Gordon Gekko wouldn’t approve. A competitor trying to collect money within five miles of your own collection point? They’re to be loathed, undermined, relieved of body parts. And yet popular northern Italian restaurant Bencotto opened up a large northern Italian restaurant next door.
Nuts… or a clever way to expand?
Surely, an expansion. Like building a guesthouse out back and calling it Chez Rear. That’s not to say the two aren’t unique. They are, in subtle shades. What Bencotto lacked (a bar scene), Monello provides. Carbohydrates star at both (Bencotto’s fresh-daily pastas, Monello’s pizzas). At Monello, small bites are multiplied, formality diminished.
Bencotto won over Little Italy with modern design (these clichéd streets looked like Disney’s vision of Rome, circa 1960), chef Fabrizio Cavallini’s saucy talents, and the host-charm of the husband-wife owners, Valentina Di Pietro (Milan’s Audrey Hepburn) and Guido Nistri (your sardonic uncle).
Monello’s big idea is street food. If it’s served near a propane tank in Milan, it’s found here. But with polished silverware and fine architecture, can it be called street food? Is a classy joint serving poor man’s cheese like the time the orchestra played with Metallica? Regardless, Nistri has a story for every dish, each related to their original home (where he ran a high-end bistro and she handled P.R. for Dolce & Gabbana).
The teensy fried calzones called panzerotti are just like those sold by Giuseppina Luini at her famous shop in the shade of the Duomo. Raspa dura—shavings of young cow’s milk cheese, seen as unfinished and inferior—started as a “treat” for rustic poor. Now chef Cavallini stands in Monello’s fancy kitchen, shaving a wheel. The trio of spaghettis is what you eat in Milan when your blood-alcohol level is higher than your IQ.
Speaking of. The bar signature is housemade rosso vermouth. Vermouth? That bitter stuff? On tap? Yes, but the Italians drink it sweet, a tradition first commercialized by Italian companies Cinzano and Martini & Rossi. Before Americans decided flavorless, skinny drinks were the bomb, a martini used to be more vermouth than gin, and a Manhattan more rosso than whiskey. It’s excellent on the rocks. Tastes like bark, roots, and all sorts of aromatic forest loam, ground and mixed with citrus peels. It also anchors the Negroni and the classic Corpse Reviver (brandy-soaked apple, Cognac, and vermouth).
Décor at Monello is urban restraint. Concrete pillars. Concrete flooring. Exposed AC tubes. A lot of gray, highlighted by more gray. Even the salt and pepper shakers are immaculately clean (one of my telltales for restaurant sanitation). Not a baroque element in the place, save for maybe the triptych of a gothic Italian cathedral, painted with ghostly luminescence by a local artist.
Every meal at Monello begins with lupini beans. Just think of the yellow, waxy buggers as Italian edamame. With garlic and rosemary salt, they squeak at the bite like fresh cheese curds. I could eat them all day.
The small bites at Monello are the way to go, heretofore a noted path to nirvana. The raspa dura is a brilliant snack—at once grainy and creamy, so thin it evaporates at first tonguing. The huge selection of cured meats—oh lord please try the finocchiona (fennel salami) and soppressata di cinghiale (boar)—is from Nistri’s pals in New York. They don’t normally export their goods; exceptions are made for comrades.
Off the rolled bites menu—not unlike Jewish aram sandwiches—we moan over the one stuffed with burrata, arugula, and Parma prosciutto. That silky goop of buffalo cream is cut perfectly by the Parma’s salty, aged brininess. We try all three dye-pressed spaghettis because, well, Bencotto aces all things pasta. The traditional aglio e olio pepperoncino (garlic, EVOO, Fresno peppers, bread crumbs) is very good, if subtle, with uni-orange strands of spag. We taste our first misstep with the cacio e pepe. With thick cream sauce and a mound of raspa dura, it’s simply too much cheese (or maybe we’re not drunk-in-Milan enough). But that carbonara with bacon (not guanciale, which would be traditional, but that’s okay), pecorino, eggs, and black pepper? Amazing sober or ubriaco.
We didn’t find a ton to rave about from the fully composed portion of the menu. The whole branzino (sea bass) was average, a touch fishy roasted with the skin on. The Jidori chicken has a very good flavor, but dry. Monello seems to know this and serves it with a side of delicious olive oil. Speaking of delicious oils, order the focaccia bread. Strangest I’ve ever seen—just plain bread, like toast points or canapés. But it’s got that hit of rosemary, and the olive oil mixture (garlic, Parmesan, herbs)—well, you could drink that and be terribly happy until they entered you as a balloon in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.
