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Though most no longer have to hunt and gather their own food to survive, seeking out nature's bounty still has an undeniable power
“For 99 percent of the existence of our species, all we did was get up in the morning and ask ourselves, ‘What am I going to eat today?” says Pascal Gagneux, professor of pathology and anthropology at UCSD.
Nowadays, for many of us, feeding ourselves is as simple as driving to the nearest Trader Joe’s (or tapping a few buttons on DoorDash). But some, including Gagneux, still occasionally venture into the brush for snacks. He’s scoured the county’s bike trails and hedgerows from Pacific Beach to La Jolla, documenting over 100 edible species in the process. For him, it’s a means of cultivating wonder. “I have biophilia,” he says-an affinity, love, craving even for the natural world and all the myriad ways it ticks.

Of course, dipping your toes back into ancient scripts can expose you to ancient dangers. Poison hemlock (Socrates’ last drink) bears striking resemblance to wild celery. Deadly amanita ocreata could be a direct dupe for button mushrooms. In fact, Gagneux himself recently had a particularly unpleasant gastrointestinal run-in with a chicken of the woods mushroom, an easy-to-identify and usually benign species with which he’s quite familiar.
To forage, one must assume a relative degree of risk. Yet for the adventurous (and deeply experienced) few, foraging offers a thrill hard-won. The elevation of gustatory pleasure. A precious link to history and heritage. Age-old medicine, straight from the land.
My own interest in wild foods started young. My father had a novice passion, and I was raised with stories of giant puffball mushroom discoveries in upstate New York, of collecting bamboo shoots and black fungus on a business trip to China.
Once, when I was in grade school, he was passing by a San Diego fire station after a storm. A bloom of morels sat in innocent abundance on the city block, unnoticed by passersby. He pulled the car over and picked the lot. I was mesmerized by their alien fruiting bodies and earthy scent. He strung them to dry from our porch, and we ate them all spring.
Since experiencing foraging in Washington, Colorado, and New Zealand, I’m still no expert-far from it. And my home of San Diego always seemed to me like a wild-food wasteland, subject to maybe a morel miracle after a rainstorm, but not much else. Yet how can that be, when the coastal scrub supported native communities for thousands of years? Who are the foragers here, and what drives them out into the woods?

For Travis Swikard, chef at Callie and the incoming, as-yet-unnamed restaurant at La Jolla Commons, foraging is ingrained in his philosophy on cooking as a whole. It’s a vital aspect of the natural cuisine of a place, he says. Wild ramps, porcinis, and morels were an everyday part of his childhood in Vermont. His training in Europe solidified the sense that what we eat should be reflective of not just the season, but the day. Is it raining? How hot is this summer in particular? What does this village or that have access to and at what time?
In early spring, it’s stinging nettles that are flush and verdant on the damp trails of our greater backyards. Swikard pairs his nettles with potato, also an early springtime staple, as a farce inside fresh pasta, served with parmesan and leek broth. “There’s nothing more signifying of time and place than something that is [growing] wild,” he says.

In summer, it’s about fennel. A transplant from Europe, fennel has invaded nearly every coast and hedgerow of our region. At Callie, all of the plant is used: the sweet stalk in vegetable and pasta dishes, the delicate fronds in salads, the pollen and seeds in hearty stews, the brittle husks for charcoal grilling. Foraging chefs feel like the natural evolution of American restaurants’ return to seasonal cooking.
“Follow what nature is giving you,” Swikard says.
The average home cook, however, may want to refrain. “I would generally discourage the everyday person to go out and forage,” Swikard cautions. The risk of misidentifying a mushroom or herb is too high. But if you’re at, say, Chino Farms or another local vendor, and they have nettles, lamb’s quarter, or purslane, consider purchasing something you wouldn’t normally try. You might be surprised at the complexity it adds to your next salad or potato-leek soup.

For other foragers, the pursuit of wild foods goes beyond flavor. Paul Sage Cannon, a tribal member of the Kumeyaay nation and a medicine bearer for his community on their reservation near Pauma Valley, views wild plants as inextricably linked to his sense of identity, how he interacts with the world, how he shares healing and connection with people.
Cannon lights a white sage bundle, letting the smoke waft gently throughout his home, surrounding our bodies. Sage, he explains, is used to rid the space of any negative energies. White sage is a prized plant among native communities, used as an ingredient in pinole (a kind of porridge), a powerful antibacterial, and a connection to the spiritual realm. It is resinous, leathery, growing in great plumes on the stalks of his backyard plants. It is now also a protected species due to overharvesting and habitat loss.

