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After two decades of work and four years of waiting, the Carlsbad restaurant's opening came with a big splash
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).

“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.”

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.

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.
The world’s best chefs came to eat: René Redzepi of Noma, Grant Achatz of Alinea, Savoy. It was widely, widely loved. Then, on the day of Auburn’s one-year anniversary, all LA dining rooms were ordered to shutter due to Covid. They tried takeout and all the things, but money ran out and it didn’t work. That chapter, the one he’d written in sweat and blood and life savings, was closed. He’d reached the top, and now he needed a job.

“I had worked so hard for so long, and it felt like my whole world collapsed,” Bost says.
Down here in San Diego, Resnick had lost a rudder, too. His longtime partner—chef Andrew Bachelier, who opened and ran Campfire and Jeune et Jolie—left to be with his family during the pandemic. So Resnick reached out to Bost and brought him back to San Diego. A few months after his return, I took my family to Jeune et Jolie. I’d never tried Bost’s food, and it was a revelation. I wrote a nearly unhinged rave for SDM.
Jeune was awarded its Michelin star a few months later and has retained it for four years. Lilo is the duo’s second star, and it seems destined for at least one more.
“Five years after I lost Auburn, we’ve reached a success that, at the time, seemed impossible,” Bost says.

A college textbook on architecture that perfectly explained my childhood also explains the physical experience of Lilo. As a pre-internet teen in suburban North County, if I wanted social interaction outside of school, I went to the indoor mall then known as North County Fair. The odyssey started in some remote hinterland of the parking lot (malls were jammed in the ’80s). You’d traverse the sweltering asphalt acreage in the irrational Escondido sun, broiled from underfoot. The exterior of North County Fair was no eye candy, just beige stucco with fancy retail logos. You’d finally arrive, hot and sweaty and uninspired, and open the doors to the mall… and a wave of air conditioning and lights and joy and music would save you. You never wanted to leave, and your estimation of this mall had some messianic-capitalistic undertones. Turns out this is an actual form of architectural strategy and psychology.
Lilo is the same. (Okay, not exactly.) It’s in Carlsbad, for chrissakes, where even concrete is somehow charming. But the emotional experience of entering feels shockingly transportive. It’s tucked in a parking lot behind its sister restaurant, Wildland. Your journey includes pilgrimaging across the 50 feet of asphalt under temperate, marine air toward a tall, soft, slatted wall of curved wood that looks like it’s got a skincare routine, embossed with small black letters that say “Lilo” in a retro sans-serif font (in the constantly fonted psyche of modern humanity, a nice font is the underrated eye Prozac). You turn the corner into the courtyard and… salvation. Pleasure vertigo. A billowy tree billows. A handful of tables speckle the courtyard, which feels like it should have an earthen sauna with steamy rocks and Wim Hof sipping shrubs in an ice bath. You could stay here forever.

This is where the meal starts, with a trio of amuse-bouches and a welcome cocktail or zero-proof creation. It’s the naturalist decompression chamber. Then you enter the single dining room through a massive wall of glass, Mos Def or Lou Reed or Nina Simone playing on the reel-to-reel. “Dining room” is the wrong phrase. It’s essentially just 22 barstools at a U-shaped counter that surrounds the chefs and drinks people. They’ve trapped themselves into this experience.
You’ll be fed approximately 16 courses over the next couple hours. And you start to see the theater evolve. The crew is trained and guided on 73 sequences of service, under which are about 350 subnotes and thoughts on how to enhance the guest experience and handle the unexpected free radicals of placing 22 humans in a glass box. There are notes on how to open the door, where to stand when it is open, how far apart the seats should be (19 inches), how to pull out the chair (not a small feat; it’s all heavy, one-of-a-kind barstools). Ironically, the goal of these obsessive guidelines is to undo the roboticism of the formal restaurant experience.

“The whole point is for our team to not have to think about it,” Resnick says. “Things will fail during service, and if you have to think about how to handle it, you’re not going to be able to be in the moment and connect with our guests and just have fun. You don’t want a guest to notice that all the chairs are lined up and spaced out exactly 19 inches apart from each other. But they are. The whole point is, ‘How do we make this feel super effortless and lovely for the guest?’
“I’m the kind of person that, when I leave a restaurant, no matter how exceptional it was, a couple weeks or years later, I really don’t remember what I ate—but I remember how I felt. I was really excited about doing something that made you feel like you were having a special evening but you could be yourself. You wouldn’t have to be on your best behavior or feel like you had to be contrived to fit into what we were doing. We want it to feel communal, like we’re all doing this together—a chef’s counter can do that a little bit, I think.
“Just have fun. There’s good music playing. You can come in and laugh and have this rad night, and it’s also one of the best meals of your life. That’s the hope, at least.”

