Immaculate Europeans gasp and point as two seagulls land on a table and get to it. In milliseconds, the birds clear the glassware and pick off stray French fries like drunken busboys.
“One of the greatest things I’ve ever seen,” says a large man in wishful-thinking summer attire. Ever? I pray he gets to see the chanting monks of San Miniato someday. But, yeah. Even the pests at Hotel Del Coronado are an attraction.
The Del was built in 1888. Its rich history (Marilyn Monroe’s ghost reportedly cuddles lonely guests) is also its Achilles’ heel. You can change the foliage, maybe. Christmas wreaths become New Year’s streamers become Easter ova. But blow out a wall or modernize the carpet? Pretty certain Dr. Seuss’s wife and the ghost of Joan Kroc need to sign off.
The Del can, however, change marquee chefs. Since euthanizing the Prince of Wales in 2006 and reopening its signature restaurant as 1500 Ocean, there have been four. The first three were young prospects: Jason Shaeffer from Thomas Keller’s fold (now chef-owner of Chimney Park in Colorado); Brian Sinnott from Manchester Grand Hyatt (now with LA Specialty Produce); and Aaron Martinez, a modernist who studied under William Bradley at Addison (left quickly to be a sous at San Francisco’s Coi).
“It’s a good dish, the tripe cleansed of offensive tripeyness, but retaining its chewy joy. It’s also maybe the most rustic thing 1500 Ocean’s ever served, and an indicator of its new direction.”
But Robert Hohmann is the most pedigreed. Got his start under Keller at Per Se (chef de partie, ’04-’07), hit Batali’s Del Posto (sous chef, ’08), back to Keller at Bouchon Bistro (exec sous, ’08-’10), then with Jonathan Benno at Lincoln for a year (exec sous), and finally to Michael Chiarello’s Bottega Ristorante (’11-’12), where he got his first shot as chef de cuisine. His belt is notched, and the expectations are high.
Hohmann’s a New Yorker with strong Sicilian roots that mark the menu, as in his veal tripe Siciliano—braised for five hours in tomato sauce, garlic soffritto (kind of like mirepoix), and herbs, finished with sherry and olive oil, then gratinéed with Parm and crumbs. It’s a good dish, the tripe cleansed of offensive tripeyness, but retaining its chewy joy. It’s also maybe the most rustic thing 1500 Ocean’s ever served, and an indicator of its new direction.
Until very recently, 1500 still boasted near-$50 entrées and $13 simple desserts. Them’s black AmEx, oil-baron-in-paradise, just-plain-stupid prices. Now it’s all in the $25 to $32 range. Figuring a peanut butter sandwich at the Del’s Babcock & Story costs $10 (juice and dessert included, and mandatory), 1500’s new prices are relatively sane. This shift also brought wine director Ben Kephart, who helped Tracy Borkum navigate the highly successful switch from Laurel to Cucina Urbana (uptight cuisine to casual gourmet).
Hohmann’s menu includes a requiem for foie gras in the duck liver mousse. It’s a stunner, even if the organ taste is heavily muted. The quenelle of food sins (verjus-steeped organs, mascarpone cheese, crème fraîche) is sprinkled with pebbles of sea salt and set atop cardamom shrapnel and cinnamon-port prune marmalade. Near-illegal pleasure.
Order that with the burrata bruschetta and you’ll be a happier, rounder person. The famed buffalo mozzarella comes with ciabatta that’s spread with walnut-garlic pesto and thin-sliced hot coppa ham (Italian sandwich legend), topped with black truffle-sherry gastrique. A lot of yes on a plate. I’d be okay skipping the Skuna Bay salmon crudo, which begs a bigger acid (he nullifies Meyer lemon with sugar). There’s nothing wrong with—nor mind-blowing about—his sea bass with fennel dressing, either.
Hohmann treats produce in a very New York way: as if they’re dead bodies in need of hiding. His Brussels sprouts are boiled, fried, tossed in candied black pepper, fresh apples, spiced pecans, bacon bits, and apple balsamic vinaigrette. Real nice to eat, but pretty far from sprouts. He liquefies cauliflower and celery root for a brilliant velouté, spiked with pickled pomegranate seeds and cumin-candied walnuts and a whiff of truffle oil.
Many hotel chefs prefer chicken over liver mousse, and chicken over tripe—because Joe Tourist dines conservatively. But Hohmann’s menu shows a welcome amount of risk. He serves Moulard—that Pekin and Muscovy hybrid, best known as the foie gras duck with great breasts (called magret). It’s jaw-dropping good, medium rare atop vanilla-parsnip purée and duck confit salad with sautéed spaetzle (a nod to the chef’s German roots). As is his Meyer lemon risotto with goat cheese and Greek yogurt with a ring of crispy-fried risotto and lemon oil. Sounds like a lot of tang, but Hohmann tames it.
