A meal in a steakhouse is a wild little spike on the EKG of our mortal pizza lives.
Steakhouses are a place for birthdays with zeroes in them and wrap parties for long careers. They’re where big-deal clients are ornately wooed. They’re home to proposals both sacred and profane, where trusty anniversary gin is properly dirtied. All our various big life things are toasted, individually but simultaneously, through blood and bottle, under a single roof with a lot of butter.
In other words, more than the usual or recommended amount of emotions are pinned to dinner at the new Steak 48 in Del Mar. It’s a house of cheers and tears.
Sure, some come just because they’re hungry and like nice things. There are regulars who, through achievement or the natural flow of money down a bloodline, can casually dine in this strata of $500 checks and $100 tips. You often see them at the bar, their radiant epidermises the result of skin creams rare and exotic, some combo of shea butter and narwhal breath that’s illegal in many countries.
Photo Credit: James Tran Sit at the bar for the best people-watching.
The rest of us have not yet victoriously pinned NASDAQ to the mat, are not collectors of infinity pools. But we’d like to try that on for size for a moment, and that’s important for the steakhouse. We’re middle-class Janes and Joes who have socially agreed to suspend economic disbelief for one night of carnivore dinner theater. In our daily lives, we responsibly count and monitor the outflow of our chits and eat our crucifers. Tonight, we take capitalism for a fleshy joy ride.
There are moments of pause. For instance, the waiter suggests my wife, Claire, try a Bernie Madoff–priced glass of Dom Serene Evenstad pinot ($68). I politely tachycardia.
Not because I’m cheap—I am cheap, but my cheapness knows its place. Looking for deals at a steakhouse is like trying to score drugs in church. Tonight, we’re gonna spend like we’re all launching SpaceX from our porticos at dawn.
Photo Credit: James Tran The raw bar is full of treats that need a tad less chill
All of this is why the most important thing about a steakhouse is the hospitality. Most of us spend our lives dutifully attending to demands, be it from bosses or banks or our lord-savior smartphones. At steakhouses, we’re splurging to be obsessively yet unobtrusively taken care of.
And Steak 48—the new arrival from Scott Troilo and the Arizona-based Mastro family (brothers Jeffrey and Michael and father Dennis), which first made its name with the wildly popular Mastro’s before selling it to Landry’s in 2013—are determined to serve you within an inch of your life.
A million people work here. Four attendants greet us at the host stand—less a welcome than a help ambush. You are swept up in a mild tornado of excellently trained wish caddies.
I recognize the bartender; she used to manage one of San Diego’s Michelin-starred restaurants. She’s getting her PhD, she explains—but, the point is, few restaurants have bartenders who used to run a Michelin.
Another night, our server is exactly who a steakhouse server should be—formal but not taxidermied, opinionated in all the right ways, a Vegas kinda funny. He has memorized every menu item and the perfect preparation and most common alterations. He may have invented steak.
Near the end of our meal, I ask if they’ve got the warm butter cake—Mastro’s famed dessert—and he says, “Have you ever opened a cease-and-desist letter? We have the warm vanilla cake, sir.”
The dude is a delight. And Steak 48 will win every service award.
Perched on the corner of Del Mar Highlands Town Center, Steak 48 is massive (12,500 square feet), with a wing built for corporate buyouts that includes its own bar and video screens. You enter first into the sunken main lounge, past a wall hung with hatchets, which is the edgiest thing about the design.
I’m a fan of minimalism or maximalism; Steak 48 casts their vote for in-betweenism. It won’t wow or offend. Granted, this place once housed Burlap, which was designed like a burlesque dinner party trying to entice a vice raid. Pendulums gotta swing.
Photo Credit: James Tran You will be greeted by three or four steak concierges and escorted past this wall of hatchets.
There is a glass booth that stares directly down the line of their cold bar, which gives you a nifty view into the kitchen. The lights in the main bar and dining area are set to deep dusk with a billion LED candles. It’s like dining in a midnight Catholic prayer service, which sets a dreamy mood.
