-deco chandeliers hanging over the kitchen table, “are from an old opera house in Austria. I had them sprayed silver to match the sconces, which all came from the same opera house. I also wanted to bring in French Champagne buckets—I really wanted the space to be about us drinking wine and entertaining.”

The Champagne buckets line a shelf hung above built-in lounge seating. Next to the lounge is an in-wall desk with a stack of her favorite cookbooks on display. There, Krasne researches and experiments with new recipes.

“I have a huge office at my restaurant, but I can’t think straight there,” Krasne says. “You feel the frenetic energy, you hear the tamping of the espresso machine and the phones ringing.” It’s here, in this calming, creative space (and in her personal gym downstairs), that Krasne finds inspiration.

As we exit Krasne’s kitchen and step back out into the front courtyard, she jokes with Anderson that she recently came up with a landscaping idea for the front entrance while on a trip to Puerto Vallarta with her husband.

“I know, with Karen, there’s actually a good chance that it’ll happen,” Anderson laughs. “Karen knows more about construction and putting a house together than any other client I’ve ever worked with. We actually get to a detailed level of thought and design. That’s super rare.”

The post Home Tour: The Sweetest Mission Hills Oasis appeared first on San Diego Magazine.

Our city’s companies have innovated and disrupted their way to the top in all kinds of sectors, some that are no-brainers (SD is, after all, biotech’s ground zero) and others that may take you by surprise (turns out sweat-proof sleepwear is in high demand). Here are some big ideas powering industry in San Diego.

Illumina

DNA is the Rosetta Stone of us, and untangling it is a massive industry. Launched in 1998, Illumina is a leader in plug-and-play gene-sequencing tech, with products that help researchers fight cancer and find faster answers for disease. Breakthroughs like “semiconductor sequencing” are complicated stuff, but important. And lucrative.

TaylorMade

In 1979, Gary Adams created a golf club called the Pittsburgh Persimmon—the first golf driver with a head made of stainless steel instead of wood. (Pittsburgh is the city of steel, and persimmon is the wood old-timey golf clubs were made of.) It radically altered the game. Drives went farther, players felt mightier, scores got better, and TaylorMade became a household name.

Veyo

Each year, about 3.6 million people in the US miss doctor’s appointments because they can’t get a ride. A lift in an ambulance costs about $2,800 in San Diego. Veyo decided to apply the Uber model to non-emergency medical transportation, charging a dollar a ride. Their drivers get trained in CPR, HIPAA guidelines, and ADA requirements. Acquired by MTM in 2022, the company has a new HQ in La Jolla Square.

ClickUp San Diego

Business runs on collaboration. Digital collaboration. But we still have a natural fear of tech, so the software’s gotta be dynamic, efficient, and incredibly easy to use for borderline Luddites (thus why Canva is a $40 billion company). The ultimate no-brainer productivity and collaboration software has been one of the holy grails of the digital age, and San Diego’s ClickUp is a frontrunner. Since 2017, more than 300 massive global companies (including our very own Padres) have swooned over their teamsy flow.

Upper Deck

Started in 1988 by three friends (including a former equipment manager for the LA Rams), Upper Deck premium-ized the trading card experience. Compared to baseball cards of the ’70s and ’80s, theirs used higher-quality card stock with incredibly crisp photos that seemed almost 3D (their “diamond-cut” technology). They were also the first to patent an autograph-authentication process (forgeries are big, bad business). Upper Deck won the MLB contract in 1989, the NFL in 1990, the rest after that. They built a massive house of cards in Carlsbad, then expanded into games and experiences. Time to raid grandpa’s attic for any unopened packs.

Carvin Corporation

A good amount of America’s electric guitars are made by a family in Carmel Mountain Ranch. Lowell Kiesel created Carvin in 1946, and now the third gen of Kiesels runs it, expanding into audio gear like amps, pedals, and in-ear monitors (the tech that lets musicians hear themselves on stage). Weirdo rock legend Frank Zappa (a San Diego kid who attended Grossmont College and Mission Bay High) used Carvins. A decade ago, the family launched a spinoff, Kiesel Guitars.

Knockaround

Luxury sunnies brands go for high markups, when, in reality, almost all sunglasses—department store or liquor store—are made from the same plastic in the same warehouse. Adam “Ace” Moyer called BS on that arbitrary profit margin, launching Knockaround Sunglasses in 2005 with an eye for creativity, authenticity, and, most importantly, affordability. What they lost on markup, they gained in sheer sales. Knockaround is about to truly take off after recently inking deals with both the NFL and NHL.

Abcepta

Ask the layest of laypeople what industries San Diego is known for, and they’ll say “biotech.” It’s our big deal. One of the main raw materials for biotech is antibodies. Abcepta is one of the country’s leading
developers of antibodies for drug development and academic labs. They focus on major research areas, including cancer, metabolic disorders, cardiovascular health, neuroscience, and stem cell therapies.