The Del isn’t easy for a new chef. It’s union. That means servers have been here for 25 years. Some like food; some like paychecks. Inherit a cook who thinks an haricot vert is a skate ramp? Good luck firing him. Servers are less illuminating than they are trained to be invisible. Maybe that’s why Kephart continually works the room. He’s one of SD’s most likeable food-wine pros, who can work high-, middle-, and lowbrow when needed. A frontline ally the new chef will need.
After six months, the Hohmann-Kephart duo is a true attraction. The chef has said he’s committed to the Del for at least five years. Let’s hope it’s mutual.
William Wordsworth’s 1807 poem “By The Sea” paints a glorious picture of a coastal sunset, elegantly describing the serenity that can only be found upon an ocean’s sandy shores.
It is a beauteous evening, calm and free, The holy time is quiet as a Nun Breathless with adoration; the broad sun Is sinking down in its tranquility
And as a San Diegan, I often have to pinch myself. We’re spoiled by this breathtaking beauty each day. Come August 12, Coronado will have a new place from which to soak in the Pacific’s peacefulness: By The Sea. Created by the team at Black Swan Hospitality (Nolita Hall), Doug and Lara Hamm brought to life a Mediterranean-meets-San Diego oasis influenced by their travels through the French Riviera, Italy’s Amalfi Coast, and the Greek Isles. (It’s not the first time the couple drew inspiration from the Mediterranean coast—their wedding took place on the island of Capri, their daughter’s namesake.)
Opening the 6,500-square-foot, second-story restaurant took longer than expected. First announced three years ago, the Hamms worked with Loren Wynn and Mellissa Ramos—their own in-house design studio (Creative House)—alongside Tecture (Lucien, Anigma Encinitas, Bivouac Ciderworks, George’s at the Cove) to create a space that feels more like a coastal villa than spartan dining room.
Guests enter via a cobblestone staircase to a light-drenched dining room and outdoor patio shaded by a eucalyptus wood trellis. Windows dot nearly every wall below the high ceiling of hand-stained willow reed thatching and exposed wood beams. “We have a beautiful lounge area with some textures such as velvet and marble,” says Lara. Everywhere feels organic, with materials like white oak and Italian limestone flowing throughout the open concept and semi-private dining areas.
Photo Credit: Kimberly Motos
The curvaceous travertine bar seats 24, while the 11 outdoor tables and 44 indoor tables and banquettes hold an additional 254 guests. It’s not quite oceanfront, but the peekaboo water view and floor-to-ceiling glass pocket doors allow the nearby sea breeze to drift across the dining room. (And if you’re the type of perpetually cold person once the mercury falls below 72, never fear—the outdoor fireplace and built-in heaters will keep you comfortable all year round.)
With a name like By The Sea, one can safely assume seafood features heavily on the menu. Executive chef Alex Carpio utilizes plenty of local produce and catches, with starters like scallop crudo, tuna tartare, octopus with crispy potatoes, and calamari fritti. The rest of the menu is broken into salads, vegetables, pastas, and mains, with standouts like a beet salad with feta, kale, orange, and charred lemon vinaigrette; Moroccan-spiced carrots served with lemon yogurt, mint, and parsley; classic linguine and clams with garlic, tomato, and parsley; a lamb cavatelli with fennel, chives, and breadcrumbs; grilled branzino with tahini and Castelvetrano olive tapenade; grilled half chicken with celery, cucumber, and a Calabrian chile vinaigrette; steak frites; and pan seared scallops with pickled peppers, basil, dill, and aioli.
Photo Credit: Kimberly Motos
Lara says there was one non-negotiable item for the menu: a dramatic seafood tower. Built for 2-4 guests or 4-6, each option comes with a collection of fresh oysters, shrimp, tuna tartare, scallop crudo, and caviar, with lobster and crab claws available on the larger size.
And if you’re curious about exploring the world of caviar, you’re in luck. Doug says they’re building a tasting menu of different spirits to pair with various caviars under bar manager Andrew Phillips’ purview.
Photo Credit: Kimberly Motos
Phillips’ drinks menu uses housemade syrups and fresh-squeezed juices, encapsulating both classic cocktails as well as signature inventions like All That Glitters with Cazadores Reposado, Xila Licor de Agave, Chinola Passionfruit liqueur, vanilla, and lime; Sea Glass with Dewar’s scotch, Haku yuzu vodka, green tea, vanilla, lemongrass, apple, lime, and clarified milk; and The Mariner with Appleton Signature & Reserve Rums, Ron Zacapa 23, Chinola Passionfruit, Aperol, pineapple, lemon and orgeat. Wine pairings are curated by the directors of operations Daniela DiGregorio and Gina Martinez, spotlighting small, organic producers from around the world as well as a selection of high-end Champagnes.
Lara describes By The Sea as “a place to linger together,” with director of hospitality and general manager Heather Roberto overseeing every aspect of the low-key feeling of the space. The restaurant may be European-inspired, but the Hamms say it’s wholly Coronado.
