
Featured articles
Food & Drink
Food & Drink
Food & Drink
Featured articles
Things to Do
Arts & Culture
Everything SD
Featured articles
Things to Do
Things to Do
Things to Do
Featured articles
podcast-ep
podcast-ep
podcast-ep
Featured articles
Food & Drink
Everything SD
Everything SD
Featured articles
Food & Drink
Things to Do
Arts & Culture
Ready to know more about San Diego?
SubscribeReady to know more about San Diego?
Our guide to San Diego’s taco scene, plus what the city's top chefs order when they’re off the clock
Tacos are San Diego’s lingua franca. The invention of food wrapped in corn tortillas is ballparked at 1000 to 500 BC. The word probably comes from the Nahuatl “tlahco”—meaning “half” or “in the middle”—a food meant to be folded and carried. Portable foods always have a way of sticking around.
San Diego was part of Mexico until the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo in 1848, so tacos didn’t arrive; they remained. After the treaty, they receded into the kitchens of families who stayed behind.
By the early 1900s, US tacos had reached a sad state—mostly ground beef, cheddar cheese, and iceberg lettuce, because Mexican staples like cotija, cilantro, chiles, and freshly pressed tortillas weren’t in grocery stores. In San Diego, that started to change around 1930 in the abode of Petra and Natividad Estudillo, who lived on Logan Avenue in Barrio Logan, the heart of San Diego’s Chicano culture (it’s where many refugees from the Mexican Revolution settled). There, the couple created a teeny tienda, slinging homemade tortillas.
Behind the Estudillos’ counter, reportedly, you could see their living room, lined with furniture and tubs of fresh tortillas. You could tell sales (and tacos) were on the rise, because their décor got increasingly nicer. The couple opened Las Cuatro Milpas next door in 1933. It was the first Mexican restaurant in the city, a taco chapel for over 90 years. Around the same era, Ralph Pesquiera Sr. started pressing tortillas with his parents on India and Grape streets, later serving smaller, corn tortilla versions of flautas for defense workers during WWII. Credited with coining the term “taquito,” he opened El Indio in 1940.
The Bracero Program (1942–64) greatly contributed to taco culture, bringing over four million Mexican men to the US as guest workers, many in San Diego. The kitchens at bracero camps were filled with beans, tortillas, and chiles. The art of making fresh masa started to proliferate, and local grocery stores stocked dried chiles, salsas, and masa harina for their new client base.
San Diego’s taco culture quantum-leapt in 1964, when Roberto and Dolores Robledo, who’d previously owned a Golden Hill restaurant called La Lomita, opened a tortilla factory in San Ysidro. They quickly added a walk-up and drive-through window and called it Roberto’s—the city’s first “modern” taco shop and eventual legend. Two years earlier, up the road in Downey, Glen Bell had launched Taco Bell; by the time he sold it to PepsiCo in 1978, every American grocery store was selling “taco kits” with pre-fried shells, seasoning packets, and jars of salsa. Taco night became a middle-class ritual.
Surfers also deserve a taco nod. In 1983, SDSU student Ralph Rubio finally made good on the recipe gifted to him by a taquero on a San Felipe beach; he opened Rubio’s on Mission Bay Drive, launching the Baja fish taco into the national imagination (Rubio’s IPO hit NASDAQ in 1999).
Two government policies also helped further taco enlightenment. In 1986, the Immigration Reform and Control Act (IRCA) legalized about 2.7 million immigrants, many in SoCal. Green cards and work permits meant access to leases, loans, and licenses. With that stability came confidence—and a wave of Mexican-owned small businesses. The late 1980s and ’90s saw the rise of family-run icons like Lolita’s, Rigoberto’s, and Cotixan. It’s no coincidence that two of San Diego’s proudest food inventions—the California burrito and carne asada fries (often credited to Lolita’s circa the late ’90s)—came onto the scene during this period.
This last point is an unsubstantiated connecting of dots. But Mexico’s a large country full of endless regional taco ideas (Oaxacan cheese, Sinaloan seafood, Texcoco barbacoa). And the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA), signed in 1992, was probably what sprung that deep well of taco ideas. Corporations opened massive operations in border cities like Tijuana, drawing thousands of workers and tacos from every nook.
Which brings us to now. There are 1,700-ish taco shops across the county, and here’s the list of our favorites.