You know the Steak 48 concept—apps, chops, raw bar, caviar, “other” mains (Chilean sea bass, lamb, veal, scallops), potatoes five ways, volume-play desserts. A 3,000-bottle wine cellar (heavily West Coast reds and international whites and sparklings, both little-knowns and superstars like Opus and Quintessa). Their pours are benevolent and house party–sized (nine-ounce glasses of wine, five-ounce martinis—and they make a perfect dirty).
Your dinner plate lands at 300 or 400 degrees—the idea being that your first bite is as warm as your last. (But the reality being that any nicely pink cut of meat set down will not sear but turn a boiled-gray hue.
This is a longstanding hole in this approach—because, while I’m sure this next sentence will unsettle plant-based friends, I need the sight of blood on my steak. It activates something ancient in my marrow, and that lizard-brain bloodlust makes the steak taste better. Gray steak just looks like a mistake that only presidents prefer. Plus, just-warm beef is better than hot beef.)
Photo Credit: James Tran The steak plates are placed on the table solar-hot to ensure dinner never nears room temp.
We order the New York strip, their base model. Anyone with a heating surface can make a Miyazaki A5 Wagyu taste like euphemisms. The trick is working magic with the lowly gateway steak. And it’s good, seared and cooked to temp. Steak 48 specializes in corn-fed steaks— which are more marbled, sweeter, and richer than grass-fed (your mouth will always say yes to more fat).
We top the meat with soft, whipped truffle butter. It’s the river Styx of Steak 48: Whatever you dip in it becomes a bit closer to godliness. The greatest sauce, though, is “officially” served with seafood, but you should use it everywhere—olive oil with herbs and tomato.
Sides are hot and cold. The crème brûlée corn is topped with turbinado sugar, torched and caramelized. It is soup candy, a delicious bugle call to insulin manufacturers. Also try the whipped praline sweet potatoes. Again, they are a dessert in an appetizer costume with mascarpone cheese, candied pecans, and streusel crisp.
The wild mushrooms aren’t sautéed nearly enough. If not sizzled into submission, the forest sponges retain their bland, unseasoned moisture. And the creamed spinach would be more honest if named “spinached cream”—too heavy on the gloop.
That speaks to a weakness that pops up a lot on Steak 48’s menu. The big hits are so dependent on cream, butter, cheese, and sugar. The Maine lobster escargot is very tasty, but you’re not really tasting lobster or anything except truffle mornay sauce (to be fair, escargot and lobster are both traditionally drowned in butter). The other issue Steak 48’s gotta figure out is temperature.
Photo Credit: James Tran Maine lobster escargot with truffle mornay sauce.
Our red wine comes so cold. It is cabernet served like it’s sauvignon blanc. Red wine should be stored at 57 degrees Fahrenheit but served closer to 68, just below room temperature. I throw no shade at how people prefer to drink their wine. If you love Screaming Eagle with a couple ice cubes in it, I’ll grab the ice tongs for you. You like it with just a touch of salt and a dash of cigar ash? Cheers, weirdo.
But if you just enjoy red wine in the missionary position, as I do—good juice near room temp in a clean glass—then order your wine an hour before you come to dinner at Steak 48 and ask them to let it sit out on the bar for a while.
Same with the crab salad. Ours arrives nearly blast- chilled. Cold temps bury flavors. That’s a good thing when serving sorry ingredients or college beer. But this is very good crab. We ignore it and let it warm a touch, and it’s delicious—lumps of meat atop fresh avocado (another food that should never be served cold) and a slice of heirloom tomato, seasoned with a little basil pistou.
Photo Credit: James Tran Steak 48’s desserts, like this cookies-and-cream gelato cake, are so big they have their own gravity.
Get the hasselback potato, a 1950s Americana staple that was wrongly left for dead. It’s a whole spud, partially sliced so that it resembles an extreme-sports armadillo, baked until the exterior edges are crisp but the middle is tender and doused with truffle butter and chive cream sauce. Also order the hamachi crudo (served at the perfect temp) with hearts of palm, tapenade, and white soy.
Steak 48 isn’t out to set a new frontier for the genre. The steakhouse is a classic American song, one unexpected in San Diego, where our eating habits strike fear in the hearts of plants more than steer. But in times of uncertainty—as we finally normalize viral pandemics only to watch the formless mothership of AI ingest not only our roles in society, but our cultural identity and basic uniqueness as a species (no biggie)—an old song can soothe souls.