The Hamms moved to the Crown City at the end of the pandemic after years in bustling Little Italy. “Within a few weeks of moving here, we felt the magic,” says Doug. Now, they get to be a part of building it up—CH Projects’ Baby Grand hotel is across the street and the Hotel del Coronado sits just down the block. “We’re happy to be part of the scene, and we hope it continues to grow,” he says. “That’s what makes Coronado so special.”
By The Sea opens August 12 at 1300 Orange Avenue, Coronado. Initial hours of operation are Wednesday and Thursday, 4 p.m. to 11 p.m.; Friday and Saturday, 4 p.m. to midnight; Sunday and Monday, 4 p.m. to 11 p.m.; closed Tuesday. Weekend brunch and extended hours to come soon. (Subject to change.)
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 bird has a plan. You stand between that bird and that plan. For the remainder of your ceviche, you’ll identify as collateral damage.
There are many other nearby birds with the same plan, absolutely sucking at trying to be nonchalant about it. The pigeons are by far the boldest on account of what we can all agree just by looking at them is sheer stupidity. They come right up and ask with their red murder clown eyes: “Can bite?”
Pelicans are the silverback gorillas of this bird gang, hulking and alpha. They periodically flaunt the acreage of their wingspan in the same way a schoolyard bully puffs out his chest. One could casually land on your plate and maintain constant eye contact as it slowly enjoyed your fish taco. You share this tacit awareness with it. But it doesn’t approach because there are always a couple off-duty fishermen eating at Mitch’s Seafood. Those salty dogs have been forced to beat the shit out of a pelican or two in their day, and they and the pelican also know that.
The snowy egrets pretend to not really want your food. They seductively lord on the tops of the sportfishing boats moored in front of the restaurant, fully aware of how hot they are—svelte fashion models, Ozempic with wings. They just turn their faces to the wind so that it blows their fabulous hair. They seem to expect tourists to be overcome by their avian Brad Pittness and just throw swordfish sandwiches to them in tribute. They refuse to demean themselves like the gulls do.
Photo Credit: Dee Sandoval
The gulls are shameless menaces. The linebackers of seabirds—a lot quicker than you expect given their big butts, full of schemes and microaggressions. They stand at a distance and mad-dog everyone, intimidate with their beaks the color of old bananas. Fear is not a seagull emotion. When they take a plate—and they will take a plate—there is so much flapping and fighting. They desperately bite and claw at fishermen’s stews like zombies who finally caught up to Rick Grimes. We see one that’s missing a foot.
At some point you will hear a baby cry. It’s not a baby. It’s a gull, who has learned to mimic the sound of human babies in distress so that parents feel the great evolutionary ache—and throw fries at the crying.
“Watch out for the crab cakes,” says a server to every person she drops them to. “Those are their favorite.”
The birds have opinions on the menu. And their presence at Mitch’s is better than any Yelp review. Think they’d risk life and limb for some recently unboxed frostbite tilapia down at the local skate rink? Yeah, probably so.
Photo Credit: Dee Sandoval
But these birds know the backstory of three longtime local fishing families who own Mitch’s: Brian Kiyohara and his wife, Viola; Randy Toussaint and his wife, Tracy; and namesake Mitch Conniff. Conniff cut his teeth as a young sous chef at Jsix (a long-gone restaurant that was, 20 years ago, a slow-food star under chef Christian Graves). Then he was executive chef of American Angler, the long-range Baja fishing vessel co-owned by Kiyohara.
It was on the Angler that Mitch reportedly looked at the restaurant that was previously in this location—on stilts over the water at Point Loma Sportfishing Dock—and said to Kiyohara, “Wouldn’t it be cool if a restaurant in that space used local fish from local boats and local people like us?”
And that’s how Mitch’s was born. Its doors opened in 2008.
The real story of Mitch’s is the wheelbarrows. Every morning, the crew rolls them along Driscoll’s Wharf down to Tunaville—the market also owned by local fishing families (including Conniff). The shop has a parking spot for local boats, who bring their daily haul there every morning. Mitch’s crew fills the wheelbarrows with fresh fish and wheels them back to the kitchen. Within hours or a day or so, some of it will be lunch, dinner, and bird crack.
Photo Credit: Dee Sandoval
There are no reservations at Mitch’s. More often than not, there’s a long line snaking out the door. It moves fast. Their tiny kitchen is remarkably efficient. Locals know to go for breakfast (get the crab avocado toast) or in the off-hours (11 a.m., 3 p.m.—just not noon and 6 p.m.). There’s a small-ish indoor dining room, tables that appear more lacquer than wood. It’s a shrine to local fishers, the wall’s a family photo album of tan locals beaming with pride over a record catch, pleasantly fatigued boat captains, sun-gnarled deckhands. Leave your partner in the line, and go peruse, get a sense for the humans out there in local waters, leaving their families for days and weeks and months at a time to provide. It’s a core San Diego way of life that built this city (tuna money poured the concrete at Point Loma High), once robust and now rare.