It’s witnessing the ingredients vital to his culture in peril that drives Cannon’s motivation for food sovereignty. Having seen firsthand the impacts of poverty on his community, Cannon believes there is immense value in learning your native habitat and food sources. Stable housing isn’t promised, and “that refrigerator can disappear rather quickly,” he points out.
Cannon champions the preservation of wild food sources and community and backyard gardening as ways to fortify vulnerable communities from food scarcity. Cannon does his part, replanting areas where sage has been impacted, and tells me there are also safe cultivating spaces specifically set aside for the tribe.
Graciously, he opens his cabinets to me, showing me plump acorns collected from Palomar Mountain. Another rich source of nutrients, they are vital to native food systems, as well as a host of indigenous species like the acorn woodpecker. He nods to the mugwort growing out the window, an aid in astral travel. He then pulls out a jar of innocuous dried twigs and opens the lid. I’m immediately hit with a powerful blast of sharp-smelling herbal potency.
“That’s native creosote. That’ll save you from death,” he says. It’s used as a cure-all for native peoples, known to help everything from the flu to pain. It’s even being explored in clinical studies as a potential inhibitor of cancerous growth, though the research is still evolving.
Cannon takes me out into the San Luis Rey riverbed near his home. He points out edible local buckwheat, and we rub our hands on hollyleaf cherry leaves, relishing their marzipan scent. The berries are safe to eat, he tells me, but the seeds are poisonous. We pass arroyo willow. A hallmark for sourcing water, it’s also used to make ewaa (traditional nomadic shelters) and may host oyster mushrooms.
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Cannon pops a few pinches of sagebrush into his leather medicine bag. In it, he keeps a “prayer blend,” a constantly rotating assortment of wild flowers and herbs picked up from each foray, local or otherwise. He’ll bestow a small offering of this blend to those he meets, those he sits with in their own times of pain or need. This medicine is about bearing witness to suffering and providing to it an offering. A talisman of connection to the abundance of life. A symbol of our relationship to the land and our commitment to protect it and each other.
Foraging can be a similar kind of cure, safeguarding and nourishing you as you work to respect and understand its offerings. After all, Cannon says, “the number-one medicine is getting your hands in the dirt.”
The team behind Harumama and Blue Ocean will open Little Kiki Katsu & More on June 15, serving premium cutlets, Japanese sandos, and curated sake pairings
Every culture has its own comfort foods—cozy dishes that nurture the soul as much as the body. In the US, dipping a grilled cheese sandwich in a bowl of tomato soup can feel as satiating as pulling a warm sweater out of the dryer. In China, a steaming bowl of congee is basically a miracle remedy for anything you can imagine. I’m pretty sure Italian carbonara could achieve world peace. And in Japan, katsu remains one of the most universally satisfying inventions of the past century.
Katsu was originally invented as a riff on côtelette de veau, the classic French veal cutlet coated with breadcrumbs and pan-fried in butter. In 1899, a Western-style restaurant called Rengatei in Tokyo decided to put their own spin on the dish by pounding the cutlets until thin, then coating them with softer panko and deep-frying versus pan frying (like tempura) for a crispier, lighter, crunchier bite. Today, pork—called tonkatsu in Japanese—tends to be the most common base for katsu.
The dish has yet to achieve the same mainstream status as say, chicken nuggets, in the US. But Little Kiki Katsu & More hopes to change that, when the katsu-focused restaurant opens in Carlsbad on June 15.
Created by the team behind Harumama and Blue Ocean, Little Kiki will focus on premium katsu dishes paired with sake and around a dozen small bites like miso soup, karaage, edamame, and Japanese pickles. Executive chef James Pyo, who co-owns all three restaurants with his wife Jenny, created a menu that features proteins like Berkshire Kurobuta pork, Jidori chicken, salmon, scallops, and dry-aged Pacific cod for the katsu and grilled stone selections. (Note: the grilled stone options will be offered for dinner only.)