So, how does it feel?
You get the sense that, if your chi was dirty here, the staff would figure out how to wash it in botanical water hauled from a natural spring noted for its good omens, then clarify that omen water in a centrifuge and mix it with a cocktail shrub that’s been calibrated to the type of chi you possess.
There’s a dish that Bost and Todic created at Jeune et Jolie as part of the dreaming and R&D’ing for Lilo. It is one of the best things you’ll ever eat—ultra-local Californian and lightly Asian (both central tenets of how they cook); unexpected; bordering on weird; both a challenge to what we expect of food and an embrace of its base, comforting flavors.

It’s the orgeat ice cream with ossetra caviar. Orgeat is a cocktail ingredient that tastes like candied almonds and orange blossoms. The key to the dish is a celery root bushi, made from curing celery root in a mixture of brown sugar, tamari, and salt for two days. Then the root is smoked over almond wood for another two days. The chefs spend another couple days completely drying the root. They finally shave it over the top of the dish with a drizzle of freshly pressed almond oil (they make it daily in-house). It takes the standard idea of fine dining— caviar and crème fraîche—and puts a little Michelin-starred Ben & Jerry’s into it.
“That dish was from way back in the process, when we thought we were going to open earlier,” Bost says. “We had orgeat ice cream on the menu at Jeune for a time. I was just ruminating about what the food at Lilo would be. I knew we were going to have a caviar course at Lilo, and for some reason, I just made the connection with the ice cream. I grabbed one of these big Japanese ice cubes we had at the bar, dropped the quenelle of ice cream on that, put caviar on top, and took a bite. It was jammy, sweet, salty, fun. And I’m like, ‘Dusan, this is what I think the food should be, you know? It’s thoughtful and incredibly delicious, a little playful. Now how do we do things like this through 17 courses?’”

Bost’s and Dusan’s menu—hyper-local, hyper-seasonal, leaning Californian and Japanese (plenty of koji and fermenting)—evolves constantly based on farmers’ and fishers’ hauls, and whim. For instance, the most recent includes big-eye tuna and Wagyu tartare with yuzu, black radish, ginger, and spruce; gougères filled with comté Mornay, barrel-aged maple syrup, and Iberico lardo; abalone brushed with fermented pepper and guanciale in a broth of chicken and bone marrow; blackened banana with Koshihikari rice, medjool date, shiro miso caramel, and a roasted rice donut.
Each person on staff has an eleven-and-a-half hour shift—first, a meeting to go over every guest and special occasion or need, then a shift meal where work is not discussed, then the show and the post-show wrap. Every dish is assembled at guests’ eye-level, a few feet away, not unlike sushi omakases, except with way more moving parts to the dishes. A different cook or chef or beverage person delivers each dish as it is ready, which means everyone is responsible for the story.