The prized seats are on the deck. Thirty or so metal bar stools are ponied up to a small counter attached to the wooden rail. Bendy metal rods cascade from the roof like eyelashes. “They were put in to deter the birds,” a server tells me. “It worked for about a week.”
The swordfish sandwich is just about perfect and a mission statement of the place—humble and simple, like fishing. A big-ole torta, a grilled filet not cooked to sawdust like American restaurants once did, with tomato, tartar sauce, and cilantro. It shouldn’t taste as good as it does, but clean local fish cooked well on bread is satisfying in an essential, basal way. Plus, that tartar sauce blows lesser tartars away. Conniff swaps out the pickle and onion for garlic, fresh parsley, and cilantro, so that it tastes closer to an herbed Baja crema. It should be criminalized and governed by people who make laws to atone for the lack of our own self-regulation.
Photo Credit: Dee Sandoval
The bowl of mussels and clams are the can’t-miss of Mitch’s—somewhere between French moules marinières, New England steamers, and Baja shellfish pots. The science: As shellfish steam, they release their own briny liquor, meaty ocean broth in a shell. The chef’s job is to complement that gift without clobbering it. Mitch’s uses white wine for acid and leeks (a milder, sweeter, more flavorful onion), Dijon, and butter. Their clams and mussels are bigger than normal, which brings stronger flavor, making that broth one of the best in the city, sopped with the baguette.
From the cold case, get the shrimp aguachile with housemade chips—a small bowl, green as radiator fluid, the chili water a light-pain blend of habaneros (the best tasting chili by a long shot), serranos, lime, and the soft, fat glove of avocado. They also serve a campechana—a Baja mariscos specialty with shrimp, Dungeness crab, octopus, and oysters in cocktail sauce and clamato. Important note here: Don’t eat either of these dishes right away. They come out fridge-cold (there are laws about storing raw seafood), which muzzles the flavor. Order them to sit. After 20 minutes, dig in.
The crab cakes get mixed reviews, but ours are delicious. They lean cake more than crab, which isn’t what you’d expect from a fisherman-chef’s stilt house, but that’s personal preference.
Photo Credit: Dee Sandoval
You’re going to order the fresh fish plate, blackened, because you’re good at ordering. It’s the truest expression of fisherman and fish. And what you’ll receive is a shockingly spartan plate—a paprika-crusted filet, a ramekin of slaw, some herb pistou. It is excellent, even if the universal governing body of wooden-spooned grandmas would suggest it needs a rice, a tater, a proper side dish.
My argument is that the slaw is side dishing. Coleslaw is, by and large, the great American fail. Most restaurants treat it like the younger sibling their parents made them bring along on a date. At Mitch’s, they treat slaw with respect. Starts with traditional cabbage, but then gets both fresh orange and lime juice, jicama, grilled corn, and cilantro. It’s Baja meets San Diego picnic food.
If, as dictated by the most basic laws of food criticism, I needed to find quibbles with Mitch’s, fine. I’ll be that guy who walks into a runaway hit dream of three local fishing families and pretends everything isn’t entirely perfect. I’ll express them in wishes.
I wish the baguette with the clams and mussels was lightly charred. The broth is nearly sweet, and sweet loves a good burn.
Photo Credit: Dee Sandoval
I wish there was an obscene amount of slaw with the fish plate. It’s that good, and the plate looks a bit bare.
I wish there was one housemade sauce in the condiment basket. You’ve got Heinz, Tabasco, Tapatío—all of which are fine and should stay. While I realize the kitchen is limited and the line of customers is eternal, Mitch’s would go up an even higher notch if there were squeeze bottles of one killer original dressing—housemade crema, a mojo, macha, or just an unending supply of that garlicky tartar. It feels a tad crimey to go through all this effort to source local fish and cook them well, and then top it with a sauce that has no San Diego or Baja or Mitch in it.
I honestly didn’t expect Mitch’s to be as good as it still is. Everything we ate (except maybe an octopus taco with tentacle bits fried into nubs) was good to excellent. The constant onslaught of locals and tourists and the excruciating intricacies of operating a business in California should have exhausted the will to live by now, let alone cook.
There’s a reason the birds are still outside, with crimes in their eyes and menu preferences.
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.
Stop me if you’ve heard this one before: person gets laid off during the pandemic. Bored at home, they turn to baking. A passing interest turns into a passion, and before you know it, they’re launching a full-fledged bakery.
Yes, that’s the story of how Mi Pan Bakery started, and yes, 10,000 other aspirational bakeries began the exact same way. But the difference is that Mi Pan’s baker and owner Alejandro Gomez didn’t stop at making a few loaves of sourdough for his friends and family.
He’s spent the last five years building a beloved local business whose bread and pastries are now sought out at three different farmers markets, was nominated for both Best Bread and Best Farmers Market Food Vendor in San Diego Magazine’s Best of San Diego Reader’s Choice Awards for 2025, and only decided to finally move from baking in his garage to their first brick-and-mortar location in order to keep up with sheer demand.