Located in the massive parking lot by an event center and a cannabis dispensary, Mi Gusto Es may just set the bar for the best gobernador (a Sinaloan-style shrimp taco with melted cheese and a flour tortilla—a wonderful thing). Loaded with sautéed peppers, it costs three bucks. Get the spicy shrimp. Always spicy.
Best cow-head joint in the county. It’s tip-to-tail taco eating (with carne asada and quesadillas as safety valves). Lots of taco shops will do lengua (tongue) and cabeza (head meat), but De Cabeza adds delicacies like buche (pork stomach), tripe, sweetbread, blood sausage, and chapulines (citrusy-salty grasshopper snacks). You can get a whole head for a group. It’s a bonus that De Cabeza looks designed by someone with a great record collection (and yet the tacos are still $3 apiece).
Tripe is a bit like a working man’s sweetbread or rancher calamari: intestines boiled into submission, then grilled or fried. The result is a sort of crispy-outside, tender-silky-inside alt-protein. Food texture ASMR. El Panson is the tripa specialist. Get the mixed taco with carnitas and tripe in thick, handmade tortillas.

Oh, those pulpo tacos. When the 2008 recession hit, the Jazo family lowered the price on their Baja-style fish tacos to 99 cents. A massive line of families gathered in the parking lot to commune and commiserate. People remember the food that brings joy to a joyless stretch. The prices have normalized now, and the tacos are worth every penny. Get the smoked tuna fries, too, and a tamarind margarita.
Three brothers run this arty taco spot, adorned with picnic tables and black-and-white photography and festive knicknacks and a laundry line of t-shirts hung below the high ceilings. Get the chile relleno taco and the “Costa Azul” (bacon-wrapped shrimp with avocado and chipotle aioli). Strong michelada game.
This long-iconic mariscos food truck has been a fixture on a street corner in Mission Valley since 1983, but the owners also have a shop downtown. It’s all about the shrimp and fish tacos. The OG has lightly battered fish, cabbage, pico, and aioli, plus a gratis cup of consommé.
San Diego is one of the most stringently anti-chain cities in the US, but even NIMBY food grumps love this plant-based, Vegas-born concept. It’s a taco house of seitan, Beyond beef, Gardein chicken, jackfruit, potatoes, and beans. Get the Baja taco: beer-battered avocado with cilantro-lime dressing, slaw, guac, pico, and chili mayo. Parking sucks, but a glorious horchata waits inside, so hunt and peck with your Prius.

Every morning, a hungry crowd gathers in the parking lot of a building in an alley that looks designed for tax accounting. In the mid-2000s, the Fernandez brothers borrowed a friend’s food truck and parked it here, selling their mom’s recipe for birria. They owe mom flowers and maybe a car. Absolutely won the birria wars. Jorge Fernandez has turned it into a birriapalooza: birria chilaquiles, a torta ahogada soaked in broth (San Diego’s version of a French dip), birria ramen.
Here’s why there’s always a line at this place: Chef Enrique Olveras’ Mexico City restaurant Pujol has been named one of the best on the planet by almost every serious food entity. And for 10 years, his right-hand chef was Pancho Ibáñez—who’s now the culinary director for Showa Hospitality, which owns The Taco Stand. So, the second-in-charge chef from the world’s greatest restaurant is overseeing the marinade for those al pastor tacos and recipe-developing the chipotle sauce for those beer-battered fish tacos.
Started in 1972, this Tijuana icon is one of the first transplants from taco city to also conquer San Diego (it got here in 1998). The key is the trompo—adobada stacked on a vertical spit, slowly turning so that the fat constantly bastes the meat, like shawarma (the style is often credited to Lebanese immigrants in Puebla, Mexico). The adobada is TEG’s legend, but the lengua (beef tongue) is lowkey better.
The star is adobada—pork shoulder marinated in chiles, garlic, onion, cumin, and a touch of citrus until the meat is tender and as red as a New Mexico national park. Lines here are divided by meat, and TJ Tacos doesn’t serve chicken. It’s often compared to Tacos El Gordo (it was created by a former TEG manager and chef ). Get that adobada, and use the addictive, radioactive-green avocado sauce.