Reef

Argentine brothers Fernando and Santiago Aguerre founded their casual sandal company in 1984, focusing primarily on surf culture. They sold to Rockport in 2018 (for a reported $139 million), and, since then, the Carlsbad-based company has taken off by broadening product lines to include shoes, slippers, and the like. Keep an eye on their Encinitas store, which is the start of a massive retail expansion.

AleSmith Brewing Company

AleSmith Brewing Company makes great beer, but so do a lot of brewers. Arguably, the big move that cemented them in the San Diego market came in 2014 with their Pale Ale .394. A collaboration with
the family of late Padres legend Tony Gwynn, the beer is named after his highest batting average. A
portion of proceeds go to the Tony and Alicia Gwynn Foundation.

Salty Crew

Ocean-centric culture has sustained many San Diego brands through the years, from Rusty and Matuse to Saint Archer Brewing (RIP). Salty Crew was started in 2014 by brothers Jared and Hayden Lane and their friends Milo Myers and CJ Hobgood (a pro surfer). Their t-shirts are in seemingly every surf shop and on every back now. Their goal was to get kids into the water—“Salty” stands for “salvaging a lifestyle for tomorrow’s youth.” Australian surf and skate firm Globe International now owns 50 percent.

Cool-jams

What if there was no cool side of the pillow because both sides stayed chilly? Anita Mahaffey’s deep struggle with sleep motivated her to establish Cool-jams in 2007. Humans sweat when we slumber. Her pillows and sleepwear are made of an innovative microfiber fabric that pulls that moisture away from the skin, disperses it faster across a greater surface, and conducts airflow for evaporation, equaling sweet dreams and dreamy profits.

COOLA Suncare

Chris Birchy was a beach bum bartender, professional painter, branding agency creative, and highly successful online gambler. Then he started toying with the idea for an organic, sustainable sunscreen. When both his parents were diagnosed with skin cancer, it became a calling. He created COOLA Suncare in his garage in 2007, replacing potentially harmful ingredients (like parabens) with plant cells. COOLA now has a massive facility in Oceanside.

The post 13 Companies Powering Industry in San Diego appeared first on San Diego Magazine.

Enter Talitha Coffee Roasters in East Village. Talitha is the manifestation of founder Jenny Barber’s lifelong mission to make a difference in the lives of those impacted by sex trafficking. Each cup and bean contributes to the cause.

A survivor of childhood exploitation herself, the mother of six understands firsthand how sparking hope is a crucial stepping stone to bringing survivors out of dark spaces. She and her husband, Robert, first began with advocacy and outreach programs in red-light districts around the country. But after discovering Robert’s innate talent for roasting coffee using only a popcorn popper on their stovetop, the pair decided to sell their beans to fund their efforts.

They acquired long-standing local roaster Cafe Virtuoso and rebranded to align with their cause. Then Jenny realized she could go a step further by providing employment opportunities. “So many [survivors] would end up back on the streets because they were facing barriers of reentry, such as education, vocational training, and, sometimes, criminal records,” she says. “It felt like the odds were stacked against them.”

So the Barbers set out to offer survivors jobs through the Talitha Survivor Care Network, which provides support and resources to help survivors restabilize their lives. In 2021, forced commercial sexual exploitation affected an estimated 6.3 million people worldwide, according to studies cited by the US State Department.

The name Talitha stems from the Aramaic talitha koum, meaning, “Maiden, arise.” This phrase is a reference to the story of a girl moving from death back to life. Jenny feels it symbolizes the experience of many trafficking survivors.

“Our ultimate heroes are the survivors. They take that big step and reclaim the power to write their story, so we’re celebrating that,” Jenny says. “The dream is way beyond just working for Talitha.” Since its founding, the company has employed four survivors and is partnering with other recovery organizations to continue to grow this number.

Talitha recently launched their e-commerce site, where they sell direct to consumers by the bag or by subscription, as well as wholesale to larger companies. The company is gearing up to go nationwide within the next year.

“Growth is not just about numbers, but realizing that, as we grow, we’re able to bring a greater impact,” Jenny says.

The post Talitha Coffee Brews Hope for Survivors of Sex Trafficking appeared first on San Diego Magazine.

Shannon found her passion for vending treats at Hillcrest shop Candy Depot, where she was a sales associate for three years. She departed Candy Depot to launch a mobile candy business with her wife, Melissa Dove, slinging sweets at Pride events and music festivals—then the pandemic struck.