“That actually takes a special kind of chef and kitchen staff, because not every chef got into this to be guest-facing,” Bost says.
I went opening night, part of a crowd of friends and family asked to give as much useful criticism as possible and help Bost and Resnick and their team see it from outside eyes. Day one—the first rough draft—wasn’t perfect, but damn if it wasn’t close to it. One of the best meals you’ll find in San Diego.
It works because of Bost and Resnick and their staff’s decades of thankless experience. It works because Bost is one of the most talented chefs in the city. But it feels somehow casual because of all the detail-gargling and obsession ahead of time—and then, doors open, cue the Jurassic 5, and just be.
“In the beginning, we thought about maybe bringing in a dancer to help with training,” says Resnick. “We didn’t, but there are so many things when you’re in this intimate of a space—when you need to bend down to open a drawer as guests are sitting right there staring at you. It’s all those little things, and sometimes we talked for hours about them.”
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.
Your guide to the area's best physicians nominated by their peers and chosen by the San Diego County Medical Society
For over two decades, the San Diego County Medical Society (SDCMS) has worked collaboratively with San Diego Magazine to recognize physicians who are held in the highest regard by their peers. Votes and nominations are open to all physicians in San Diego. The voting physicians are asked to vote for physicians within and outside their specialty to whom they would refer their friends and family. Through this process we have identified 968 physicians in 102 specialties.
In a synchronized effort, SDCMS confirmed every individual nominee’s Medical Board of California licensing and current practicing status. Through this exhaustive process, 968 physicians are being honored this year. Many of them have also been recognized for multiple years since we began publishing this list. Multi-year honorees will have the number of years they have been selected listed in brackets behind their name.
Although not all our superb physicians are represented on this list, we still acknowledge and appreciate their contributions. The selection criteria are strict, with only a small percent of physicians selected in each specialty. Many additional physicians received multiple votes from their peers, however, did not reach the threshold to be on the list. The best choice of physician for a patient includes many factors and we all work hard to meet their needs. We are proud to recognize that all physicians in San Diego work collaboratively to provide the very best care for all.
We welcome and encourage all San Diego County physicians to participate in their county and state medical societies as we work toward the SDCMS vision: “Physicians United for a Healthy San Diego.” The strength of our united voice as a medical community depends on the leadership and advocacy of all of us. We appreciate the assistance of all the physicians who voted, and we thank San Diego Magazine for their support.
Congratulations to all of our 2026 Top Doctor selectees! For more information regarding membership, voting, future events and becoming more involved with the medical society, visit www.SDCMS.org.
* Brackets denote the number of years chosen as a Top Doctor
Garth Ross Jacobsen, MD [4]
UC San Diego Health
9300 Campus Point Dr, MC 7220
La Jolla, CA 92037
(858) 657-7025
Long H Nguyen, MD [2]
Kaiser Permanente
3420 Kenyon St
San Diego, CA 92110
(800) 290-5000
Kimberly A Fitzgerald, MD [2]
Kaiser Permanente
3420 Kenyon St, Bldg B 1st Floor
San Diego, CA 92110
(800) 290-5000
Azadeh Shirazi, MD [2]
Sharp Rees-Stealy Medical Group
16899 W Bernardo Dr, 1st Floor
San Diego, CA 92127
(858) 499-2777
Dalia Abadeer Banks, MD [8]
UC San Diego Health
9500 Gilman Dr, MC 0898
La Jolla, CA 92093
(858) 657-6510
Adam Brent Barrus, MD [3]
Anesthesia Service Medical Group
3626 Ruffin Rd
San Diego, CA 92123
(858) 565-9666
Francesca Betti, MD [2]
Anesthesia Service Medical Group
3626 Ruffin Rd
San Diego, CA 92123
(858) 565-9666
Arsh Chopra, MD [1]
Kaiser Permanente
360 Rush Dr
San Marcos, CA 92078
(800) 290-5000
William T Connell, MD [12]
Anesthesia Service Medical Group
3626 Ruffin Rd
San Diego, CA 92123
(858) 565-9666
Andres Falabella, MD [2]
Anesthesia Service Medical Group
3626 Ruffin Rd
San Diego, CA 92123
(858) 565-9666
Alexander M Girgis, MD [5]
Anesthesia Service Medical Group
3626 Ruffin Rd
San Diego, CA 92123
(858) 565-9666
Austin J Henry, DO [3]
Anesthesia Service Medical Group
3626 Ruffin Rd
San Diego, CA 92123
(858) 565-9666
Paul James Himaya, MD [7]
Anesthesia Service Medical Group
3626 Ruffin Rd
San Diego, CA 92123
(858) 565-9666
Brian Alexander Janda, MD [2]
Anesthesia Service Medical Group
3626 Ruffin Rd
San Diego, CA 92123
(858) 565-9666
Tse-Sun Ku, MD [9]
Anesthesia Service Medical Group
3626 Ruffin Rd
San Diego, CA 92123
(858) 565-9666
Jason Philip Lujan, MD [17]
Anesthesia Service Medical Group
3626 Ruffin Rd
San Diego, CA 92123
(858) 565-9666
Kris Cheryl Lukauskis, MD [1]
Anesthesia Service Medical Group
3626 Ruffin Rd
San Diego, CA 92123
(858) 565-9666
Lars R Newsome, MD [20]
Anesthesia Service Medical Group
3626 Ruffin Rd
San Diego, CA 92123
(858) 565-9666
Deena Helen Perotti, MD [1]
Anesthesia Service Medical Group
3626 Ruffin Rd
San Diego, CA 92123
(858) 565-9666
Gabriel Rene Rubio, MD [2]
Anesthesia Service Medical Group
3626 Ruffin Rd
San Diego, CA 92123