Getting into the “give a damn how it got to the plate” side of eating, Wet Tacos uses certified 100 percent grassfed halal beef for its birria in the Logan Heights/Grant Hill area. Try the garlic butter shrimp tacos and surf-and-turf birriadillas, too. The food truck sets up shop at The Soap Factory, which is one of the most compelling creative spaces in the city.
At the location in Point Loma, it feels like someone fully enclosed a front patio as a shaded taco hut near a fishing village. The reason why La Perla’s burritos are revered is that carne asada, and it’s equally good in taco form.
When Juan Bernardo Montes de Oca launched Oscars in 2011, smoked fish was more of a fancy-pants restaurant thing. By bringing it to the affordable taco gentry, the Tijuana native struck a cord and lines snaked around the corner. Get the taco especial with smoked fish, shrimp, and scallops—the holy trinity of mariscos.
Birria is a war story. When the Spanish colonized Mexico in the 1500s, they brought goats. Goats can survive many apocalypses, eat pretty much anything, and reproduce at a Philip Rivers rate. This gang of goats decimated locals’ crops. So, what do you do when you find a Spanish pest eating your family’s food? You slow-cook that bleaty twerp in delicious herbs and spices and create a national food treasure. That’s why many consider chivo (goat) to be the OB (original birria). Birrieria Y Menuderia Guadalajara is one of the few in the city to do it, and it’s gamey and delicious.

San-Diego-born-and-raised Pablo Becker had helped his cousin (famed Mexican chef Richard Sandoval) open Michelin-y restaurants across the country. During a hard personal stretch, he decamped to Chicago and spent five head-down years as a cook, falling in love with the line. He came home to open this fish taco joint in Barrio Logan using sustainable, local fish. He helms the plancha daily, and his blackened swordfish-belly taco with jalapeño slaw and spicy aioli is one of the city’s best.
El Viejón is what happens when two locals—Luis and Angelica Gonzalez—learn the biz (they own Lupe’s Mexican Eatery and Holy Paleta) and stitch all their best notes for a fully baked concept. El Viejón is their fast-casual mariscos concept in Convoy, Otay Ranch, and Mira Mesa. The namesake taco is a thick-ish, browned flour tortilla packed like a clown car with smoked tuna, shrimp, octopus, cabbage, cilantro, fried onions, and crema. The red sauce here is a religion-starter.
San Diegans rave about this spot next to Belching Beaver Brewery’s tasting room in North Park. Get the carne asada or the shrimp taco. There are also bacon-wrapped hot dogs, nachos, and baked potatoes with taco fixings (carne asada, pollo, adobada, the classics).
At chef Roberto Alcocer’s Michelin-starred Mexican restaurant, he also serves top-tier bar food for the casual toe-dipper. A quesataco with grilled Wagyu in reaching vicinity of world-class mezcal? Yep.

This Oceanside spot from Davin and Jessica Waite is a mission (fully plant-based; aiming not just for zero-waste but regenerative). Nobility’s great, but hard to eat. Luckily, Davin’s a hell of a chef (he also owns Wrench & Rodent Seabasstropub). For his riff on Baja fish tacos, he cooks local carrots til they’re just tender; blanches them in seaweed dashi; beer-batters them with tempura; and tops them with a lime-pepper slaw, yum-yum sauce, and housemade taco sauce.
After my month-long search for San Diego’s best birria, this taco truck in a Chula Vista parking lot topped my list. Run by food truck impresario Jorge Vargas (who owns TJ-style birria de res joint Don Vargas Birriera y Mariscos in CV, too), it also serves tripe, mulitas, and arrachera (marinated skirt steak). Pony up to the self-serve pot of consommé while you wait.
Antonio and Claudia Esquivel began slinging guacamole-loaded tacos from a cart in the Playas de Tijuana. That extra guac—and a killer carne asada—started a mania. Now their daughters Karime and Aria Esquivel are annexing the US with their taco power. If gluttony strikes, ask for carne asada served fantasma-style (an off-menu order; the “tortilla” is griddled cheese). And try the buche taco—a Mexican delicacy, it’s slow-cooked pork stomach that’s fatty, tender, juicy.
First, let’s be clear: This is not a taco shop. This is a cocina económica—soups and stewed meats in Normal Heights; some of the best, most affordable, down-home Mexican food in the county. Super Cocina serves one official taco, and it’s good. Even better is to get a combo plate with corn tortillas and improv a taco.

