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With ambitious zero-proof drinks and a game-changing Spanish French toast, the Leucadia restaurant is the secret and sober star of SD's daytime food scene
The girl who greets you at Atelier Manna is staring through you. I mean, probably. Hard to tell, since she’s wearing a blindfold, with mandalas painted where her eyes would be. This oracle kid doesn’t need eyes to see the universe in its entirety. She’s wearing a crown that appears at least partially made of cilantro. Hovering above her outstretched hands is an anatomically correct heart. Maybe it’s her own, which she’s offering as a vulnerable gesture of goodwill and hospitality. Or it’s some other person’s that this eerie kid separated from their previously alive body.
Crapshoot either way.
I don’t know anything about this art piece and I don’t want to. Art is whatever the seer is seeing. And personally, I see the story of Manna and chef-owner Andrew Bachelier. The youth represents an unfatigued optimism, maybe less sophisticated but also more pure (just like Manna’s kitchen, which is about one square foot, and the chefs’ tools are glorified camping gear, tasting spoons, and a healthy dose of F-it).

The blindfold represents the “see with your gut” risk Bachelier took when he left Carlsbad’s Jeune et Jolie, the kind of restaurant he’d worked his whole life to helm (it’s partially named after his daughter, and it would win a Michelin star a year after his departure, a nod he no doubt deserves partial credit for). And the heart is why he stepped away from a career apex—to be with his three daughters and wife during the pandemic.
Manna is Bachelier’s return, and it is a hell of a return. It’s less a restaurant than a very lovely porch on the side of Highway 101 in Leucadia. A nothing-but-brunch alcove that feels like the restaurant version of glamping. Bachelier and his wife designed the whole thing using materials from restaurants whose time on this earth has passed. Estate-sale chic, with some paint splotches on one wall. (“We just started throwing paint at it after a couple beers one night,” chef says.)
This is a brunch restaurant without booze, which feels about as natural as a sober cruise ship or doing body shots of gingko biloba in the rave tent. Day-drinking and general enthusiasm for excess is the coin of the brunch realm. The brunch industry is irresponsibility as a group project—a social stiff-arm to household chores, magically turning to-dos into to-don’ts.

Email an investor your idea for a nonalcoholic brunch restaurant, and any self-respecting spam filter would intervene on behalf of that person’s money. And yet, there is seemingly always a line at Manna. Because of the food. Like their albacore tostada—raw cubes of line-caught tuna, marinated like a traditional poke (white soy, sesame oil), then criss-crossed with jalapeño crema (fermented for 14 days, emulsified with avocado and cilantro) and pickled Hungarian pepper sauce. Looks like a pack of Fruit Stripe gum, tastes like you’re making quality life decisions.
Back to the drinks, because I have misled you into thinking the beverages here were somehow fraudulent sans alcohol’s benevolent toxicity. Without the breakfast charms of Champagne, they have created one of the most ambitious zero-proof drink rosters in the city.
On their “vitality tonic” menu, the “Bronze” is coffee from Carlsbad roaster Steady State with five-spice, fenugreek (it’s like nature’s bitters), and lemon, clarified with milk and poured over a single giant ice cube. Give it a few minutes to dilute (it’s a tad thick on the pour), and it’s one of the better iced coffee riffs around.

They also have three wellness shots. To make their fire cider, they treat organic apple cider vinegar like a whiskey, aging and fermenting it for a month. Then it’s steeped with alliums (which, according to the National Institutes of Health, have “antioxidant, anticancer, hypolipidemic, anti-diabetic, cardioprotective, neuroprotective, and antimicrobial activities”), lavender, rosemary, jalapeño, clover sprout, and honey.
Drinking hippie bartender vinegar is the new Frenet. The server warns me it’s intense, and he’s right, but it’s also delicious, and, placebo or not, I can feel recent iniquities leave my body.
Light jazz plays on the overhead speakers. My server (who was with Bachelier at Jeune et Jolie, as a few other members of the team were) is wearing a Panama hat, and his beard is so wild he will one day not have to shave it, but clear-cut it. The couple next to me are wearing Lycra. Not the Kardashian kind, the bicycle kind.
North County’s biking scene is very, very serious, and so Manna may one day become the first Michelin-starred restaurant where the dress code is shorts with crotch pads and sheeny shirts with so many logos the diners look like NASCAR drivers.