(858) 565-9666
Alaa Saghbini, MD [3]
Anesthesia Service Medical Group
3626 Ruffin Rd
San Diego, CA 92123
(858) 565-9666
David Maged Seif, MD [8]
Anesthesia Service Medical Group
3626 Ruffin Rd
San Diego, CA 92123
(858) 565-9666
Edward Harding Sherer, MD [4]
Anesthesia Service Medical Group
3626 Ruffin Rd
San Diego, CA 92123
(858) 565-9666
Kevin James Staggenborg, MD [2]
Anesthesia Service Medical Group
3626 Ruffin Rd
San Diego, CA 92123
(858) 565-9666
Sepehr Shokri Tabibzadeh, MD [12]
Anesthesia Service Medical Group
3626 Ruffin Rd
San Diego, CA 92123
(858) 565-9666
Kris Kishore Vasant, MD [2]
Anesthesia Service Medical Group
3626 Ruffin Rd
San Diego, CA 92123
(858) 565-9666
The in-demand sourdough treats from ultra-small batch, family-run microbakery are popping up more and more across San Diego
There’s a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it sign tacked on a utility pole on a residential street in La Mesa with one word scrawled across it: SOURDOUGH. Megan Loney has lived in the Academy Heights neighborhood all her life—in fact, her parents reside next door and she lives in the house she grew up in. Out of her kitchen, she runs Gemini Twins Bakery. But based on demand, she may need to start looking for space somewhere else.
“We already have, let’s see, one, two, three…” she counts the equipment around the room. “Six fridges in the house.” (One fridge even gets delivered in the middle of our conversation.) Of course, not all of them are for the bakery, she adds. Half are dedicated to fermentation, from pickling peppers to making kombucha.
Scientists have long touted the benefits of yeast and bacteria converting sugars as a way to improve digestion and overall gut health (among other benefits) for many years. Handmade, housebaked sourdough bread has particularly regained popularity after a dip in production during the commercial bread heyday of the mid-20th century, driven in part by at-home attempts during the pandemic. Loney began experimenting with her sourdough starter in 2019, hoping to improve her family’s nutrition and eating habits.
It didn’t click right away. “It took me a year to keep my starter alive,” she laughs. “I didn’t bake any bread until 2020.” Once she did manage to nurture her starter to life, she taught herself how to bake better versions of store-bought items. “Look at anything on a label in a store these days, and it’s terrifying!” she says. “I was like, ‘No, no, no, we can do this fresh.’”
Loney started selling loaves and baked goods to friends and family before officially launching Gemini Twins (named after her twins, naturally) in 2024, first appearing at La Mesa Oktoberfest. Now, you can pick up her products at the Lakeside farmers market on Thursday afternoons, the Sharp Grossmont farmers market every other Friday morning, Cardiff farmers market on Saturday mornings (although not as the main bread vendor), and the first and third Saturdays of every month in her driveway—just follow the sourdough signs.
Gemini Twins mainly sells sourdough loaves, both traditional and flavors like blueberry lemon basil (made with lemon basil, not lemon and basil) and Dilly Jack (dill, Monterey Jack cheese, and dried onion), plus cookies, cinnamon rolls, scones, and bagels. Loney makes her own in-house blend of fresh-milled whole grain wheat that she mills herself, along with Central Milling organic high-mountain bread flour, a blend of spring wheat and high protein winter wheat. Using organic is key, she says, to avoid negating the health benefits of fermentation with possible exposure to pesticides, herbicides, or other chemicals.
After leaving a steady job in construction to launch Gemini Twins, she’s determined to make it work by any means necessary—literally. When she was pregnant with her youngest child, she was baking up until and actually on the day she gave birth. “It’s a dedication for sure, but it’s one that I love,” she says. Launching a viable sourdough brand isn’t exactly the easiest business to get into—most farmers markets and small grocers already have an overabundance of products. But the chance to be her own boss, support her wife who’s currently going to school full-time (as well as their kids), work from home, and share her wares across San Diego? It’s worth it. “The most important part is that it’s family-based,” she says. “We’re just hoping to see it grow… there’s a pretty big horizon in front of us.”
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.
Chantal Partolan’s growing food business blends her Filipino and Chinese heritage with a creative, memory-driven approach to cooking
As a child, Chantal Partolan never considered cooking as a viable job route. Rather, it was a passion she could turn to as a way to flex her creative muscle, from the time she was in school all the way into adulthood working in a corporate space.
“I never felt like [cooking] was a chore, like some other people feel,” she says. To feed that passion, she started hosting supper clubs in 2022, creating menus and full tablescapes to bring together friends and family. With each successful gathering, she wondered: Could she take this further?
In 2024, she did. Officially launching as Bik-Lun, she began small, hosting baking pop-ups in Long Beach before moving back to her hometown of San Diego in 2025. Now, Partolan still mostly pops up at small local businesses like Moniker General and Joon Shoppe, but now also offers small batch catering and private chef services, all centered around her father’s Filipino and her mother’s Chinese heritages.