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.
Maybe it was when Breaking Bad stars Bryan Cranston and Aaron Paul drank mezcal with chefs from San Diego and Food Network on the cliffs over Blacks Beach. Or the dinner outside under lights with Alex Morgan, celebrating some of the country’s most badass women chefs. Or the celebrity pickleball tournament hosted by NFL Hall of Famer Drew Brees, where the star of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia made thwacking sounds with locals. Or when Iron Chef winner Beau MacMillan commandeered (some say “stole”) a golf cart and delivered drinks and ice to chefs.
Whatever it is, Del Mar Wine & Food seems to have become the food and wine festival for people who don’t usually like food and wine festivals. The most San Diego thing.
Courtesy of Del Mar Wine & Food Festival
Two years ago, Thrillist named it one of the best food festivals in the country. Last year, 10,000 people came out to experience it, including Guy Fieri. Afterward, the founders spent a couple days trying to put their finger on why it felt so special. They had to name it, lean into whatever that was.
“It all came back to play,” says one of those founders, SDM co-owner Troy Johnson, a longtime San Diego food writer and Food Network judge. “Making world-class bread is serious, but breaking bread shouldn’t be. We gather all these incredibly talented people who take their craft very, very seriously—work their butts off all year to make some of the best food and drink in the country—and then we all just kinda play in the grass. We believe it’s possible to create something of incredible value and make the experience of that thing a laidback, easygoing, unpretentious experience. That’s what this is, and who we are in San Diego. The whole reason we did this was to shine a national spotlight on the people who make our food and drink culture hum.”
Courtesy of Del Mar Wine & Food Festival
The festival dropped its 2026 lineup today.
Headlining the fest are Food Network chefs Jet Tila, Maneet Chauhan, and Aarti Sequeira; Top Chef winner and Michelin-starred Buddha Lo; Iron Chef alum Beau MacMillan; MasterChef winner Kelsey Murphy; MasterChef Latinos winner Michelle Mathelin, chef and Guy’s Grocery Games judge Catherine McCord, chef and former Masterchef Mexico judge Benito Molina, Top Chef alum Jackson Kalb, Michelin-starred chef Drew Deckman, Michelin-starred chef Javier Plascencia, James Beard award-winning chef Brady Ishiwata Williams, and James Beard-nominated chef Mawa McQueen.
The party kicks off on Wednesday, September 30 at Monarch Ocean Pub with Signature San Diego, a walk-around tasting of the city’s greatest bites, from Baja seafood to bold Mexican flavors. From there, the energy carries into a celebrity pickleball tournament hosted by Drew Brees at Barnes Tennis Center on October 2, pairing friendly competition with an all-inclusive tasting experience in support of Feeding San Diego.
The main event is the two-day Grand Tasting at Surf Sports Park on Oct. 3 and 4. The city’s top chefs, food people from TV lands, and local tastemakers gather on the weirdly perfect grass to serve up everything from juicy Wagyu burgers and beef tallow fries to yellowtail tuna tostadas and veggies dressed up in their Sunday best. Wine and cocktail pairings are designed to round out the whole experience, including activations from Aperol Spritz, Hendrick’s Gin, Tequila Ocho, Mezcal Vago, Rioja wines, and Temecula producers.
Courtesy of Del Mar Wine & Food Festival
A VIP lounge offers exclusive access to curated small plates from Michelin-level chefs and pour from some of SoCal and Napa’s finest wineries and drink makers. The Official After Party at Guesthouse La Valle on October 3, a spirited walk-around tasting just steps from the Grand Tasting, where cocktails take center stage through imaginative bites inspired by the smoky, citrus-forward, and bittersweet flavors of classic drinks.
Zones return with activations including the Big Queer Food Fest celebrating queer chefs and queer-owned businesses; the Wellness Zone led by Novo Dia offering a built-in reset with non-alcoholic mocktails, movement-driven activations, and wellness-forward moments. Coastal lifestyle and locally made brands are also integrated throughout the festival.