They serve a çilbir, which you don’t see often. It’s a Turkish specialty whose magic is spiced butter (much like Ethiopian niter kibbeh). Poached eggs come atop herbed yogurt, a pile of torn herbs, and that sassy butter. Mix it all up and use the Prager Brothers toast as your edible utensil.
Their beef tartare gets an Asian spin, with black garlic, Asian pear, and nori combining for a deeply rich, lightly sweet-spicy note next to the natural sauce of a quail egg.
Humble porridge is getting velvet-roped in San Diego right now. Kingfisher’s killer congee has been one of the city’s must-try dishes for a couple years now. And Manna’s bowl of beautiful grain sludge is a knockout—toasted buckwheat cooked in mushroom stock, then served with foraged mushrooms, deeply caramelized brown miso, seared Hokkaido scallops, an egg yolk, and herbed cheese. Putting sautéed mushrooms with miso is almost unfair; the only thing that could unlock more flavor is if you braised the whole dish in a slurry of truffles and MSG. It eats like a risotto-paella.

Of course, no brunch is complete without a couple dishes that spike your insulin, and Manna’s star is the torrija—Spanish French toast. It’s a two- to three-day process. They start by making a butterscotch custard, then they cut huge chunks of sourdough, pipe that custard into the bread, and let it set for at least a day so that it’s not too mushy. It’s served with hunks of applewood-smoked bacon in maple syrup. Cut through, and the inside is like a butterscotch tres leches.
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Bachelier’s arrival is smelling salts for Leucadia’s food culture, and Manna’s just the start. Soon, if various gods and city regulatory boards finally deign to offer their blessing, he’ll be opening the fried chicken sandwich concept Chick & Hawk with local icon Tony Hawk (who is secretly one of the biggest restaurateurs in the city).
If my napkin math is correct, that will be the economic driver that will allow Bachelier and his crew to do something truly irresponsible and open a Michelin-star-gobbling dinner thing. I’ll Lycra up and go on that ride.




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.
We ask the city's best food photographers to choose their favorite pics and share their secrets to capturing a drool-worthy pic
Food is a notorious diva to photograph. The wrong lighting can make José Andrés’ paella look like a jaundiced grain bowl. You could be staring at the best sandwich of your life, but shoot it from above and—hey, congrats on that abandoned piece of lettuce bread. A cottage meme industry has been built around the hilariously bad photos on review sites that make Michelin-star food look like Michelin tires.
Especially in a visual modern media world, food culture depends on great photographers capturing the painstaking work in equally deserving ways. We asked four of San Diego’s top food photographers for their favorite shot from another year of documenting what we eat.

Getting this kind of shot takes a bit of yoga. Asana yourself into the corner, hold your breath, pray that a chef on the move doesn’t back into your light stand.
“You’re stepping into someone’s workspace during their busiest moments, so it’s a balance of being present to get the shot and being invisible to not slow anything down,” Kimberly Motos says.
The subject here is the Birdman sandwich from Chick & Hawk—hot fried chicken thigh, tangy slaw, kimchi comeback sauce, sweet and spicy pickles, potato brioche bun—getting a hearty dousing of its difference-maker seasoning. Motos captures the parts of the process that diners don’t usually see: the chaos behind something that looks so simple.

“I love this image because it feels like a moment you want to step into,” says Lucianna McIntosh. A warm, sunny day at The Fishery in PB with oysters, caviar, and martinis. Yes, please.
The little details—the glass sweating a little, the direct afternoon light creating stark shadows, the oyster glistening on the tray—are the main characters. Instead of trying to overly control the setup, McIntosh “followed the light and lines that draw you in more,” she says. “This was one of those moments where everything lined up on its own for a second. I love it when the shadows end up being just as important as the food itself.”