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

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

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

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

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

Listen Now: The Latest in San Diego’s Food and Drink Scene
Have breaking news, exciting scoops, or great stories about new San Diego restaurants or the city’s food scene? Send your pitches to [email protected].
Beth Demmon is an award-winning writer and podcaster whose work regularly appears in national outlets and San Diego Magazine. Her first book, The Beer Lover's Guide to Cider, is now available. Find out more on bethdemmon.com.
Talking farm to table, fraud-to-table, and the feasibility of the movement with the beloved restaurateur who saw it all
Garden Kitchen was special. During its seven-year run on a quiet street in Rolando, even the farmiest-to-table devotees were pointing to chef-owner Coral Strong and slow-clapping. When the restaurant’s lease was up without the option to renew, which forced her to close in 2022, Strong wasn’t sure what to do next.
Farm-to-table wasn’t new by any means—chef Alice Waters spawned the movement at her pioneering restaurant Chez Panisse in Berkeley in the early ‘70s, and many San Diego chefs did it right. But by the mid-2000s, the idea had been so co-opted by the mainstream that the meaning was almost completely lost.
“In the beginning, I used to get very honestly angry and upset when I would go to other restaurants that were claiming they were farm-to-table, but knowing some of the chefs or prep cooks inside [telling me] ‘Oh no, that comes from Restaurant Depot,’” she says.
Food critic Troy Johnson’s cover story in 2015 documented the fraud, titled “Farm to Fable.” At Garden Kitchen, Strong only used produce and meat sourced from local San Diego farms—an honorable, if not arduous endeavor.
Strong grew up in Cardiff before her parents moved the family to Costa Rica in 1989. They’d bounce between the two countries for months at a time, but when they lived in a motel by the beach while building their own house, she witnessed an incredibly tight-knit food culture. “As a Latin American country, everyone kind of cooks together,” she says. Everyone chopped, prepped, prepared, and served as a unit. “[That] definitely shaped my adolescence as to how I thought about food and the community of food.”

When her father, a commercial fisherman, brought the family back to San Diego, Strong leaned into an entrepreneurial streak, moving from coffee to accounting and eventually bartending to pay the bills. But food remained a passion, especially after she met her future husband, who introduced her to his Be Wise CSA and the wonderful world of truly fresh, farm-grown vegetables.
“We were just always disappointed with the vegetables out at restaurants and were like, ‘Why can’t they just make vegetables taste good?” she wondered. She realized that despite having more small farms than any other county in the country, most restaurants in San Diego simply weren’t using local ingredients.
So she decided to do it herself.
Strong opened Garden Kitchen without any formal culinary training—just a commitment to getting the freshest vegetables, meat, fruits, and other produce onto people’s plates. Her first chef quit within a month, telling her it was impossible. “So I got in the kitchen one day and said, ‘I can do this, let’s figure it out.’ I taught myself how to cook.”
She already had connections with farmers, fishermen, and ranchers, and designed a different menu almost daily based on what she could get. “My farmers sometimes delivered in the middle of dinner service,” she laughs.
Garden Kitchen lasted until after the pandemic, but before the current economy cut into already razor-thin margins. Could Garden Kitchen exist today? She’s not sure.
“The biggest thing right now is just looking at the finances and how expensive it is,” says Strong. “Obviously, the cost of food is up right now, gas is crazy right now… it just crushes you.” Despite that, she believes that committing to the true farm-to-table ethos is as easy as one decides to make it.
“If you think it’s hard to order directly from your farmer, if you don’t understand the absolute pleasure in doing that and you’d rather order from a computer, then that’s your own difficulty,” she says. “People say they’re into it, but are they willing to make the effort like I am, to drive an hour to go get my meat, or drive 35 minutes to go to my farm to go pick it up? I don’t know.”
Today, Strong works as a private chef, hosts pop-ups, and offers catering services, all still using seasonally available ingredients from San Diego. And while she has no intentions of opening another restaurant, she says we might see even more of her in the future.
“I have a large property [in Valley Center], and let’s say that there will be more of my food to come,” she promises.