“I talked to my wife, and I said ‘Listen, if we’re not going to move out of the garage, I don’t think I can keep doing this, because I’m baking pretty much 10 to 12 hours a day,’” Gomez laughs. “I think it’s time.”
After a year of looking for the right location—where Gomez and his wife and business partner Alejandra Ruelas could open Mi Pan with enough space for an expanded commercial kitchen, an area for hosting workshops, and an onsite retail store—they found it. Mi Pan Bakery’s first brick-and-mortar location will open in the first half of 2026 at 6435 Mission Gorge Road in Grantville.
Once open, Mi Pan will still remain at all of the farmers markets: Tuesdays in Pacific Beach, Saturdays in Little Italy, and Sundays in Chula Vista. They hope to add one more to their rotation once they have the ability to increase production. Gomez says he also plans to launch a wholesale side of the bakery, something he says multiple businesses have approached him about, but he hasn’t been able to take on with his small operation. And then, maybe one day, maybe even a second location in North County.
Gomez also didn’t work as a baker previously, unlike other pandemic-launched operations like Companion Bread Company and Relic Bakery. But in the past five years, he’s taught himself the craft and traveled across the world to places like France, Spain, and Mexico City to both take and teach various baking classes, something he also plans to offer at the new space.
Mi Pan’s menu will remain small, offering its signature sourdough and pastries—especially medialunas, an Argentinian pastry that’s a cross between a flaky croissant and soft brioche with a light glaze on top. “If you haven’t tried it, you should,” he promises. “They’re amazing.” They’ll also add sandwiches using its own bread, as well as coffee. (Most of this will be intended to-go, but it’ll have a few tables onsite if people wish to enjoy their goodies right away.) But above all, Gomez says what they’re building is meant to last, modeled after the family-owned neighborhood cafes of his native Mexico and across Europe.
“It’s not about being the kind of trendy bakery that’s hyped for six, seven months, or a year, and then after that, they disappear,” he says. “We want an atmosphere that feels like home, and then when you come back… you’re greeted by name. I think that’s what we want—a warm, reliable, everyday bakery where the community feels welcome and you always find exceptional bread and pastries.”
Mi Pan Bakery will open at 6435 Mission Gorge Road in Grantville in mid-2026.
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.
Renewable energy companies building hundreds of power plants. Biotech startups using artificial intelligence to create personalized medicine for children with rare diseases. Hospitality companies quietly powering thousands of local events. Consumer brands growing from beach-town startups into national businesses. These are the kinds of companies driving San Diego’s economy today, and the businesses recognized at this year’s San Diego Business Impact Awards offer a snapshot of where the region is headed.
Hosted July 23 by San Diego Regional Economic Development Corporation (EDC) and JPMorganChase, the second annual awards event honored four local companies for innovation, growth, and economic impact. More than 100 nominations from San Diego’s middle-market businesses were reviewed by a 10-person judging committee, with winners selected across four categories: startup, early-stage innovator, rising star, and established heavyweight.
Two-time honoree Jimbo Someck, founder of Jimbo’s organic grocery stores, also joined the event for a fireside chat on buying local, supporting emerging brands, and giving back to the community.
“San Diego’s strength comes from its makers and builders—the resilient people who endure great risks and overcome obstacles to build and scale a company,” says Aaron Ryan, San Diego Region Manager and Middle Market Banking at JPMorganChase & Co. “These awards aren’t just recognition; they spotlight the talent, grit, and innovation shaping our region’s future. By celebrating those who create and build, we foster connections and fuel the growth that keeps San Diego thriving.”
Photo Credit: Matt Furman
Building the Infrastructure Behind Clean Energy
Heavyweight honoree SOLV Energy has grown alongside the country’s rapid investment in renewable power. “It’s an exciting time for SOLV Energy as we are experiencing significant growth,” says CEO George Hershman. “The business has doubled over the last year and has almost double-digit growth since its inception.”
The Rancho Bernardo-based company designs, builds, operates, and maintains utility-scale solar and energy storage facilities. Since its founding in 2008, SOLV Energy has built more than 500 power plants.
Growth has translated directly into hiring. About 200 employees work from the company’s local headquarters, including roughly 20 interns. “Our intern program is a big part of the way that we grow our workforce,” Hershman says. “Last year, 43 percent of our interns became full-time employees. We believe San Diego is a great community to build and grow a high-tech infrastructure and technology company because of the incredible workforce—the ability to attract top talent and draw from world-class universities.”
Photo Credit: Matt Furman
Developing Medicine One Patient at a Time
Startup honoree La Jolla Labs is tackling one of medicine’s biggest challenges by developing personalized RNA therapeutics for patients with rare diseases—many of them children with neurological disorders like ALS. Using proprietary artificial intelligence and machine learning tools, the biotech company develops treatments tailored to each patient’s specific genetic mutation.