“We are excited for the fourth edition of the Del Mar Wine & Food Festival this fall, which has quickly become one of the largest food and wine experiences on the West Coast,” says co-founder Chris Finn. “As the festival continues to grow, we are constantly looking to add events, experiences, and partners that will resonate with our San Diego community, and embody the Southern California way of life.”
Returning as the festival’s partner is local nonprofit Feeding San Diego. To date, Del Mar Wine & Food has raised $100,000 to support their ongoing fight against hunger across the region.
Stay tuned for additional events hosted by festival partners including Rob Machado, San Diego Wave, San Diego FC, Town & Country, and San Diego Mojo.
Courtesy of Del Mar Wine & Food Festival
Del Mar Wine & Food Fest: Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs)
When is the 2026 Del Mar Wine & Food Festival?
The 2026 Del Mar Wine & Food Festival will take place September 30–October 4 throughout San Diego County.
Where is the Del Mar Wine & Food Festival?
The week culminates with the Grand Tasting at Surf Sports Park (formerly the Del Mar Polo Fields) at 14989 Via De La Valle, Del Mar.
A wide variety of exclusive dinners, drink tastings, and other lifestyle events will be announced soon and available for purchase individually on Del Mar Wine & Food Festival’s website. These festivities include chef-curated dining experiences across San Diego’s hottest restaurants, a celebrity pickleball tournament, wine tastings, and more.
When is the 2026 Grand Tasting?
The Grand Tasting takes place this year on Saturday, October 3 and Sunday, October 4.
How much are tickets?
General admission for the single-day Grand Tasting starts at $185. An Early Access option is also available at $235, which includes an extra four hours before general admission to meet, mingle, and feast. For a two-day pass, General Admission starts at $275, while Early Access is $375.
VIP tickets begin at $425 for a single day, offering access to pre-festival experiences, exclusive food vendors, a dedicated VIP area, and more. For the full weekend in VIP, passes are priced at $765.
Where can I buy tickets for the 2026 Del Mar Wine & Food Festival?
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.
Encinitas nigiri fanatics, I bring you good tidings. Oto Sushi is slated to open in late July. After nearly two decades of experience in operations for Tao Group Hospitality and Ace Hotel, Ash Cintas opened the first Oto in Laguna Beach in 2024. She focused on from-scratch dishes, fish sourced from Smart Catch and Seafood Watch–approved suppliers, and a wide swath of gluten-free options.
Year one worked, so she started eyeing her ideal second spot—North County San Diego. “I grew up spending time in San Diego visiting family, and my grandfather built a fishing business here, so the area has always felt familiar and meaningful to me,” says Cintas.
Cintas’ twin sister Alysha Rabb spearheaded the Japanese coastal design of the new Oto, which takes over the former Mrkt Space. The 3,200-square-foot eatery flows from the indoor dining room to large outdoor patio, as well as a private dining room—a total capacity of 95. Chef Connor Mathison has worked as a sushi chef for over 15 years at venues like Bamboo Sushi SW in Portland, Oregon. His menu includes classic sushi offerings like nigiri and sashimi, specialty rolls, bento boxes, tempera, karaage, Wagyu burgers, and robotayaki.
Robatayaki, sometimes called robata, is a method of slow-grilling meat, seafood, and various vegetables over premium Japanese binchotan charcoal. Basically, it’s the gold standard for grilling, thanks to its intense, clean heat that imparts a smoky, savory char on the outside and a rich, tender inside.
“One of the defining characteristics of Oto is that much of our sushi is served yakumi-style, meaning it arrives already seasoned with ingredients designed to complement the fish rather than relying on soy sauce,” Cintas explains.
Courtesy of Oto Sushi
There will also be a large number of vegan and vegetarian dishes, plus scratch cocktails with housemade syrup, fresh juice, sake, Japanese whiskey, wine, and beer selections curated by beverage partner Gavin Grum. Cintas says she hopes to continue expanding across Southern California, ideally opening six to eight locations in different coastal communities.
“The goal isn’t to build the biggest restaurant company,” she says. “Encinitas is the next step in proving that model can scale.”
Oto Sushi opens July 2026 at 782 N. Coast Hwy 101 in Encinitas. Initial opening hours are from 11:30 a.m. to 9 p.m. daily.