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.
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.
Stop by the San Diego County Fair, rock out at the inaugural Field of Dreamz and visit Bikini Bottom via The Spongebob Musical
Charitable gatherings, downtown music festivals and theater premieres—of both the heartwarming and thought-provoking variety—are among San Diego’s standout events this weekend. You can’t spell fundraising without ‘fun,’ and both elements are central at Poway OnStage’s Taste of the Towne and the Switchfoot Bro-Am. Listeners of blues, reggae rock and silky smooth jazz can check out the East Village Blues Fest, Field of Dreamz and the San Diego Smooth Jazz Festival, respectively. As for the city’s thespian community, new shows include Cygnet Theatre’s production of Broadway favorite The Spongebob Musical and the world premiere of the OnWord Theatre show Marti Gobel’s Adult Storytime: A Caregiver’s Guide To The Blues.
Food & Drink | Concerts & Festivals | Theater & Art Exhibits | More Fun Things to Do
The tasteful appetizer to Switchfoot Bro-Am’s annual Beach Fest is the laid-back Benefit Party, returning this Thursday from 6-10 p.m. at Viasat. Guests will be treated to a curated dining menu, a performance by Switchfoot with special guests, and the chance to bid on live and silent auction items, including local excursions, apparel packages, and deluxe arts experiences. Individual ticket options include general admission ($300) and reserved seating ($450); the money raised will go towards youth-centered programming at six local nonprofits.
6155 El Camino Real, Carlsbad
Patrons of Poway OnStage are invited to Taste of Our Towne, the organization’s annual culinary fundraiser, this Saturday at 5 p.m. at Poway Center for the Performing Arts. The evening will begin with auctions, plus bites and libations from over a dozen local vendors before magician Chris Funk, aka The Wonderist, takes the stage for an interactive comedy show. General admission is $115 for Taste of Our Towne; proceeds from this event will benefit Poway OnStage’s Professional Performance Series and Arts in Education Initiative.
15498 Espola Road, Poway
Before (potentially) riding off into the sunset, British rocker Rod Stewart is strutting his stuff stateside with the unconventional voice and unquestionable verve that’s propelled his nearly six decade-long solo career. Though the “Da Ya Think I’m Sexy?” artist’s days on the road may be dwindling, that’s even more reason to give him his flowers in the present. Stewart’s upcoming show this Friday at 7:30 p.m. at North Island Credit Union Amphitheatre will feature prolific singer-songwriter Richard Marx as the opening act. Tickets start at $40.
2050 Entertainment Circle, Chula Vista
Following Thursday’s Benefit Party, the 22nd annual Switchfoot Bro-Am will switch (get it?) from its fundraiser to a free day at Moonlight Beach for Saturday’s all-day Beach Fest. From 7 a.m. to 3 p.m. there will be surf competitions—including surf jousting—and from noon to 5 p.m., Sun Room, Telephone Friends, Kimiko, a handful of special guests and, of course, Switchfoot will perform for attendees. Additionally, throughout the day, there will be a variety of vendors and brand activations to explore. Admission is free with RSVP, while VIP pit tickets are $195.
400 B Street, Encinitas
As the mysterious saying goes, ‘If you build it, they will come,’ but instead of Iowa cornfields, this time the message is coming from inside SD’s home ballpark. This Saturday, Ocean Beach natives Slightly Stoopid will headline the first-ever Field of Dreamz Festival, and they’ve brought along a handful of ska, reggae and island-inspired rock acts for the ride. Doors will open at 3 p.m., and fans can see sets by Stephen Marley, Pepper, Sublime—whose first album with frontman Jakob Nowell drops Friday—and more. Ticket options include standard admission ($125), floor tickets ($188), plus All-Star VIP ($244) and Hall of Fame VIP ($610) passes.
100 Park Boulevard, Downtown
Ryan Hardison is a freelance arts and entertainment writer and recent graduate of San Diego State. When he's not staring at his laptop, he's likely eating an adobada burrito or getting sunburnt at the beach.
Food writer Beth Demmon names local bites we love—both at the high and low ends of our budgets
We love a mega-fancy tasting menu, but let’s be honest—we’re not all blessed with unlimited Wagyu funds. So we picked some of the breakout dishes of the last year (or couple of years) from the best chefs in the city, reverse-engineered their chief charms (salty, smoky, caramelized?) in the test lab of our mouths, and found some budget-friendly alternatives that hit some of the same notes with an everyday price tag.
Where do delicately plucked marigold blossoms adorn Deer Isle scallops, or ingredients like fermented raspberry precede roasted coffee oil, shiro miso caramel, or bronze fennel in a parade of hit-after-hit dishes? Lilo in Carlsbad, of course. San Diego’s newest Michelin star changes its menu with the seasons, but one stalwart dish has kept tongues wagging since opening day last April: the caviar ice cream. A boat-shaped sliver of orgeat ice cream, smoked celery root bushi, and freshly pressed almond oil are topped with a generous heap of caviar. It’s a dish so good and defining that chef Eric Bost will tire of talking about it for a very long time.
Price: $265 for the tasting menu (before tax, tip, and drinks)
There’s a reason Stella Jean’s s’mores ice cream is part of the local scoop shop’s “always available” menu. Made with fire-roasted marshmallows and coconut ash ice cream mixed with dark chocolate-covered graham crackers and mini marshmallows, its strangely ashen hue dabbled with flecks of tawny brown is a far cry from the wildly vibrant ube and pandesal toffee flavor seemingly made for Instagram reels. But it’s a sensation in your mouth—smoky, toasty, torched, creamy, marshmallowy, coconutty, ashy, and bitter from the dark chocolate. Pro tip: If you really want to DIY Lilo’s ultra-luxe treat, bring your own caviar.
Price: $6.25 for a single scoop
There’s no question what comes first at Lucien. It’s the egg. Chef and co-owner Elijah Arizmendi’s 12-course tasting menu begins with welcome bites under the calamansi tree before moving inside to start the Journey (the actual name of this section of the menu). The first step is one of the most astounding—a perfectly intact, upright, ochre-hued eggshell containing his take on Japanese chawanmushi (egg custard), topped with a dollop of caviar. The accompanying ingredients have ranged from sweet corn and huitlacoche to banana and buckwheat, but each one has precisely demonstrated Arizmendi’s commitment to French technique with California experimentation and global influence.
Price: $260 for the chef’s tasting menu (before tax, tip, and drinks)
The biggest difference (besides price) is that while Lucien’s dish changes with the season, Sushi Ota is comfortably predictable. A San Diego staple since 1990, the legendary Sushi Ota has been one of those if you know, you know joints that locals try to keep off the radar. (It hasn’t worked at all.) Known for ultra-fresh fish and ultra-traditional service, the small Pacific Beach restaurant also serves Japanese comfort foods like udon noodle soup alongside sashimi, nigiri, and rolls. But it’s the savory steamed egg custard, called chawanmushi, that really gives you the warm and fuzzies. Add a side of salmon roe (ikura) for a few bucks more, and this dupe is about as good as it gets.
Price: $12 for chawanmushi, $11 for ikura