How a hair stylist became a taco king: Mexico City hometowner Luisteen González was hustling—hairdresser by day, taco caterer at night. While creating a French curl for a salon client, he had a taco idea: What if you crisped and browned cheese just like a French curl, and stuffed it with a taco payload?
The result—like a crispy cheese crepe filled with marinated meats—was predictably delicious. Five brothers and cousins (the Adlers and the Lombrozos) tapped him to open Puesto, which has evolved into a higher-end Mexican food empire and brewery. Naysayers will tell you Puesto’s too big to be good, but that smacks more of little-guys-do-it-better posturing than actual taste.
Puesto invested huge in culinary talent: New executive chef Raul Casillas comes from Michelin-starred Mexican spot Valle, and the beverage director’s last gig was running a place with three stars. Few humans can deny the mightiness of that filet mignon taco: crispy cheese, medium-rare steak, avocado, and a killer pistachio-serrano salsa on non-GMO blue corn tortillas.
This is modern sit-down Mexican, where Jose Flores’ lamb birria and consommé is one of the best in the city. Throw that in a blue corn tortilla with salsa macha and pickled onions? It costs more, and it’s worth it.
No shade to the hallowed taco meats, but the best options at City Tacos—started by Mexico City native Gerry Torres and former Underbelly chef Tony Guan (who has since moved on)—are the planty ones. The deep-fried chile relleno taco—with tons of Oaxaca and cotija cheese inside a güero chile—eats like taco fondue. But the showstopper is the grilled portobello taco: melted asadero cheese (like a tangier, Mexican mozzarella), corn, black beans, pasilla chiles (smoky, fruity), arugula, onion, and tomato with cilantro-serrano aioli.
At the LaFayette Hotel’s signature mausoleum Mexican restaurant, chef José Cepeda (who cut his teeth under Josh Gil at Mírame in LA) layers a fresh tortilla with crispy cheese, spicy garlic shrimp, salsa macha, and chicory.

You probably don’t need a health degree to realize food ethically ranched and organically farmed is better than food with drugs and bug spray on it. Haggo’s in Leucadia uses free-range chicken, grass-fed beef, organic everything, no seed oils, gluten-free batter. Om tacos for the Vuori in us all. Get the Costeau, a GF fish taco with locally caught fish (usually halibut), cumin-lime crema, and mango salsa.
Barrio Logan’s got a high bar for mariscos, and Ferchaladas clears it. A graffiti art marquee, picnic tables, and music as energetic as the lunch crowd. The big, share-with-friends show is the “Hija de Su [Expletive] Madre” tostada with shrimp, octopus, and fish in ceviche sauce and cilantro aioli. For a smaller sample, get the shrimp and octopus taco, with the tortilla dipped in crimson consommé. Add all the sauces (cilantro and chipotle aiolis, serrano, and guajillo). Cash or Venmo only.

