Elaborate vegan Mexican dinners in coffee shops (Pixán), cheffy smash pitas in bars (Pirate Pita), Mexican-Vietnamese tasting menus in wine shops (Gemelos), bagels out of a guy’s apartment window (Desperado)—pop-ups appeared like little food rainbows across the city throughout the last year.
Here tonight; gone tomorrow; maybe back next month, watch the ’gram. It was one of the most exciting trends of San Diego’s food scene, even if it has some oh-shit undertones.
With the cost of, well, everything (food, labor, rent, packaging, insurance, those damn eggs) rising at a stunning clip, tariffs exponentializing core costs (most San Diego restaurants get produce from Baja), and the economic outlook debatable (rosy? kerosene-scented handbasket?), chefs are less enthusiastic about signing a 10-year lease for a long-term gamble.
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One-night restaurant stands feel safer. And this plays to the modern zeal. Americans have always loved sneak peeks, in-the-know experiences, witnessing the awkward germination of great things (“I was there when Crack Shack started in Jon Sloan’s garage”).
Pop-ups have a word-of-mouth thrill not unlike ’90s raves, and the crowd is usually bonded by a pioneer or seeker verve. For chefs, it’s a way to test out ideas, leveraging the buzz of secrets, building their brand along the way. Some of them, like 24 Suns—a pretty wild Chinese concept (the team creates menus for the lunar calendar, which means a lot of menus) from Addison chef alums—work so well that they set down permanent roots.