La Jolla native Eric Wolfinger—who won a James Beard Award for Tartine Bread, one of the most stunning bread books of all time—says he doesn’t have a signature style. His style is a conduit.
“I see my job is to translate the chef’s point of view into something you can feel,” he says.
For this shot, Fleurette chef Travis Swikard had one directive: cuisine du soleil (“cuisine of the sun”). With a spread of leeks vinaigrette, herb-roasted golden chicken, and beets, Wolfinger wanted to create a scene that felt straight out of the French Riviera, relaying the light, bright style of Swikard’s new spot.
Some bonus additions here: Extra lights—to add lots of warmth—and a clipping from an olive tree.

Timing and light are everything in food photography. In Lucien—La Jolla’s tasting-menu-only restaurant with moody ambiance—a single strobe flash creates the ideal spotlight.
Dee Sandoval says she uses the “natural, just-plated energy” of the dish to “create a portrait of moment and craft.” That’s why this Mostra Ghost Bear espresso ice cream—with San José dark chocolate mousse, soy-miso caramel, and koji shoyu chocolate sauce—looks like it might dissolve halfway to your mouth.
Emma Veidt is an editor at San Diego Magazine. She earned her bachelor's and master's degrees from the Missouri School of Journalism. She loves running, hiking, and rock climbing, but really, she mostly loves encounters with the street cats around North Park.
Spruce up your home bar setup with product recommendations from local cocktail aficionado and Collins & Coupe owner Gary McIntire
I peel myself off my couch, crack my back, and force myself to the bar (23 years old, by the way). It’s a Friday night, and my smart watch is already informing me my body battery is critically low.
Nevertheless, party we must.
Because, to be fair, one of the best things about going out—dive bar, velvet-clad cocktail lounge, or anywhere in between—is the performance of it all. Watching a bartender shake and stir like it’s choreography, finishing the drink with a sprig or petal placed just so, feeling like your collection of mixers and spirits is worth pouring into the Holy Grail.
One of the worst things about going out, though? Being out.
So I thank God for the home bar.
No lines, no cover, no shouting your order over someone named Kyle who just discovered the AMF. No $19 cocktails that taste suspiciously like juice. Just me, my apartment (where I can play whatever music I want), and the quiet confidence of knowing I can make something decent without putting on real pants.
A home bar, I’ve learned, doesn’t have to be impressive. It just has to be intentional—a few bottles you actually like, some tried-and-true tools, and at least one drink you can make without Googling. That’s it. That’s the barrier to entry.
To create the ultimate home bar collection, we tapped the folks at San Diego cocktail supply shop Collins & Coupe to give us some of their recommendations. Pick and choose what you need, and start cocktailing.

You won’t get very far in your cocktail-making-journey without shaker tins. Boston shakers (two pieces, tin-on-tin) and cobbler shakers (three pieces with a strainer and cap) are the most classic styles, but if you want to avoid the tins getting stuck (or creating a mess on the floor), Boston shakers are the way to go.
“Koriko Tins by Cocktail Kingdom are the gold standard for every bar worth their salt. Every new bar we help outfit with tools insists on this brand and model,” says Collins & Coupe co-owner Gary McIntire.
“These are handmade, 100 percent solid copper and will last a lifetime,” McIntire says. “Because they are solid, there is no plated finish to wear off, and they will only look more beautiful with age.”
According to the pros, don’t even bother getting bar spoons shorter than 12 inches. One foot long is the magic length to get the best stirring results: “Rule of thumb is at least 50 percent of the spoon should be out of the glass,” says McIntire.
Sugar Skull Bar Spoon
Cocktail Kingdom Enamel Lucky Cat Bar Spoon
Pulp in your orange juice? We’ll allow it. But in your cocktail? Smooth and strained is optimal. You have two choices here: Hawthorne strainers have a spring that attaches snugly to shaking tins; julep strainers have no tabs or springs (originally created to drink mint juleps before straws became commercially available).
Bull in China Julep Strainer, Brushed Stainless Steel
Barfly Two-prong Heavy Duty Hawthorne Strainer
We’ve all seen those seasoned bartenders with the arm tats and haughty demeanors who can assemble perfect drinks with their eyes shut. The rest of us, however, need training wheels. Jiggers—those hourglass-shaped measuring tools—make consistent cocktail-making easy, although cheap versions tend to be inaccurate. Don’t skimp out on these.