We asked some of San Diego’s top chefs and restaurateurs for their go-to taco in the city. Here’s where the experts eat.
“The fish tacos [are on] regular rotation. It’s by my house, and the combo of the salsa with the spicy red onions always hits.” –Tara Monsod, Chef & Owner, Le Coq & Animae
“Unique yet authentic, great ingredients, all about the craft. Love the classic cochinita pibil … and the bistecca arranchera.” –Travis Swikard, Chef & Owner, Callie
“The taco de suadero is the perfect balance of fat and meat.” –Pablo Becker, Chef & Owner, Fish Guts
“The best taco isn’t on the menu. It’s the one the restaurant gifts you while you wait. In a time when nothing comes free, this little gesture feels like a throwback to the kind of Mexican hospitality that feeds the heart and belly—like how your abuelita hands you a taquito to tide you over because she knows you just can’t wait. And, oh, those carnitas.” –Claudia Sandoval MasterChef Winner
“Consistency is everything for me, and I don’t think another place does it better. I have been going there for 15-plus years now, and it’s a win every time. The salsas are flavorful, each in their own way, and each taco is crafted with its own garnish.” –Brad Wise, Chef & Owner, Trust Restaurant Group
“The carnitas are second to none for pure, unadulterated, and reliable satisfaction. Hit me with that, a side of those fine chopped serranos, and maybe one of the million mezcals [on the menu] and leave me be.” –Ryan Thorsen, Owner, Mister A’s
“Made-to-order tortilla with your taco. My go-tos are the birria and carne asada. Bonus: It’s a brewery, and nothing pairs better with tacos than a Mexican Coca Cola or [Craft Coast’s] beers.” –Roberto Alcocer, Executive Chef, Valle
“A hole-in-the-wall that does amazing street tacos at an affordable price. Great home-cooked rice and beans, and three tacos and a soda is, like, 13 bucks.” –David Sim, Executive Chef, Kingfisher
“The mesquite-grilled chicken taco with chicharrón, cucumber, coconut rice, and peanut salsa macha. I love the texture and flavor, and peanut macha is my favorite.” –Deborah Scott, Executive Chef & Partner, Cohn Restaurant Group
“Tequila plus Ed Fernandez’ quesabirria taco equals no hangover. You just cannot go wrong at this family-run joint.” –Jon Sloan, Culinary Director, Juniper and Ivy & The Crack Shack
“The crispy tacos, specifically the chicken. [The kitchen] uses fresh, housemade corn tortillas; does a flash-fry; and stuffs them with chicken guisado (boiled chicken cooked with onions, garlic, and tomatoes). They remind me of my childhood days growing up in Tijuana.” –Frank Vizcarra, Owner, Lola 55
“It’s an absolutely authentic and delicious family affair with a constantly rotating menu. A family from Hacienda de Cabajas missed food from home and are emulating [their hometown] in their pop-up with everything from the food to the music and décor.” –Charleen Sandoval, Executive Chef, Born and Raised
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.
From surprise revivals to changing dining habits, these are the shifts redefining the local culinary landscape
If absence makes hearts (and stomachs) grow fonder, then shuttered restaurants quickly become the hottest tickets in town—something a number of iconic institutions found out after taking very public hiatuses after historically long runs. For instance, following a lengthy (and extremely flip-floppy) closing process after 92 years in business, Las Cuatro Milpas reopened two blocks away in Mercado del Barrio. Similarly, Carlsbad butcher shop Tip Top Meats reopened in the same location (albeit a smaller space) after the death of founder Joachim “Big John” Haedrich in 2023. Finally, after a whopping decade out of business, Sami Ladeki and chef Alfie Szeprethy brought back Roppongi to its original Prospect Street space, where it was the talk of the town in the late ’90s. All came back under the same proprietors, so they weren’t third-party nostalgia-licensing deals. The algorithm may have ravaged our attention spans away from all but the newest and shiniest, but this proves there’s still hope for our collective prefrontal cortex.
Other local eateries honored their pasts by bringing in new perspectives. The Lion’s Share in Embarcadero, Milton’s Deli in Del Mar, Dudley’s Bakery in Santa Ysabel, and J-K’s Greek Cafe in La Mesa handed over the keys to new owners willing to take on a big task: maintain the soul of icons through particularly rough economic circumstances for restaurants, navigate big feelings from longtime regulars (who often don’t take kindly to change), and make some necessary changes to keep going for another few decades. Taking over a project in process can be a lot harder than starting from scratch. But building that feel-good nostalgia doesn’t happen overnight, so it sure helps to have a well-established playbook of success passed down from those who came before.

It wasn’t just restaurant groups from Los Angeles that decided to put down roots en masse, although San Diego saw plenty of LA transplants recently (Sugarfish, Mr. Charlie’s, For the Win, Katsuya Ko, Bacari). Global brands like Chef Fei, Zuma, and Pepper Lunch have locations of their own on the way, and upscale Canadian eatery Joey joined to the inescapable gravitational pull of Westfield UTC’s culinary cosmos for its first spot in America’s Finest City. Good to see the rest of the world is catching up with what we’ve been seeing the last few years—San Diego is a dining destination already on the rise.
Between the never-ending news cycle of doom and perimenopause brain fog, I’m at the stage in life where I’m more than happy to let someone else make a decision for me, especially when it comes to what’s for dinner. And based on the way a lot of menus look right now, I’m not alone. It seems like half the places I visit offer some version of a prix fixe, omakase, or tasting menu. Restaurants are embracing the curated experience to solve the problem of affordability (a fixed menu reduces food and labor costs, guarantees an acceptable check average, etc.) and critical thinking in one fell swoop. Omakase (meaning “I leave it up to you”) is far from a new concept in high-end Japanese sushi culture, but now that it’s popping up everywhere from coffee experiences to grab-and-go sushi and sandwiches, it’s gone from somewhat niche to nearly omnipresent.