Barring any hang-ups (“Oh Jeeves I just can’t it has suction cups on its arm thingies!”), the octopus is a must-try. Chef lets the meat soak in olive oil for 28 years or something (EVOO has monoglycerides, which tenderize meat), so the cephalopod cuts and tastes like a pillow of filet mignon. Served over arugula and fennel, it’s a wonder.
We tried two pizzas. The Margherita—Neapolitan-thin crust, discs of fresh moz, basil leaves—was serviceable; not the best I’ve had. The dough had zero char, a tad undercooked. But on return we ordered the Bencotto—moz, ricotta, plus Bencotto’s signature sauce (cream, tomato, and guanciale)—and it floored us. Good enough to shut up your most manic, un-shut-up-able friend for a few precious moments.
As for Monello being its own competition—well, that’s fine. Because minor missteps aside, very few restaurants are even playing at the same level.
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.
San Diego has lost a number of ambitious concepts lately—Vulture and Dreamboat in University Heights, Wildflour Delicatessen in Liberty Station, Deckman’s in North Park, Matsu in Oceanside. All have different reasons for closing (some outgrew their space, some overshot their costs), but none of them suffered for quality. Ditto for the next casualty. On July 19, Cellar Hand in Hillcrest will close its doors.
Unlike the other closures, there’s actually a silver lining. The Perr family, who owns both Cellar Hand and Pali Wine Co., announced they will relocate Pali’s tasting room from Little Italy to take over the vacated Cellar Hand space.
Cellar Hand opened just over two years ago with a promise to source 100 percent of their produce locally. Ambitious, but admirable. Logan Kendall, the original executive chef, launched with a menu centered around lots of funky fermentation, tinned fish preserved in-house, a bevy of fun dips like labneh and whipped tahini, and a ridiculously fantastic pork chop from Thompson Heritage Farms. Wine Enthusiast named the 120-seat eatery one of the top 50 wine-focused restaurants in the country in 2025—not a shock, considering the mega wine chops behind the project.
Following Kendall’s tenure, chefs Ashley McBrady and then Sable-Tanya Wentwoord took over the reins, keeping things rolling with expanded brunch offerings, chef’s dinners, and all the usual accoutrements of a hyped spot. Before joining the Pali Wine/Cellar Hand team, Wentwoord worked and staged at multiple James Beard Award–recognized and Michelin-starred restaurants in Boulder, Colorado (Frasca Food and Wine); San Francisco, CA (Coi, Che Fico); Providence, Rhode Island (Persimmon); and Fredericksburg, Tex. (Southold Farm + Cellar). She will continue to head the food program at Pali Wine Co.
Bad luck or bad timing, the reasons behind closing Cellar Hand don’t really matter. But I, for one, will really miss that pork chop.
Photo Credit: Kimberly Motos
Still, Cellar Hand’s loss is Pali Wine Co.’s gain, or at least a small balm on the sting of closure. The tasting room in Little Italy opened 10 years ago, bringing its Central Coast wine and vibes to an area smack in the middle of a craft beer boom. When it came time to renew the lease, the Perrs say the landlord did the landlord-y thing and tried to nearly double the rent. (Tale as old as time—just ask Wildwood Flour.)
Rather than suffer a double-whammy, the Perr family instead decided to shift their focus (and finances) to the heart of their businesses: wine. And despite losing a very cool rooftop patio in one sizzling hot neighborhood, they are gaining a pretty prime spot in a different sizzling hot neighborhood with a not-too-shabby patio of its own accord. (One more silver lining: no more jet noise from the airport!)
By moving Pali Wine Co. to where Cellar Hand used to be, they could at least keep a toehold in San Diego, says Nick Perr, managing partner. His family has made wine in Santa Barbara county for over two decades, with 10 of those years in the San Diego market—an investment they refused to lose. “That’s why it’s impossible to separate our winery from our San Diego community,” he explains, adding that the new location will allow Pali Wine Co. to offer programming designed around the nearby Hillcrest farmers market.
Guests can expect the same wine selection, wine club perks, private tastings, and similar food offerings Pali Wine Co. offers in Little Italy to transfer to Hillcrest. And maybe, if we’re lucky, they’ll bring back the pork chop (please?)