“Heavy-duty and made of one piece,” McIntire says. “We use [this jigger] in our classes and at home. It comes in a bell-shaped version and a Japanese version, which is tall and narrow.”
“Glassware is always essential to the cocktail experience,” says McIntire. The martini glass is an avatar for American hair-loosening for a reason: sleek, viciously “V,” and highly spillable (danger always looks good). To start, look for a coupe glass (the fancy cat bowl-looking thing), a highball (glassware with posture), and a rocks glass (the blue collar hero).
Milo Crystal Rocks Glass by Viski
Savage Coupe by Nude Glassware
Meridian Highball with Gold Rim by Viski
You know how Caesar dressing tastes way better when you don’t think about the fact that there are anchovies in it? The same goes for cocktails and raw egg whites. Some of your favorites rely on the frothy ingredient to shine (whiskey sours, gin fizzes, etc.). Mesh strainers help make that magic happen. According to McIntire, always get the conical version; the round, bowl style could cause spills.
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.
After eight years and numerous awards, the cafe and roastery expands its operations in North County
San Diego’s coffee industry has yet to hit its ceiling. There are at least 850 coffee shops across the county (possibly over 1,000 at this point) and more specialty cafes and roasters seem to join the roster every other week.
Some newcomers, like Chance’s Coffee, focus on specialties like Vietnamese coffee; other stalwarts, like Bird Rock Coffee Roasters, have helped put the local coffee scene on the map with internationally acclaimed beans and baristas for 20 years. You can get a classic pour-over or an ultra, whipped cream–topped strawberry lavender basil blueberry matcha latte sprinkled with unicorn glitter—whatever your coffee style, San Diego’s got it… somewhere.
Steady State Roasting falls more in the former category, focusing on traceable, sustainable sourcing and no-nonsense roasting (no unicorn glitter here, sorry!). Founder and lead roaster Elliot Reinecke first started Steady State in a garage behind his house, roasting small batches until expanding slightly to a shared and not-quite-permitted space before landing in a lucky spot on State Street in Carlsbad.
Now, eight years later, Steady State is scaling up once more, opening its second cafe in San Marcos next to their roastery. The new location offers the same food and drink menu as the original Carlsbad location, and Reinecke says he plans to add an onsite bakery to bake items like English muffins and country loaves to supplement Prager Brothers’ more specialized pastries.
He doesn’t plan on opening more cafes, though. Rather, Reinecke plans to expand roasting operations and strategic sourcing. Currently, he sources beans from Colombia, Panama, across Africa, and as of this year, Costa Rica. “We’ve had Costa Rican coffee before, but we went to origin a few months ago and bought six different lots from there, all from really good high-end local farmers,” he explains.
The rising cost of sourcing does present some challenges, as does changes within coffee culture itself. Coffee has moved from a mass-market beverage to a highly personalized artisanal experience, but the current feeling is moving back towards focusing on quality over flashiness, says Reinecke.
If Reinecke’s prediction is right, coffee is headed on a similar trajectory to craft beer. Ten years ago, no one knew what Citra hops were. Now, even casual beer fans are versed in hop varieties, and that attention to detail is spilling over to coffee as well. How many of San Diego’s 1,000 coffee shops will remain once the unicorn glitter’s luster fades? My bet is on anyone remaining steadfast to sourcing, sustainability, and simplicity.
Steady State San Marcos is now open at 1320 Grand Avenue, Suite #9, San Marcos. Initial operating hours are Tuesday through Saturday, 7 a.m. to 2 p.m.
Listen Now: The Latest in San Diego’s Food and Drink Scene
Have breaking news, exciting scoops, or great stories about new San Diego restaurants or the city’s food scene? Send your pitches to [email protected].
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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.
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.
The team behind Harumama and Blue Ocean will open Little Kiki Katsu & More on June 15, serving premium cutlets, Japanese sandos, and curated sake pairings
Every culture has its own comfort foods—cozy dishes that nurture the soul as much as the body. In the US, dipping a grilled cheese sandwich in a bowl of tomato soup can feel as satiating as pulling a warm sweater out of the dryer. In China, a steaming bowl of congee is basically a miracle remedy for anything you can imagine. I’m pretty sure Italian carbonara could achieve world peace. And in Japan, katsu remains one of the most universally satisfying inventions of the past century.
Katsu was originally invented as a riff on côtelette de veau, the classic French veal cutlet coated with breadcrumbs and pan-fried in butter. In 1899, a Western-style restaurant called Rengatei in Tokyo decided to put their own spin on the dish by pounding the cutlets until thin, then coating them with softer panko and deep-frying versus pan frying (like tempura) for a crispier, lighter, crunchier bite. Today, pork—called tonkatsu in Japanese—tends to be the most common base for katsu.
The dish has yet to achieve the same mainstream status as say, chicken nuggets, in the US. But Little Kiki Katsu & More hopes to change that, when the katsu-focused restaurant opens in Carlsbad on June 15.
Created by the team behind Harumama and Blue Ocean, Little Kiki will focus on premium katsu dishes paired with sake and around a dozen small bites like miso soup, karaage, edamame, and Japanese pickles. Executive chef James Pyo, who co-owns all three restaurants with his wife Jenny, created a menu that features proteins like Berkshire Kurobuta pork, Jidori chicken, salmon, scallops, and dry-aged Pacific cod for the katsu and grilled stone selections. (Note: the grilled stone options will be offered for dinner only.)