The world got an up-close look at San Diego’s coffee industry when we hosted the premier specialty coffee expo World of Coffee for the first time this April. San Diego’s long and rich coffee history stretches back to the late 19th century. Things percolated fairly quietly for around a century before really picking up steam. Today, there are nearly 200 specialty roasters and cafes across the county, with many earning national accolades like the Good Food Award (Steady State Roasting, 2020; Bird Rock Coffee Roasters, 2023, 2021, 2019, 2017, 2016), Roaster of the Year by Roast Magazine (Mostra Coffee, 2020; Bird Rock Coffee Roasters, 2012), and the Specialty Coffee Association Coffee Design Award for packaging (Rikka Fika, 2026). Now that we’ve moved past the comically insufferable coffee snob era of the early 2000s, even java newbies can feel comfortable walking into pretty much any coffee shop in San Diego, asking questions, trying a few things, and feeling confident they’re going to get great service and a great beverage.
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.
Offering everything from smashburgers to sundaes, the latest food hall from Tiger Hospitality opens its doors this weekend
Omakase and fixed-price menus are one way hospitality businesses are addressing our collective food decision-making fatigue. But on the opposite end of the spectrum, some restaurateurs are offering a bonanza of totally unrelated options for people ordering on a whim. Why not pair a lobster grilled cheese sandwich, açaí bowl, and ridiculously loaded hot dog?
Starting June 27, diners can satisfy their spur-of-the-moment appetites at Global Fork in Little Italy, the latest food hall from Southern California-based Tiger Hospitality.
Six different food concepts will be featured in the 4,685-square-foot, indoor-outdoor space along the Piazza della Famiglia promenade. The space’s inaugural lineup includes a mix of Tiger Hospitality-owned concepts (Cosmos Burger, La Vida, Lobster Lab, and Prik Ki Nu Thai) and outside operators (Seattle-based Moto Pizza and Handel’s Homemade Ice Cream). The space next door, Good Enough Cocktail Club, is another Tiger-backed brand, operated by the team behind Same Same and Amor y Magia in Carlsbad.
Cosmos Burger serves smashburgers stacked with classic toppings, while Lobster Lab focuses on seafood favorites including lobster rolls, shrimp rolls, and lobster mac n’ cheese. Prik Ki Nu Thai adds Thai street food to the mix, with traditional noodle, rice, and stir-fry dishes. And for those looking for something on the lighter side, La Vida offers things like smoothies, salads, and wraps.

Moto Pizza focuses on Detroit-style square pizza with Filipino influences and, despite the name, is not affiliated with Mr. Moto Pizza. Handel’s, which began in Ohio in 1945, will offer dozens of flavors ranging from staples like chocolate and vanilla to rotating specialties packed with candies, cookies, and other mix-ins. (Handel’s already has a number of locations across San Diego, with a La Mesa store coming later this year.)
Some of these vendors already operate at Miramar Food Hall, the other Tiger-owned food hall in San Clemente. And some of them will also appear in Station8, the next food hall slated to open in UC San Diego’s Theatre District Living and Learning Neighborhood later this fall. But if you ask me, reviving the space that housed the Little Italy Food Hall before its closure last February is a far better outcome than leaving empty suites smack in the middle of an area saturated with fantastic food options. Plus, where else can you order a slice of beef adobo pizza alongside squares of caviar toast and a banana split?
Global Fork opens June 27 at 550 W. Date Street, Suite B, in Little Italy. Initial operating hours are from 9 a.m. to 9 p.m., seven days a week, but vendor hours may differ.

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.
How the now iconic rating system became the biggest name in the food and how it made its way to our backyard
So, Michelin chose San Diego to host its annual awards show this week. Big thing for our city, which people wrote off as the flaccid mozzarella stick or the “fish tacos bro” of California food culture.
Michelin Guide is a pretty fascinating story. It started as a marketing brochure for a tire company and evolved into the strongest global marketing platform for restaurant culture in history.
In 1900, there were less than 3,000 cars in all of France. André and Édouard Michelin were trying to sell tires. A niche market. If people drove more, they figured, tires would go bald faster. They’d sell more rubber.
So they published a guidebook with maps, gas stations, mechanics, hotels, restaurants, and travel advice. The “How to Go Bald” book with food as the bait. By the 1920s, people were buying the guide just for the restaurant recs.
In 1926, Michelin introduced stars. This changes everything.
Originally just one. Five years later, it expanded to three. One meant “very good restaurant.” Two meant “worth a detour.” Three stars meant “worth a special journey.” In other words, wear those tires down to a nub in search of Dover sole.