Bik-Lun (pronounced bik-LUHN, like “fun”) is named for her mother. “When she migrated to America when she was younger with all her siblings, they all got American names,” Partolan says. She doesn’t strictly adhere to rigid culinary rules—instead, she lets memories drive her creations.
“Now that my grandparents are no longer here, trying to revisit those memories and share them with others has been a really important part of this journey for me,” she explains. Ingredients like red bean and black sesame reflect her Chinese roots, while more savory items like sinigang (a sour and savory Filipino soup) pay homage to her father’s family.
Collaborating with other children of immigrants is another way she experiences flavors through a fresh lens. There are so many Filipino-run small businesses willing to share their own familial memories and inspiration, she says. “Hearing their experiences sometimes helps me recount my own.”

You can next catch Bik-Lun on September 27 at Home Ec + Best Bud with Magnaye (formerly One of One), October 3 at Patine’s new location in Bankers Hill, and October 10-11 at the Mingei Museum for Merkado Kultura, a makers market for Filipino producers. Partolan says since most customers are familiar with her sweet products, she’s planning to offer more savory items—like a breakfast sandwich—at the Home Ec event to give people a taste of her creative versatility.
Eventually, she hopes to add some permanent residencies to Bik-Lun’s schedule—a few are already in the works, so stay tuned—while also looking for ways to combine her food and photography expertise. (A cookbook? Maybe, she says.) But in the meantime, Partolan will remain curious about where she comes from—and how it can take her to where she’s going.

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Beth Demmon is an award-winning writer and podcaster whose work regularly appears in national outlets and San Diego Magazine. Her first book, The Beer Lover's Guide to Cider, is now available. Find out more on bethdemmon.com.
The 29-year-old culinary director at Herb & Sea is making seafood sexy (and approachable) again
Implementing a farm-to-table model hardly deserves acknowledgement these days. It’s not a stretch. It’s not innovative. “It’s the bare f**king minimum,” says Herb & Sea‘s executive chef Aidan Owens.
When I arrive at the Encinitas restaurant, I’m ready to talk sustainability, farm-to-table stuff, with Owens. “Did you see the chin on that?” he says of the extra big jiggly chin on the sheephead that just arrived with the day’s fresh catch. I did. It was Jay Leno adjacent.
I learn quickly that he somehow oozes both charm and stone-cold honesty. Maybe he could construct a new dish with chin goo, like he did when he had a bunch of tuna scraps and voila’d it into a smooth and crowd-pleasing ‘nduja. “I want to know what’s in there,” he says.

The instinct to look closer, to dig into what others might discard, says a lot about the chef’s approach. I guide him back to our topic, but he has something else on his mind. “We’re overcomplicating food—what happened to just cooking good food and having fun with it?”
Owens grew up on a farm in Byron Bay, Australia, where sustainability wasn’t a concept you chat about so much as a way of life. Think dirt roads, backyard chickens, pulling vegetables straight from the ground, and a mother who believed that if you couldn’t pronounce the ingredients on a package, you shouldn’t eat what was inside.
Food wasn’t precious or performative. Making it was what you did because you were hungry and that’s still what inspires Owens today. “I like to cook good food because I like to eat good food,” he says.
His approach to sustainability at Herb & Sea began so naturally that it felt just like instinct. “I was just like, ‘Let’s order food from the people who live and work here,’” he says.

And why wouldn’t he when lives in San Diego? Cities all over the world vie for our goods. Our tuna is sent overseas. Our spiny lobsters hit dinner plates in China and Japan. Not to mention California’s producing a third of the country’s vegetables and three-quarters of its fruits and nuts.
“Why would we outsource when it’s all here?” Owens asks.
Sustainability, in this context, is about cooking what exists in abundance, nearby, right now. “I love the local fish here. It’s f**king delicious and San Diego citrus, I mean, it is so f**ing good,” he says.
Instead of importing ingredients, Owens also looks for nearby alternatives. “You can find really cool things in the local waters,” he says, pointing out that stingray cheeks taste similar to scallops.