The lunch menu includes Japanese-style sandos like a tonkatsu sandwich with pork, housemade bread, and tonkatsu sauce (available regular or spicy). Dessert options are simple to start—yuzu cheesecake, matcha crème brûlée, and mango/yuzu mochi ice cream. The Pyos curated a selection of premium sakes as well, specifically for pairing purposes, as well as offering some beer and cocktails.
Little Kiki, which is named for Jenny’s cat, seats 25-30 guests inside with room for only a few more on the small outdoor patio as well. Designer and assistant Yoojin Jang says the vibe is meant to be warm and welcoming but modern, using colors like olive green, cream, and pops of orange against Japanese-style wood slats.
Initially, Little Kiki will only be open for dinner service, but aims to introduce lunch hours for the grand opening on July 1. Due to the limited seating, Jang encourages guests to make reservations, and while the restaurant will offer takeout, it will not be available on food delivery apps like Uber Eats or DoorDash to motivate guests to come experience it for themselves.
“Come in curious and leave satisfied,” says Jang. And keep your eyes open for subtle cat motifs—she promises they are hidden all over the place. Whimsy, it seems, is also on the menu.
Little KiKi Katsu & More soft opens on June 15, 2026 at 2958 Madison Street, Suite 101 in Carlsbad. Hours are Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Sunday from 11:30 a.m. to 3 p.m. for lunch and 5 p.m. to 9:30 p.m. for dinner; Friday and Saturday from 11:30 a.m. to 3 p.m. for lunch and 5 p.m. to 10 p.m. for dinner; closed Tuesday.