By WWII, Michelin was the gold standard guide to French food. And French food was the gold standard for western food. Which was half the world.
Michelin first came to the US in 2005.
New York only.
(Knicks in five).
In 2007, San Francisco. Then LA and Vegas in 2008.
Michelin stopped publishing in LA and Vegas after two years and stayed dark until 2019.
Major theories for this?
First, print is expensive. I can attest. ROI on a printed story is hard.
Second, people wanted local critics, and they were finding them online.
Third, Michelin landed like a stuffed shirt in LA, which had taco carts in its heart. LA swiped hard left.
Then Michelin discovered a new way to fund what it does. Instead of trying to sell enough books to justify the cost (inspectors, printing, restaurant bills, etc.), it had tourism marketing districts pay for inspectors to come analyze their cities or states.
Tourism marketing districts are massive organizations whose primary goal is to sing the priases of their cities and states—attract tourists, who pay for hotels and spend money in the city. Heads in beds.
The first to swipe its credit card was California, which paid $600,000 in 2019 for Michelin to come back to LA, Orange County, Monterey, Sacramento, Santa Barbara, and… San Diego.
It’s an overwhelmingly positive thing, which is never without its doubters and critics.
Namely, not everyone is down with the pay for play model.
The biggest reason is that it means cities without big tourism budgets get left out. Chefs in those cities are chefs non grata in the eyes of Michelin. Which is a fair complaint, though also, sadly or not, kind of how capitalism works.
Michelin isn’t a government organization, or a nonprofit culinary organization. It’s a publicly traded company with real bills to pay and investors and shareholders to answer to.
Since it feels like a tad of a PR dilemma for Michelin, I have a proposal that may or may not work.
What if Michelin took a portion of the money it receives from larger cities and used it to fund its expansion into an underserved city or state that can’t afford it? Bake it into the price it charges California or any other state.
Again, Michelin’s not obligated to do this; there is no penalty beyond the paper cuts of public sentiment. But that sort of pay-it-forward model could help other cities without the resources to play the game, while simultaneously making Michelin’s reach bigger and more holistic.
Second, people claim this TMD-funded model somehow taints the winners.
I don’t buy that at all. All tourism boards are doing is paying a marketing business (Michelin) to come operate in their city. They’re not telling Michelin which restaurants to choose for awards. As I understand it, Michelin has retained independence, and its inspectors only award restaurants that they feel are absolutely worth it based on merit.
True pay for play would be if a restaurant group paid Michelin in exchange for a star. Or if tourism boards had a say in which restaurants received attention or awards.
I haven’t found any proof of that happening, and so I won’t ding the validity of the awards until (and if) I ever do.
All tourism boards can control is which areas they’re willing to pay to have analyzed. For instance, San Diego could technically ask that only the city be analyzed and not the county. Which it did not, most likely because Visit San Diego (our TMD) is in charge of marketing the entire county (and thus why Michelin stars like Jeune et Jolie, Lilo, and Addison are outside of SD city limits).
So, if you’re dead set on criticizing Michelin, I’m not sold yet on the pay-for-play model being the right route.
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.
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.
One of One combines creative seasonal drinks, ethical sourcing, and Filipino-American roots to stand out in San Diego's crowded cafe scene
In a city overflowing with cortados, ceremonial-grade matcha, and ambitious coffee startups, standing out isn’t easy. It’s even harder when your business doesn’t have a fixed address. That’s the challenge (and increasingly, the appeal) of One of One.
The Filipino-American coffee and matcha pop-up concept is the work of Kristin Cleavinger, a San Diego native who spent nearly a decade working in the Los Angeles specialty coffee business before returning home to build a concept of her own. The business takes its name from Cleavinger’s grandfather Gregorio Magnaye Bolor, who immigrated from the Philippines to the United States in the 1970s with almost nothing, but managed to build a life for him as well as his descendants.
It’s that sense of grit, perseverance, and identity that Cleavinger says fueled her to build One of One. “Throughout my time in specialty coffee, I was really curious about Filipino representation, because that wasn’t something that I saw,” she explains. She began to research coffee from the Philippines, but considering the island nation only produces about 0.25 percent of the world’s largest producer, Brazil, there wasn’t much to find.
Instead, she turned inward, drawing from her family’s history and her own Filipina-American identity to build something personal. “To me, this really is a way to honor my family’s legacy—my nanay, Maria Nieves Bolor, and my tatay Gregorio.”

For her drinks, Cleavinger never uses refined sugars, and syrups are made in-house from organic and regenerative ingredients. The Summer Peach latte, the current seasonal special, layers Ceylon cinnamon, unrefined cane sugar, Maldon sea salt, and ripe yellow peaches for a riff on one of summer’s most glorious treats: peach cobbler. Another new drink is Mint Chip, inspired by Thrifty ice cream with a fresh mint syrup, dark cocoa powder, and chocolate chunks with a base of either espresso or hojicha (roasted Japanese green tea with a mild, sweet, earthy flavor and lower caffeine content than other green teas).
Other crowd pleasers include the signature Neapolitan latte, which is inspired by childhood memories of her family using Neapolitan ice cream to create pan de sal ice cream sandwiches. She layers housemade organic strawberry syrup, Madagascar vanilla bean-infused oat milk, and dark cocoa-swirled espresso for a tricolored beverage experience that she recommends sipping before stirring to taste each layer on its own merit.
Past specials have ventured deeper into Filipino flavors, like a turon-inspired latte using jackfruit and banana; another was a coconut pandan matcha made with organic coconut water and topped with a pandan matcha cream.