Whatever he finds in that sheephead chin might just be the next substitute for marrow. But to make this work, it means getting diners amped up about the slightly unfamiliar.
Tasting menus, where diners are completely in his hands, become an opportunity to gently push boundaries. “I’ll serve mackerel, because people think they hate it,” Owens says, noting that the abundant local fish can have some fishiness. “But when it’s fresh, it’s arguably one of the best fish in the ocean.”
He also tweaks the language on the menu so people might feel more compelled to give dishes a try without preconceived notions. He might use “lengua” instead of “tongue.” “Whelk” instead of “snail.” When he puts “stingray throat” on the menu, he disarmingly calls it “skate.”
To reduce waste, scraps aren’t always discarded but rather turned into something new. Sometimes they’re smoked, cured or fermented. Apples going bad turn into apple ponzu. Lemons turn to marmalade, which stretches their usefulness far beyond peak season. “And it’s super tasty on our pizza,” he says.
What makes the food even richer, is the relationships he’s built with farmers. Though it didn’t always feel natural, Owens sought personal connection first. He recalls approaching a fisherman at the Tuna Harbor Dockside Market. “I was awkward,” he says. “I went up to him and said, ‘I like your fish.’”
Owen’s is now so close to his suppliers—like fishermen Ryan Sebo and Joe Daly—that he gets texted pictures of fresh catches right as they flop on the boat. The messages always ask if he wants first dibs. “I say yes to a lot of fish,” Owens says, noting that Herb & Sea can go through 2,000 pounds of seafood a week.

The next evolution of sustainability, in his view, will be chefs working directly with producers such as his alliance with Sebo, cutting out middlemen and purveyors where possible. “It will put more money in the pockets of the people doing the work,” he says.
It will mean that chefs can’t just know their local farmers and producers, but they’ll choose to work with the ones who have the best practices. Dining and sustainability will become much less about the final plate. “It will be more about the impact that plate has on the Earth,” he says.
Ultimately, he believes sustainability doesn’t need to be loud. It doesn’t need hashtags. It just needs to be honest.
“We aren’t saving lives. We’re feeding people good food,” he says.
And yet, in feeding people well—simply, thoughtfully, responsibly—something meaningful happens. Guests leave satisfied. Ingredients are respected. Local ecosystems are supported and food returns to what it has always been at its core: nourishment, pleasure, and a quiet reflection of the place it comes from.
No buzzwords required.
Jacob Chen’s Made for MeiMei adds protein and fiber to flavors like ube, black sesame, and PB&J
As a kid, Jacob Chen scrounged up whatever odd jobs he could—running lemonade stands, organizing garage sales, reselling appliances on Facebook Marketplace. But there was something about cooking that kept him coming back to the kitchen. “It started as a way for me to spend time with my mom,” he says. “In a way, I think it was inevitable that I would begin a food-based business.”
That business ended up being Made for MeiMei, a line of low-sugar, high protein and fiber mochi flavors like ube, matcha, red bean, black sesame, peanut butter and jelly, and chocolate hazelnut. “‘Mochi’ is derived from ‘mochigome,’ which is the special type of short grain rice that gives mochi its stretchy, chewy texture,” he explains. Traditionally served in Japan as a dessert to celebrate the new year (similar to bibingka in the Philippines and nian gao in China), American-style mochi tends to taste sweeter and often comes as mochi ice cream. However, Chen points out that wasn’t always the case.

“Before mochi was synonymous with ice cream and refined sugar, it was simply a rice based snack filled with whole food ingredients,” he says. “That’s the version of mochi we’re trying to bring back.”
Made for MeiMei’s primary ingredients are rice flour and coconut milk, plus the featured ingredient for each flavor. But rather than using refined sugar, Chen sweetens his mochi with monk fruit and uses organic pumpkin seed protein and chicory root fiber to create what he calls “the first better-for-you mochi.”
Recent collaborations include a mochi-wrapped gelato with An’s Dry Cleaning, strawberry daifuku cream puff with Mon Chourie, and a funfetti chantilly cream dip mochi with The Clovery, but Chen has his sights set on retail expansion. Currently, Made for MeiMei products are available online, locally at Easy Does It Cafe, Bodega Market, or at upcoming events like Embolden Beer Company’s Taste of Shogun on September 27 (admission is free!) and a pop-up with Organic Oren on October 5.