Listen Now: The Latest in San Diego’s Food and Drink Scene
Have breaking news, exciting scoops, or great stories about new San Diego restaurants or the city’s food scene? Send your pitches to [email protected].
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.
Telefèric Barcelona will open its first San Diego location early this summer
Westfield UTC mall is adding yet another “first” to the ever-growing roster of restaurants. The first US location for China’s stir-fry sensation Chef Fei is on the way later this year, Japan already reinvented crispy rice pioneer Katsuya by opening the first Katsuya Ko, and now, it’s Spain’s turn—Telefèric Barcelona opens early this summer.
The family-owned, Barcelona-based tapas joint first opened in the US 10 years ago in Walnut Creek, California, but co-founder and CEO Xavi Padrosa says they’ve had their eye on San Diego for years. Westfield UTC “just clicked,” he says, pointing to the burgeoning collection of world-class eateries already within the mall’s walls. Plus, La Jolla’s breezy vibe echoes Spain’s easygoing tapas culture.
The indoor/outdoor space spans 5,526-square-feet, with seating for 150 inside, 60 on the patio, and 16 more at the bar. Xavi’s sister and co-owner Maria Padrosa designed the Mediterranean-inspired space as a contemporary take on coastal Catalonia, using imported furniture and materials from Spain like hand-glazed tiles and wood accents. And if all the dining spaces are planets, the center of the suite’s universe is the bar.

Padrosa points to signature favorites like patatas bravas (fried potatoes drizzled with a spicy red sauce and house aioli), jamón ibérico de bellota (Spanish ham from free-range pigs raised on acorns, cured for 38 months and sliced to order), gambas al ajillo (garlic shrimp), pulpo Telefèric (octopus with potato purée and pimentón XO, a spicy Spanish/Cantonese fusion sauce), and croquetas (a popular fried tapas dish coated in breadcrumbs and made with béchamel mixed with fillings like jamón or king crab.
There are a very small handful of legit paella spots in San Diego (Costa Brava in Pacific Beach and Cafe Sevilla in Gaslamp Quarter come to mind), so I’m personally looking forward to giving Telefèric’s a go—especially the squid ink paella negra, which is perhaps the most goth paella of all. Every location also offers different weekend specials, La Jolla’s being seafood-driven and meant to pair with beverage director Alex Serena’s drinks. There are over a hundred Spanish wines, Spanish-inspired cocktails, sangria, and of course, plenty of twists on the iconic gin and tonic. The restaurant will also have a gourmet market called The Merkat with imported Spanish sundries.

With more US locations in the works (Newport Beach will open soon after La Jolla), Padrosa says the company hopes to open more across California, but are open to anywhere in the country that feels right. “We don’t know exactly what new cities will appear on our map in the coming years,” he says. But in true Catalan fashion, anywhere they go should be ready for big plates of hearty Spanish cuisine.
Telefèric Barcelona La Jolla opens early summer 2026 in Westfield UTC. Opening hours will be Monday through Thursday, 11:30 a.m. to 10 p.m.; Friday and Saturday, 11:30 a.m. to 11 p.m.; and Sunday, 11 a.m. to 10 p.m.

Most of the time, you have to be 18 years old to change your name. In Arcana’s case, it was about a month. The immersive speakeasy behind Archive in Encinitas updated their moniker to Animga (a play on “enigma”) earlier this month, after what one can only assume was an upset letter from a similarly-named business. However, partner Paula Vrakas promises that the concept remains the same—mystery, cocktails, and a forthcoming bottle locker membership club. Since the only constant is change, Anigma is off to a good start!

Listen Now: The Latest in San Diego’s Food and Drink Scene
Have breaking news, exciting scoops, or great stories about new San Diego restaurants or the city’s food scene? Send your pitches to [email protected].
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.
Scripps study shows that some patients may be able to taper their dose and maintain results
While glucagon-like peptide-1 (GLP-1) receptor agents have been used to treat Type 2 diabetes for more than 20 years, their recent emergence as weight-loss wonder drugs marked a new frontier in medicine. But their effectiveness has left some patients wondering what to do once they’ve reached their goal. Stopping the medication could mean regaining some, if not all, of the weight. A Scripps Clinic internal medicine physician recently conducted a small study of whether GLP-1 patients who had reached their goal weight could maintain that weight by taking their regularly prescribed injection every other week instead of weekly. Spoiler alert: 30 of 34 patients did. Read more about the study here and what that may mean as pharmaceutical companies roll out oral GLP-1s.
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