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

PB&J. Captain & Tennille. Brad Wise and steak. Steak frites ranks among the iconic global duos. And when the holy union of prime cuts and twice-fried carbs comes from Wise and the meat-loving masters at Trust Restaurant Group, it’s a pretty safe bet. À L’ouest—the group’s newest fancy, but not fussy, drippy plant dreamscape of a French steakhouse on the prime corner of 30th and University in North Park—gives guests a choice: 12-ounce New York strip, 8-ounce filet mignon, or 8-ounce Wagyu hanger, topped with sauce au poivre (the classic French pan sauce—peppercorns, shallots, heavy cream, brandy) and served with a heaping pile of 24-hour salt-brined fries and a watercress salad. One bite acts as a transport to a Parisian brasserie, so if you think about the cost in terms of time-space travel, it’s a pretty great deal.
Price: starts at $48
To satisfy the same urge for meat and potatoes, feel at least moderately European while doing so, and save a couple quid, a trip to The Shakespeare in Mission Hills ticks all the boxes. The classic British shepherd’s pie arrives in a piping hot oval au gratin dish, smothered with a thick layer of mashed potatoes. Beneath it lies a hefty portion of marinated ground beef and vegetables in the pub’s secret sauce, and while there are a few choices of sides, the correct order is peas and “proper” chips (a.k.a. chunky, thick-cut fries versus the typically thinner American “French” fries). It’s more tickety-boo than très bien, but it’s immensely satisfying in any language.
Price: $22.95
Beth Demmon is an award-winning writer and podcaster whose work regularly appears in national outlets and San Diego Magazine. Her first book, The Beer Lover's Guide to Cider, is now available. Find out more on bethdemmon.com.
Scripps study shows that some patients may be able to taper their dose and maintain results
While glucagon-like peptide-1 (GLP-1) receptor agents have been used to treat Type 2 diabetes for more than 20 years, their recent emergence as weight-loss wonder drugs marked a new frontier in medicine. But their effectiveness has left some patients wondering what to do once they’ve reached their goal. Stopping the medication could mean regaining some, if not all, of the weight. A Scripps Clinic internal medicine physician recently conducted a small study of whether GLP-1 patients who had reached their goal weight could maintain that weight by taking their regularly prescribed injection every other week instead of weekly. Spoiler alert: 30 of 34 patients did. Read more about the study here and what that may mean as pharmaceutical companies roll out oral GLP-1s.
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