The sourcing decisions behind these drinks are equally deliberate. Coffee comes from Boondocks, a Filipino-owned LA roaster whose founder is originally from National City. Its current offering, the Galleon blend, combines beans from southern Luzon in the Philippines with Chiapas, Mexico—a nod to the communities woven into San Diego’s own cross-border identity. Matcha is sourced through Este, a local San Diego company that works directly with producers in Mie Prefecture, Japan.
Every supplier is chosen for value alignment as much as quality—Boondocks’ current blend, for example, directly supports women-owned farms. “Each person has the power to choose where they want to put their dollar,” Cleavinger says.
You can catch her at regularly scheduled pop-ups at places like Olivewood Gardens in National City (every third Saturday), Ayi in South Park’s Summer Series (every Saturday morning in June), and on regular rotation at Home Ec and Best Bud Floral in Kensington. (More dates are listed on Instagram as well.) Cleavinger says she does have plans to launch a brick-and-mortar shop in the future, ideally with an expanded beverage menu, space for art shows, and a community gathering place for local and Filipino-owned makers.
In a crowded field of coffee concepts, One of One shows that a memorable drink can do more than wake you up. It can tell you something about the person behind the idea—who they are, where they’re from, and where they’re going next.
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.
CoCo Ichibanya's wildly popular katsu curry has become a ballpark favorite—and now the chain is opening a second San Diego location
I’m a creature of habit. When I go to Petco Park for a Padres game, I order two things without fail: a Swingin’ Friar ale from Ballast Point and a Friar Frank (extra mustard, no ketchup). I might supplement with tri-tip nachos from Seaside Market, or splurge on fancy fish tacos from Deckman’s at the Draft, but there’s no way I’m going to a ballgame without enjoying the classic combo of a beer and hot dog.
But this season, I’m faced with a conundrum. CoCo Ichibanya, the world-famous Japanese curry chain with locations in Convoy District, Los Angeles, Orange County, and Texas, debuted this March at the Mercado near Section 104. I recently attended a game against the New York Mets when I noticed a woman sitting in the row in front of me with a giant helping of chicken katsu curry. I hadn’t seen CoCo’s curry in the wild at the ballpark yet, but the aroma of the crispy fried chicken bathed in savory curry wafting over her shoulder absolutely intoxicated me (and ended up being a nice distraction to the 7-3 loss). Hopefully, she didn’t notice me leering with envy, but I’m 92 percent sure I got some drool on the guy next to me.
The world’s largest Japanese curry chain isn’t done popping up in San Diego quite yet. This July, CoCo Ichibanya will open its second standalone store in San Diego on the ground floor of the Denizen building in Hillcrest.
First launched in Nagoya, Japan in 1978, CoCo Ichibanya specializes in Japanese-style curry dishes, a comfort food signature. Unlike fiery Thai and Indian curry, Japanese curries are often more like gravy, served over rice and alongside katsu pork, chicken, or beef, or as curry omurice (omelet rice). The chain expanded to the United States 15 years ago, and owner Teruyoshi Ono says they’d been eyeing more opportunities in San Diego for some time.

The location in Hillcrest spans 2,585-square-feet with seating for around 49 guests. Menu favorites like the chicken cutlet curry with vegetables, the pork cutlet omelet, and Thai tea will be available, but Ono said Hillcrest will be the first location in the US to offer one major crowd-pleaser: alcohol. And keeping with local baseball fandom, “We will also have Padres x CoCo Ichi limited merchandise at our Hillcrest location,” he promises.
Ono also revealed that CoCo’s future expansion plans include looking for more locations across Southern California and possibly more in San Diego. While the Japanese yen remains at a historic low against the dollar (making it an absolutely unbeatable time to visit the Land of the Rising Sun), why fly overseas when you can get a taste of Japan in your own backyard—or ballpark?
CoCo Ichibanya Hillcrest is slated to open at 3833 5th Avenue in July.
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.
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.