CEO Tamar Grossman says the recognition reflects how far the company has come despite limited resources. “We’re honored to be recognized for our ability to change and save patients’ lives and turn our lean startup into a clinical company with very minimal resources,” she says.
Grossman credits San Diego’s concentration of research institutions—including UC San Diego, the Salk Institute, and Scripps Research—with creating a pipeline of talent and collaboration. “San Diego is one of the world-leading centers for technology, genomics, and RNA therapeutics,” she says. “We have over 30 RNA therapeutics companies here, and we support each other and help with anything related to drug discovery.”
She says that collaborative spirit extends beyond formal partnerships. “You can walk around Torrey Pines, go into a café, and find colleagues from the industry and have an ad hoc conversation,” Grossman says. “That’s something very unique to San Diego.”
While Snake Oil Venue Company may not be a household name, chances are many San Diegans have attended one of its events. The early-stage innovator honoree has expanded from beverage catering and mixology consulting into venue management, operating Julep Venue in Mission Hills, Bramble Bay Venue in Imperial Beach, Vesper Venue, the Chapel at Liberty Station, and five outdoor venues throughout Liberty Station—more than 500,000 square feet of event space altogether.
“We do a lot of launch parties for corporations and new products,” says CEO Mike Esposito. “I really like working on the entrepreneur side of things, where new businesses are entering the San Diego market and looking to make a splash.”
Snake Oil has executed more than 16,000 events, employed more than 1,000 people, and partnered with more than 900 local vendors, including caterers, florists, photographers, entertainers, and other hospitality businesses. The company also works with many of San Diego’s nonprofits, museums, and cultural institutions. “We get to celebrate people’s most important moments,” Esposito says. “Whether that’s a wedding, celebration of life, or quinceañera, we’re fortunate to be involved in the community in so many different ways.”
Photo Credit: Matt Furman
Growing a Beach-Town Brand into a National Business
Rising star honoree ALOHA Collection is proof that a simple idea can grow into a thriving company. Founded by two roommates who wanted a better way to carry wet swimsuits after a day at the beach, the lifestyle brand has grown into a business while maintaining strong year-over-year growth.
Now headquartered in Carlsbad, ALOHA Collection employs more than 100 people and operates its California flagship store in Encinitas, which is slated for a remodel. With roots in Hawaii, the company is known for its lightweight, splash-proof travel bags that have become a familiar sight on beaches in San Diego and beyond.
“‘Aloha’ is part of our name, but it’s also how we move through the world,” says CEO Lynna Barnard. “It’s how we show up for people, the way we travel, the way we give back.” Since day one, the company has maintained a 5 percent giveback to Hawaii conservation efforts, contributing millions of dollars over the years.
“I think what’s so inspiring about ALOHA Collection, and the founders in particular, is when you dream big, those dreams can come true when you work hard and trust in the universe,” Barnard says. “It’s inspiring to be a role model for other people wanting to start businesses from humble beginnings. Start small and watch it grow.”
Together, businesses like these form a cornerstone of San Diego’s economy—not only through the jobs and revenue they generate—but through the local workers they hire, vendors they support, and investments they make in the region. Their growth doesn’t happen in isolation; it ripples outward, strengthening the broader business community and the people who call San Diego home.
The Perfect Order:Vulture Martini | Potato Pavé | Crab Cake
Kory Stetina is a long way from learning what vegan food was through a pamphlet at punk-rock shows in his teens. He stands in his dream restaurant, Vulture, wearing a non-sportsy sports coat. He’s married with a child. There’s a very non-punk potato pavé on the monogrammed plate, the servers are in tux-adjacent attire, and this whole building in University Heights has been turned into a plant-based funhouse with formidable, obsessive style.
Photo Credit: James Tran Visitors stroll through the white-and-bright diner Dreamboat before stepping into Vulture’s moody bar.
Despite the earmarks of midcentury continental formalism, five out of 10 people in here wear arcane t-shirts. Word got out early on that Vulture was a fine-dining experience, and while there’s a tableside Caesar and velvet curtains and soft, artful furniture, that was never the intent. Stetina had to do some PR legwork to pop the “special occasion” balloon that floated over the project—another collaboration between himself and Arsalun Tafazoli of CH Projects—and it seems to be working.
One of the t-shirt people I recognize: Justin Pearson of The Locust and Three One G Records. A thoughtful and progressive punk force in SD, he’s seated at a corner table with individuals who look like they’ve at least dabbled in if not dedicated their lives to graphic design and can casually play a theremin near a rare fern. Vulture captures that same dinner-party-for-creative-people mood that the Middletown bar Starlite first brought to the city.
Photo Credit: James Tran Every upholstery in Vulture is tufted, every bust underlit for drama, every detail obsessively detailed.
It’s a place for grown-up punks, for ideas and ideals.