Besides being better for you nutritionally, Chen’s goal for the business is to also be better for the world. He’s worked in rehabilitation clinics and volunteered at San Quentin when he lived in Berkeley—experiences that transformed his worldview. “It really doesn’t take much to be on the other side of the fence,” he says. That’s why he donates portions of proceeds to organizations like Second Chance San Diego (which helps formerly incarcerated people find steady employment), Immigrant Defenders Law Center (a nonprofit deportation defense law firm), and Border Angels, an advocacy group working to reduce fatalities of people crossing the United States and Mexico border.
Chen has his sights aimed high, hoping to bring Made for MeiMei to more local grocery stores and cafes before hitting national retail shelves. Will he stop at mochi? Maybe not.
“There are so many childhood treats that could use an ingredient upgrade,” he says. “Mochi is just the beginning!”

There’s no such thing as too much omakase, and we’re leaning in. On September 24, chef Davin Waite (The Plot, Wrench & Rodent) will join chef Mark Correa at Roppongi Restaurant & Lounge for a one-night-only, eight-course omakase experience with an optional (but personally recommended) beverage pairing curated by sommelier Humberto Ramirez. You definitely need to snap up a reservation for this one before they’re gone—and with a dream team like this, they will be gone.

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Beth Demmon is an award-winning writer and podcaster whose work regularly appears in national outlets and San Diego Magazine. Her first book, The Beer Lover's Guide to Cider, is now available. Find out more on bethdemmon.com.
Chef collaborations, cooking demonstrations, DJs, games, photo ops, and plenty of reasons to keep wandering on Oct 3 and Oct 4
At Del Mar Wine & Food Festival’s Grand Tasting, the walk between food tents can take a while. You might stop to watch a chef competition, get pulled toward the DJ, or find yourself playing mini golf before you remember which bite you were after.
Across the Del Mar Polo Fields, there’s also line dancing, a 1961 red Beetle ready for photos, and an aviation-themed pop-up with Reno Tahoe chefs and mixologists. Need a slower stretch? Check out the wellness stops or browse the shops. Here’s what to look for as you make your way through the festival’s zones:

VIP ticket holders get a head start, with the VIP Reception running from 11:15 a.m. to 1 p.m. and serving first bites, first sips, and a few surprises before the Grand Tasting officially gets going. Champagne Telmont will make the festival’s first pour, while Cohn Restaurant Group brings carajillos alongside pours from Karl Strauss, Licor 43, Tap Truck San Diego, Bebemos Tequila, and Devil’s Grin Gin.
The bites are just as good. Celebrity chef Beau MacMillan will serve a first bite, while Warung RieRie is bringing one of its highly coveted dishes. Yes, this is the restaurant that currently has an eight-month waitlist. You’ll also find bites from The Shellfish Affair, The Waverly, Wolf in the Woods, Dora Ristorante, Cori Pastificio Trattoria, An’s Gelato, Pacific 333, Vintana, and more.
And because every good first act needs a soundtrack, there will be live painting and music, with Courtney Govan bringing live jazz to the reception. It’s the perfect opening act before the main event.
During the VIP Reception, chefs Tommy Gomes and Jeff Roberto will conduct a live ahi cutting. Plant Paradise brings another culinary angle, with celebrity chef Zuliya Khawaja joining the plant-based lineup. The area combines chef talent with plant-forward restaurants and brands, giving guests a chance to see just how creative plant-based cooking can get.
Throughout the weekend, The Stage keeps the cooking demonstrations coming, with celebrities and chefs sharing techniques, recipes, and plenty of inspiration for anyone who plans to actually cook something when they get home. Before you know it, you’re watching a chef demo, casting your awards vote, and sipping mezcal on the grass with friends you just met in line.