“We are extremely proud of what we accomplished at Cellar Hand,” said Perr in a statement. “Running an independent restaurant with real values is hard, and we gave it everything we had.”
Cellar Hand will permanently close on July 19. Pali Wine Co. will cease operations at 2130 India Street on July 19 and will move to 1440 University Avenue.
Pali’s new location in Hillcrest will soft open on August 12 with a grand opening on August 22. Operating hours will be Wednesday through Friday, 2 p.m. to 10 p.m.; Saturday, noon to 10 p.m.; and Sunday, noon to 9 p.m. Happy hour will run Wednesday through Sunday (hours to be determined).
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.
Omakase and fixed-price menus are one way hospitality businesses are addressing our collective food decision-making fatigue. But on the opposite end of the spectrum, some restaurateurs are offering a bonanza of totally unrelated options for people ordering on a whim. Why not pair a lobster grilled cheese sandwich, açaí bowl, and ridiculously loaded hot dog?
Starting June 27, diners can satisfy their spur-of-the-moment appetites at Global Fork in Little Italy, the latest food hall from Southern California-based Tiger Hospitality.
Six different food concepts will be featured in the 4,685-square-foot, indoor-outdoor space along the Piazza della Famiglia promenade. The space’s inaugural lineup includes a mix of Tiger Hospitality-owned concepts (Cosmos Burger, La Vida, Lobster Lab, and Prik Ki Nu Thai) and outside operators (Seattle-based Moto Pizza and Handel’s Homemade Ice Cream). The space next door, Good Enough Cocktail Club, is another Tiger-backed brand, operated by the team behind Same Same and Amor y Magia in Carlsbad.
Cosmos Burger serves smashburgers stacked with classic toppings, while Lobster Lab focuses on seafood favorites including lobster rolls, shrimp rolls, and lobster mac n’ cheese. Prik Ki Nu Thai adds Thai street food to the mix, with traditional noodle, rice, and stir-fry dishes. And for those looking for something on the lighter side, La Vida offers things like smoothies, salads, and wraps.
Courtesy of Global Fork Food Hall
Moto Pizza focuses on Detroit-style square pizza with Filipino influences and, despite the name, is not affiliated with Mr. Moto Pizza. Handel’s, which began in Ohio in 1945, will offer dozens of flavors ranging from staples like chocolate and vanilla to rotating specialties packed with candies, cookies, and other mix-ins. (Handel’s already has a number of locations across San Diego, with a La Mesa store coming later this year.)
Some of these vendors already operate at Miramar Food Hall, the other Tiger-owned food hall in San Clemente. And some of them will also appear in Station8, the next food hall slated to open in UC San Diego’s Theatre District Living and Learning Neighborhood later this fall. But if you ask me, reviving the space that housed the Little Italy Food Hall before its closure last February is a far better outcome than leaving empty suites smack in the middle of an area saturated with fantastic food options. Plus, where else can you order a slice of beef adobo pizza alongside squares of caviar toast and a banana split?
Global Fork opens June 27 at 550 W. Date Street, Suite B, in Little Italy. Initial operating hours are from 9 a.m. to 9 p.m., seven days a week, but vendor hours may differ.
Courtesy of Holland Partner Group
San Diego Restaurant News & Food Events
Beth’s Bites
La Jolla is reviving one of its own shuttered spaces this August with Tacos & Jarros, coming to the space on Wall Street that formerly housedComedor Nishi and Coffee Cup. The all-day Mexican restaurant is the latest project from the family behind Cazadores Mexican Grill in Santee and Cotija’s Taco Shop, and will offer wine, beer, tacos, traditional breakfast dishes, as well as lunch and dinner. Some concepts may have hit their ceiling (craft beer, anyone?), but thankfully, it seems that Mexican food still has a long way to go before that.
In the latest hilariously-named collaboration, on June 9, The Lion’s Share will host executive chef Tara Monsod from Animae for a one-night event called Animaeniacs. (Millennials who know, know.) The three-time James Beard Award Semifinalist Monsod will work with Lion’s Share executive chef and co-owner Dante Romero to create a multi-course, family-style dinner inspired by Romero’s Mexican background and Monsod’s Filipino heritage. Tickets get you a seat at the table, plus access to an afterparty in the Marina neighborhood hotspot’s loft, with seatings at 5 p.m. for the early birds and 8:30 p.m. for the night owls.