(Obtrusive but important note about punk rock and plant eaters: The rather genuine punk music of the 1970s and ’80s that eventually birthed Green Day and Nirvana and even, I guess, My Chemical Romance emerged from a philosophical and creative instinct to challenge status quos, which often meant expressing unpopular and political opinions in an excessively loud and urgent manner—pretty much exactly what Simon & Garfunkel were doing but far more invigorating and annoying. There were plenty of bands who got big because they had great hair and a good producer; there were other bands who got cult-famous based on the holy-wow way they expressed uncomfortable ideas, making people question the way they lived. Eating only plants was a part of this live-different worldview, and, like any good movement, it got co-opted by the tad too righteous, moral, and shame-mongery. It should be said that Stetina made his name in San Diego by being a philosophical vegan who’s un-mongery.)
Photo Credit: James Tran The Vulture martini, the result of a year of tinkering—a near-frozen booze concerto of three different gins and four vermouths.
To get to Vulture, you enter through Dreamboat, a well-lit, bright, Mr. Clean-ish, ’60s-era, plant-based, romantically American diner that’s all white and chrome and charm—poodle-skirt notions and connoisseur coffee and smoked potato latkes and Impossible burgers and baked goods and milkshakes and cocktails. Seating occupancy: one-and-a-half people on Ozempic (fine, it’s 10).
In the back corner of this tiny diner is an antique host stand. The host takes you through a velvet curtain, down the short hall, and through a door, until you enter into, what?
Photo Credit: James Tran Bedecked in red velvet, Vulture was five years in the making.
Some will call it a speakeasy, but it’s really just a fun surprise restaurant (“speakeasies” do still exist, but they’re not on OpenTable, and almost everyone with a project they call a “speakeasy” will, on their most honest days, admit it’s not a speakeasy).
You’ll step into cavernous, amber-glow, lava-lamp darkness. So, the first experience Vulture offers all of us is temporary blindness, followed by the opportunity to behold the shockingly slow ability of human eyes to adjust to radical shifts in light. The music is on point, a mix of obscure indie tracks and guilty-pleasure soft-rock bangers. Thanks to listening bars, restaurants have become the stereo-system showrooms of America. Remember that guy in high school who one day showed up with box speakers in his trunk and a $6,000 head unit, an amp, subwoofers, and EQs, and his car sounded like Dr. Dre’s and Rick Rubin’s place of business? That guy is restaurants.
Photo Credit: Arlene Ibarra The “crab” cake, made with hearts of palm.
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.
It had been open six weeks when it got the Michelin star. At six weeks, a restaurant is a newborn. Newborns wail and struggle to breathe. They’re cracking open their first panic attack. Nine months in the flotation tank of the mom spa, then—blammo—the landlord shuts off the water and fairly traumatically evicts them into a drafty world that has no clue about mood lighting.
It’s old food critic wisdom that restaurants need six months to get running and ready for real analysis. Crew members will have lied on their resumes, narcissists will find themselves bored, the strangely emotional demands of diners will break newbies. It’s a fresh organism dedicated to executing nightly public theater, and it takes time for all the parts to learn how to operate as a fluid whole—develop mutually beneficial roles, nail the timing, speak the unspoken language.
Granted, the team at Lilo in Carlsbad aren’t newcomers, and they’ve had way more time than they ever wanted to plan this out. Plus, the partners—restaurateur John Resnick and chef Eric Bost—helped earn their restaurant across the street, Jeune et Jolie, a Michelin star (and they run its raved-about sister restaurant, Campfire, down the block).
Photo Credit: Elodie Bost Analog music helps set the mood in here.
“We’re lucky,” Resnick says. “About 80 percent of the people on our team, we either worked with immediately or they came back because they were excited about this project.”
The project is a 22-seat, tasting menu–only restaurant featuring Bost, longtime chef de cuisine Dusan Todic, wine director Savannah Riedler (formerly of Post Ranch Inn and two-Michelin-starred Saison), and beverage director Andrew Cordero (Jeune et Jolie and Campfire). It’s four years in the making. When a 10,000-square-foot building became available on State Street in 2021—the last of its kind on one of Carlsbad’s most up-and-coming drags—they jumped at it. The plan was to build a massive all-day restaurant (Wildland, now open) and, behind it, tiny Lilo, where they could showcase what their vision of the ultimate San Diego dinner experience could be. It’s the kind of James Beard Award and Michelin bait that ambitious restaurateurs dream of and makes basic sense when they have a chef-partner like Bost.
“Campfire and Jeune—from the time leases were signed to opening doors—took about 12 months,” Resnick says. “So I kind of felt like, alright, 18 months should be doable.” He pauses. “It was not.”
Photo Credit: Kimberly Motos Your meal begins in the serene courtyard.
At that time, the pandemic was still slowly releasing its chokehold. Supply chains had been shot with a billion tranquilizer darts. Building two restaurants at a time while exhibiting a noble American amount of ambition was no picnic. The week after the project finally broke ground, the construction lead on the project—“the only person more essential to the buildout than us as owners,” Resnick says—departed. A fun idiosyncrasy of construction in North County is that most contractors live 40 minutes away and prefer freelance gigs closer to home. So, finding help was hard. Plus, a new ordinance had been passed in Carlsbad since Resnick opened his first two restaurants.