But as stores started to open back up, the Doves received a call from the owners of Candy
Depot, who told them that they’d decided to pivot their careers. “[They said,] ‘Would you be willing to take over a brick-and-mortar?’” Shannon recalls. “I turned to Melissa and I said, ‘Is it absolutely irrational and impulsive right now to just say yes?’”

“I said, ‘F- no,’” Melissa chimes in. “‘This is our dream knocking on the door.’”

The couple became the first LGBTQ owners of the 27-year-old Candy Depot in 2020, eventually renaming it The Candy Pushers and moving to a larger location on University Avenue.

Beyond treating sweet tooths, the couple aims to provide a sober, LGBTQ-friendly space in a bar-heavy gay scene. They host game nights, comedy shows, open mics. “Having something for [LGBTQ youth] to do in Hillcrest is so important,” Shannon says. “They can be around other gay people and see that it’s going to be okay, that there’s a community for them.”

The post The Sweetest Sober Sanctuary for LGBTQ Youth in Hillcrest appeared first on San Diego Magazine.

Aiming to avoid potentially harmful additives, Sativa began crafting her own personal care products—and started feeling better. She shared her creations with family and friends, making more and more stuff until “her house started feeling like a warehouse,” remembers her sister Martiza Murray.

Sativa tapped Maritza and their sister Kaya Murray-Banks to help transform the fruits of her personal health journey into a business, and the trio launched their company at Balboa Park’s EarthFair in 2017, calling themselves Dirt Don’t Hurt in a playful nod to their merchandise’s natural origins.

They focus almost solely on one whammy ingredient: activated charcoal. Their roster of charcoal-based goods includes a face mask, body soap, and tooth powder, a clay-and herb-boosted alternative to
traditional pastes.

Dirt Don’t Hurt products are available at local farmers markets, SD and NorCal Whole Foods stores, and boutiques around the country. They recently signed a massive deal with Hyatt to distribute their brand’s earth-friendly wooden toothbrushes in hotels throughout SoCal. And, as recent graduates of Dr. Bronner’s small business mentoring program, they’re poised to expand to more large retailers.

With seven children between them, the sisters hope to leave behind a thriving business for their little ones. “We often talk about them working for the company,” Maritza says. “We’re creating generational wealth.”

The post How Three Sisters Transformed a Medical Diagnosis Into a Skincare Brand appeared first on San Diego Magazine.

Bitchin’ Sauce comes in more than 20 rotating flavors—from a spicy chipotle (Edwards’ favorite) to a Thai-inspired panang and sweet stuff like apple pie and salted caramel—but the same almond base forms the core of each. They’ve mastered the art of doing one thing really, really well. It’s a move that’s clearly paid off, considering that, according to Edwards, the company now hauls in about $50 million in annual revenue.

Of course, that’s not to say they don’t bring strong, health- and family-focused convictions to the table, values rooted in Edwards’ self-described “hippie” upbringing in Oregon. She invented the recipe that would become the original Bitchin’ Sauce as a teenager, blending together staple ingredients in her family’s raw, vegan household. She was tossing nutritional yeast into liquid aminos at a time when much of America was still fearful of Boca Burgers.

After Edwards and her husband, Luke, married and had the first of their five kids here in San Diego, she carted her childhood snack to local farmers markets, offering samples as a way to promote a fledgling personal chef business. “But I could see even from that first market that [selling the sauce] had so, so much potential. People loved this one product,” she recalls.

They expanded to more markets, calling in friends and family to help produce, package, and vend Bitchin’ Sauce all over San Diego. At their peak, they were slinging sauce at 26 markets. The couple decided to bring their products to stores in 2011. It’s now available at major shops nationwide, including Walmart, Target, and Costco. “I remember selling 30 tubs of sauce at the farmers market and being so shocked,” Edwards says. Today, she adds, the brand sells about 30 tubs a minute.

Every Bitchin’ Sauce flavor is vegan and gluten-and soy-free, and several varieties are 100 percent organic. Their SD headquarters offers employees paid time to volunteer with partner orgs and free, onsite childcare, saving the company’s team a combined total of more than $1.5 million in daycare costs.

The success of their company has allowed the couple to invest in other passions. They formed a record label, Bitchin’ Music Group, in 2020, inspired by Luke’s other career as a touring musician.

The company recently launched in Canada, Mexico, Korea, and Australia. Edwards is curious how the product will be received abroad. “These really are American ingredients. The US is the number-one producer of almonds. We have citrus, garlic, everything right down the road from our headquarters,” she muses. “I’m excited to see how it works on a global level. Is this something everyone’s gonna be excited about? Is this gonna be a world- domination situation?”

If so, they might have to change their identity to the International Dip.

The post The Woman Behind Bitchin’ Sauce’s Dripping Success appeared first on San Diego Magazine.