Thanks to my son’s lifelong obsession with boba, I’m always on the lookout for the latest bubble tea place to check out. Next on my list is Tera Tea House, a boba, matcha, and fruit tea joint coming this month (maybe?) to City Heights near the Copley-Price YMCA. Will I go because their logo is a cartoon dinosaur sipping on boba tea? No, but it sure doesn’t hurt.
After opening their latest outpost in North Park, Moniker Group announced plans to open their third Moniker General later this year inside West, a 37-story mixed use building coming to downtown at 1011 Union Street. The space will continue the group’s signature menu of coffee, cold brew, matcha, small bites, wine, and beer, and founder Ryan Sisson says they identified downtown for their next location due to the area’s “tremendous amount of momentum.” I’ve never lived in a building with a built-in coffee shop, but I’ve got to admit, it does sound like a pretty nice perk.
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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.
A perfectly designed home rarely happens by accident. Those kitchens that feel effortless and rooms that seem to tell a story the second you walk in? They’re usually the work of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing.
It’s knowing which ideas will actually work, which materials will hold up over time, and how to turn a collection of choices into a space that feels intentional. That’s where a professional interior designer comes in.
For the American Society of Interior Designers (ASID) California San Diego Chapter, the goal is to help people see interior design as more than just the finished look. Behind every well-designed space is a process built on technical expertise. Designers are educated in everything from professional software and construction details to building codes, space planning, materials, and functionality.
Courtesy of ASID
“People don’t always realize how much goes on behind the scenes,” Kirsten Recce , current president of the ASID California San Diego Chapter, says. “Our designers are not just doing furniture placement and color selection and picking out new fluffy pillows. That’s not what they’re trained for.”
ASID members bring formal education, continued learning, and industry knowledge to their projects, helping create spaces that are not only beautiful, but designed to work. A paint color that changes completely depending on the lighting. A material that looks beautiful in a showroom but doesn’t make sense for everyday life. A layout that photographs well but doesn’t function for the people living there. These are the details where professional guidance can make all the difference.
Still, one of the biggest misconceptions about hiring an interior designer is that it’s reserved for massive renovations, luxury homes, or people who already know exactly what they want. The process can feel intimidating. Where do you begin? Is a designer worth the investment? What if you only need help with one room?
ASID’s answer: start with one hour.
ASID’s Spruce Up events break down one of the biggest barriers between homeowners and professional design: knowing where to begin. Held twice a year, the community program gives homeowners the chance to work directly with an ASID designer through a one-hour, $125 consultation in their own home. Whether you’re looking for advice on furniture placement, window treatments, kitchen and bath updates, remodeling ideas, vacation rentals, color selections or something else entirely, the upcoming September 2026 event offers an approachable way to get expert guidance before committing to a full project. Signups are open through Sept. 7, with consultations taking place Sept. 21 through Oct. 31. Proceeds benefit ASID San Diego’s educational and community programs. Register here!
Courtesy of ASID
“It’s a great opportunity for people who are in that exploratory phase,” Recce says. “Maybe they’re not sure they want to hire an interior designer yet, or they think it sounds daunting or expensive. This gives them a chance to discover what working with a designer is actually like.”
Design is personal. A good designer isn’t just creating a beautiful room; they’re helping create a space that fits the way someone lives.
“We’re a resource to all of San Diego County,” Recce says. “It doesn’t cost anything to pick up the phone and call and ask. We’ll answer.”
Welcome to SDM’s Guide to San Diego Food + Drink, our new video series dedicated to our favorite food and drink in the city. At the end of the summer, we’re bring many of these restaurants to the Del Mar Wine + Food Festival for a massive party. You should come. San Diego restaurants, local wineries, Food Network chefs… it’s our big dream for the city.
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.
Growing up, Laika Nur, MD, Scripps Clinic sports medicine specialist, loved watching beach volleyball when the Association of Volleyball Professionals tour came to her hometown of Chicago. A talented volleyball player herself, she remembers sitting in the stands all day, and once, even got a couple autographs. Years later, Dr. Nur was attending a professional event focused on women’s sports, and the discussion turned to a new professional women’s volleyball league. The general manager and coaching staff for San Diego’s team, the Mojo, happened to be in attendance, and Dr. Nur took the opportunity to ask them if they needed a team doctor. Flash forward to the Mojo’s inaugural 2024 season, when Dr. Nur officially became the team physician. Click here to read more about Dr. Nur and how she incorporates lessons she learned on the court into her practice.
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