“I was down in Baja having lunch when I got an email about needing a ‘minor site development plan,’” Resnick remembers. “I was like, ‘Well, it’s got the word minor in it; it’s probably not a big deal.’ That one thing added nine months to the project.”
Project costs ballooned. Hems were hawed. The buzz on this project had been loud, and now the scene wondered and whispered. I ask Bost and Resnick if there was a time they considered giving up or drastically reducing the vision.
“It came up, yeah,” Resnick says. “At the end of the day, it was a ‘the only way out is through’ type of thing.”
They thought they’d launch in July 2023. The doors opened in April 2025.
Photo Credit: Elodie Bost A tartlette made with vin jaune, or “yellow wine,” a dry French white aged for years under a film of yeast.
The Redemption
For Bost, the unveiling of that restaurant was especially redeeming. In 2020, he’d lost what felt like everything. He’d spent 20 years working his way through some of the world’s best kitchens: Le Cirque, The Ritz-Carlton in St. Thomas, Alain Ducasse, and both The Lodge at Torrey Pines and The Inn at Rancho Santa Fe in San Diego. He hit the top when he was named executive chef for Guy Savoy, launching the famed French chef’s elaborate Vegas restaurant and then overseeing his places in Singapore. In 2017, ready to do his own thing, he returned to SoCal and spent two years developing the idea for his dream restaurant. He finally opened his unpretentious tasting-menu place, Auburn, in LA in 2019.
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 advancements in cellular biology and molecular research to innovations that deepen our understanding of complex biological systems, biotechnology continues to influence how researchers explore some of science’s most important questions.
While major discoveries often capture headlines, the process behind those breakthroughs receives far less attention. Scientific progress depends on a vast network of researchers, laboratories, manufacturers, and specialized organizations working together to support ongoing investigation and discovery.
The Growing Importance of Biotechnology
In recent years, biotechnology has moved beyond the walls of research institutions and into mainstream conversation. Increased access to scientific information, educational content, and expert commentary has sparked growing public interest in the biological sciences.
Topics once discussed primarily within academic circles are now reaching broader audiences through podcasts, documentaries, digital media, and online communities. As a result, more people are developing an appreciation for the research, experimentation, and innovation that drive scientific advancement.
This growing visibility has transformed biotechnology from a largely specialized field into a subject of interest for educators, innovators, investors, and curious observers alike.
The Hidden Infrastructure Behind Discovery
Scientific breakthroughs often capture public attention, but the infrastructure that makes those breakthroughs possible rarely receives the same recognition. Behind every new discovery are years of investigation, testing, analysis, and refinement.
Behind nearly every research project is a network of laboratories, suppliers, technical specialists, and research-focused organizations working together to support scientific exploration. Laboratory infrastructure, specialized materials, quality standards, and reliable methodologies all contribute to the integrity of the research process.
When these foundational elements are in place, researchers can focus on generating insights, exploring new ideas, and building upon existing knowledge. Although much of this work occurs behind the scenes, it plays a critical role in helping science move forward.
Why Discovery Depends on More Than Researchers Alone
As biotechnology continues to evolve, research-focused organizations have become increasingly important contributors to the broader scientific ecosystem.
Among them is NewBioRx, a company operating within the biotechnology and life sciences sector. Like many organizations operating within the broader research ecosystem, NewBioRx contributes to the network of suppliers, laboratories, and scientific stakeholders that help support ongoing research efforts.
As scientific research becomes increasingly sophisticated, organizations that help support the research environment contribute to a culture where innovation can continue to thrive. Their work may not always be visible to the public, but it forms part of the foundation that enables scientific progress.
Why Science Is Reaching Wider Audiences
One of the most notable developments in recent years has been the growing public fascination with science and human biology.
Scientific concepts that were once primarily discussed within research settings are now reaching wider audiences through educational content, podcasts, digital media, and online communities. People are becoming increasingly interested not only in scientific outcomes, but also in the process of discovery itself.
The growing visibility of science has also created new connections between scientific communities and broader audiences. Individuals who operate across multiple worlds—including fitness, media, and life sciences—have helped introduce scientific topics to audiences that may not have engaged with them previously.
One example is Sam Sulek, co-founder of NewBioRx, whose involvement across fitness culture and the life sciences sector reflects the growing intersection between public curiosity and scientific exploration.
As co-founder of NewBioRx, he has helped champion a research-focused approach to scientific inquiry while supporting broader conversations around scientific literacy and discovery.
As scientific discovery becomes increasingly collaborative, public attention is beginning to extend beyond individual breakthroughs and toward the broader ecosystem that makes those breakthroughs possible. From researchers and laboratories to the organizations that support them, scientific progress remains a collective effort built on curiosity, expertise, and long-term commitment.