San Diego Magazine’s annual Celebrating Women awards gala returns with a new vibe, including a summit featuring panel discussions, educational experiences, personal development activities, networking opportunities, art integrations, local women-owned retail pop-up shops, tasty bites, and plentiful drinks.

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Artists of all stripes will gather at the Convention Center for Art San Diego, the region’s longest- running art fair. Expect to see exhibits from local talents, as well as the works of artists from across the globe. The four winners of the San Diego Art Prize, an annual award by the San Diego Visual Arts Network in recognition of outstanding artistic expression in our cross-border region, will show their work at the event.

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San Diego and Baja’s finest food people appear at the 19th San Diego Bay Wine & Food Festival for a feast of multicultural flavors and pours. The festival features more than 800 different wines and spirits and brings together trailblazing chefs such as Roberto Alcocer (Malva, Valle) and Travis Swikard (Callie). Curated dining ops, educational talks, hands-on experiences, and the annual Grand Decant, Grand Tasting, and Grand Fiesta events are all on the menu.

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Kona Kai’s Sails and Ales Beer Fest is back for the third year, uniting 35 local breweries, plus SD distilleries and wineries. Enjoy the gorgeous San Diego sunset with a beer in hand and your meal of choice, including BBQ pork skewers, Asian- inspired spicy chicken wings, churros with Mexican chocolate, and more. A portion of proceeds from the 21+ event will be donated to the Seal Family Foundation.

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Honor the United States’ armed forces at the first-ever East Village SALUTES! Held at the entrance of Park 12 Luxury Apartments, the free happening features vendor booths from veteran-owned businesses, live musical performances from San Diego Marine Band’s Jazz Ensemble, and activities for the entire fam.

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Swap your beachside sandals out for a pair of crisp white ice skates at the Rady Children’s Ice Rink at Liberty Station. It’s the perfect date idea, friend group outing, or solo activity for the chillier months ahead. Since we all know winter doesn’t truly exist in San Diego, this ice is the closest thing we’ll get to snowfall. Plus, proceeds benefit families battling childhood cancer.

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The twinkling lights of Lightscape are brightening up the San Diego Botanic Garden, melding music, fire, and color with local and global flora. The one-of-a-kind experience through January 1, 2024 takes you down a mile-long path illuminated by custom installations and other shiny surprises.

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Namaste your way to the Rady Shell at 9:30 a.m. to start the day with a free yoga class from Fit Athletic Club. Viktoria Talbot leads the hour-long flow for attendees. Parking and space are available on a first-come, first-served basis, so make sure not to hit snooze.

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Burn off the calories you’re about to gobble on Thanksgiving Day and help promote student health and fitness at the O’side Turkey Trot. Choose between a 5-mile or 5K course and join fellow trotters from 46 states along the scenic Coast Highway to raise funds for the Move Your Feet Before You Eat! Foundation.

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The magic of the holiday season begins at Liberty Station’s annual tree lighting ceremony, where a bigger-than-life, 88-foot Norfolk pine tree will shine, accompanied by live entertainment, festive fire truck rides, free photo ops with Santa, and a holiday movie screening under the stars. The fun starts at 5 p.m.

The post San Diego Events Calendar: November 2023 appeared first on San Diego Magazine.

Deep underneath the San Diego Natural History Museum lives a collection like none other: nearly 80,000 reptiles under dim basement lights, all of them suspended in liquid within jars large and small, peering dead-eyed into the semi-darkness. Lizards by the hundreds, turtles by the dozen. Frogs, iguanas, crocodiles, axolotls, and even rare limbless amphibians called caecilians.

But it’s the rattlesnakes that make this place truly special.

“This is the largest rattlesnake collection in the world,” Adam Clause tells me. He’s the collection manager down here in the herpetology department. He’s the one you talk to if you want to come study one of these shaky-tailed biblical misfits.

“We have just under 10,000 rattlesnakes,” he says. “We’re larger than the next three biggest collections combined.”

It’s an overwhelming slew of serpents. Towering shelves are packed with western diamondbacks, sidewinders, and the deadliest rattlesnake of all: the Mojave green. Each jar-dwelling snake possesses unique information scientists might access for generations to come. The oldest snake here dates back to 1891. That’s more than 130 years of hiss-story.

“The collection really is like a real-life time machine,” Clause says. Many specimens have dwelt here for decades. “You can see what its parasites are like, what it was eating. That’s a really special thing.”

And while museum admission won’t get you down here, this is technically a public collection.

“If someone has an amateur interest in rattlesnakes, they are welcome to use our collection,” Clause says—meaning that you don’t need university affiliation or a fancy research grant to check out the reptiles.

“We’re basically what a library is to the general public,” he continues. “But unlike a library, where every book has multiple copies, every specimen in our collection is unique, so it’s like a super library.”

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