At the Grand Tasting, dancing just sort of… happens. A DJ drops the right song. Someone’s holding a taco in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. The country zone breaks into a two-step. Friends convince friends. Strangers become temporary dance partners. By the end of the day, everyone’s forgotten they were ever worried about looking cool.
DJ TENAX will be spinning in Plant Paradise, bringing house, techno, and UKG to an open-air dance floor that’s hard to leave. Chris Cantore, a veteran San Diego broadcaster, takes over the VIP Tent, while BootScootin Line Dance and PVO Events bring country-style line dancing to the Polo Fields, so you can work off your tasting itinerary one two-step at a time.
Then a live guitar hum in the distance leads you to a fuchsia boa over at the Pride Zone, where you’ll find yourself covered in sequins and having the lawn party of a lifetime.
Not every activity at the festival requires a tasting glass (although it’s certainly encouraged).
The Matchday Experience brings San Diego FC and San Diego Wave FC into the Grand Tasting, complete with interactive tents and plenty of game-day energy. Athletic Brewing is also sharing activation space with San Diego Wave FC, bringing a fun nonalcoholic option into the mix.
For golf fans, the Los Angeles Golf Club is bringing a Dryve Box golf simulator to the festival. And if your competitive streak is less fairway and more miniature windmill, SD Pop Up Mini Golf has you covered.
The Beach Zone gets in on the action, too, with surfing-inspired elements and Playavole paddle courts. Hemlock Hats and other California brands add to the coastal atmosphere, but the real draw is having somewhere to actually play. And don’t worry, you can cool down in COOLA’s turquoise beach chairs, too, and when your bestie suggests reapplying sunscreen, obviously you do. Basically, there are plenty of ways to work up an appetite between tastings.

You’re going to want to take photos, and the festival has made that extremely easy.
A Timeless Day is bringing multiple photo moments to the Grand Tasting, including a 1961 red Beetle at The Italian Getaway and a teal VW bus in The Beach Zone. For something a little more polished than the standard group selfie, head to the Locals Zone for Pixster Photo Booth and San Diego’s version of a Glam-Bot, complete with a grass red carpet.
Bebemos Tequila is also bringing back its festival-favorite hidden speakeasy. If there’s ever a time for a photo, it’s here. Otherwise, people might not believe you. The speakeasy serves bone marrow shots straight from the bone, with candlelight, a lounge area that makes it hard to believe you’re in a tent outside, and little orange shot glasses. This is “first slide of your festival photo dump” material.
You can also grab your squad and head to LaCroix’s bright and ridiculously cute setup, or swing by San Diego Magazine’s area, where you might stop for a photo in front of the larger-than-life SD Magazine sign and find yourself watching a painting come to life.
But really, you’re in Del Mar. The ocean is essentially your backdrop, and every zone gives you an excuse to stop for the obligatory “totally candid” photo. And yes, the best strategy is to get the group shot before everyone has been sampling wine for three hours.
The Grand Tasting also doubles as a little shopping excursion, with local makers, fashion, vintage finds, jewelry, and lifestyle brands scattered throughout the grounds. Smoke Revival Vintage Vault brings the thrill of vintage treasure hunting, while Nortte Hats and Hemlock Hat Company make a pretty good case for leaving with a new accessory.
Keep an eye out for jewelry and creative vendors, too, including Iris Studio Jewelry and New Nightfall Jewelry, plus local artists and makers featured throughout the festival.
You can come for an all day food and wine festival, but still leave with something shiny you definitely did not plan to buy.
We know, at some point, even the most dedicated grazer has to come up for air. The Novo Dia Wellness Zone is designed for exactly that, bringing together mocktails, coffee, hydration, wellness brands, and even bites from Parakeet Cafe.
Step away from the food and drink frenzy for a few minutes, relax in the shade, try some skincare, stretch with prAna, and maybe grab some Instant Hydration Electrolytes before round three.
There’s also nothing wrong with stopping to smell the roses at Green Air Botanicals while devouring a dairy-free cheese dip. It’s less about disappearing from the party and more about making sure you have enough energy to keep going.
The zones give you somewhere to wander, and the activities give you a reason to keep going. So grab your tasting glass, check the schedule, and leave a little room in your afternoon for something you didn’t plan on doing. At Del Mar Wine & Food, that’s usually where things get interesting.
Isabella Dallas is a freelance writer for San Diego Magazine and the Arts and Culture Editor at The Daily Aztec in her final year at San Diego State University. She previously worked as an editorial intern for SDM, but when she’s not writing, you can find her trying the best coffee spots in SD, devouring the latest rom-coms, and indulging in anything and everything pop culture.
Scripps electrophysiologists not only deliver the latest therapies, they help develop them
Atrial fibrillation (AFib) is the most common cardiac dysrhythmia, affecting more than 10 million people in the U.S. The condition, characterized by an irregular and often rapid heartbeat, raises the risk of stroke, heart failure and death. Advances in electrophysiology, a subspecialty of cardiology focused on the heart’s electrical system, are transforming how AFib and other dysrhythmias are diagnosed and treated. Scripps electrophysiologists use state-of-the-art therapies—some of which they helped develop. They were instrumental in the pre-FDA approval research for an effective new treatment, pulsed field ablation, and are on the forefront of other innovative treatments. Click here to learn more.
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