Courtesy of Silver Hoof Creamery
San Diego Restaurant News & Food Events
Silver Hoof Creamery Coming to Old Town
First more sushi, now more ice cream? Someone pinch me. Later this June, Silver Hoof Creamery will open in Old Town at 2548 Congress Street, Suite G, bringing artisanal soft serve, waffle tacos and waffle bowls, sundaes, and milkshakes to the Old Town Urban Market food hall. Everything is made with 100 percent California dairy milk (except for the dairy-free options, of course), and the small-batch menu of flavors ranges from dark chocolate soft serve to blueberry lavender milkshakes, matcha garden sundaes, and the signature Silver Hoof sundae made with vanilla swirl soft serve, caramel drizzle, topped with candied pecans and various candy gems and topped with whipped cream. Personally, I’m a sucker for strawberry, so I’m looking forward to giving the strawberry fields milkshake a slurp once the doors open.
The San Diego Natural History Museum (a.k.a. The Nat) tends to make good use of its rooftop space with events like Nat at Night every Friday during the summer, but now it’s getting into the brunch game as well. Brunch at the Nat kicks off Sunday, June 14 with Wolf in the Woods taking over the menu from 10 a.m. to 2:30 p.m., followed by Hash House A Go Go (July 12) and Wolf in the Woods making a sophomore appearance on August 9. (Yes, there will be Bloody Marys. How could there not be when Johnny Rivera is behind the bar?)
North County isn’t just getting more sushi—it’s getting a sweets upgrade as well. Desserts By Clément, the Pacific Beach-based French pastry shop is opening two new locations this summer in Del Mar and Vista. Owner (and French native) Clément Le Déoré has made a name for himself from his super realistic (and absolutely adorable beyond belief) desserts like these “Petit Bears” and fruit collection, but will also offer traditional pastries like croissants, macarons, kouign-amann, and chouquettes. There goes my summer bod… (just kidding).
Non-alcoholic options are gaining major steam on drinks menus across the country, and the gang at Cesarina and Elvira are cashing in. Both concepts just released new cocktail menus to be fully 50 percent alcoholic, 50 percent non-alcoholic so people can easily jump from one to the other, if they so choose. (Or just stick with one category—it’s just nice to have options.) Bar lead Sydnee West’s concoctions range from the Super Fico at Cesarina (made with porcini-infused rye, Nonino Amaro, Averna, and clarified fig demerara) on the hard side to the Roma Esotica at Elvira (with NA gin, pineapple, passion fruit, and lemon) on the soft side. As someone who actively enjoys zebra-striping (going back-and-forth between cocktails and mocktails), it’s very refreshing to have curated choices on either end that aren’t an afterthought.
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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.
His ascent has been stealth and humble, which fits the man. When Liberty Station was struggling to convince people it existed over a decade ago, Sicilian chef Accursio Lota’s food at Solare Ristorante was a tractor beam for food people who sniff out hidden talent like truffle dogs. In 2017, he won the World Pasta Championship (a legit competition from global pasta brand Barilla) and struck out on his own, opening his and his wife’s from-scratch pasta trattoria in North Park (Cori Pastificio). Gambero Rosso—the Italian version of Michelin, the most respected source—has clamored for the restaurant since it opened, naming it “New Opening of the Year” and this year giving it their highest award, “Tre Forchette” (Three Forks), only knighted on a handful of US restaurants.
So this year, Lota opened his grandest thing—Dora Ristorante—and it pulls everything together. Steps from San Diego’s world-class theater, La Jolla Playhouse, it’s laden with brass and large-format murals, tile work and mosaics—like the one on the wood-burning oven that blisters, chars, and smokes a good portion of the menu. Their housemade focaccia is a new street drug (try it with the puttanesca, his grandmother Dora’s recipe). The olive oil-cured sardines make “sustainable seafood” and ethics not taste like a compromise. Dora might finally be the one to solve the “where do I eat before the world premiere at LJP” dilemma.
The yuzu-colored building that helped build North Park’s modern food culture is alive again. Years ago, the ornate French Quarter–inspired spot on 30th Street was home to chef Matt Gordon’s Urban Solace (duck macaroni and cheese). Then it laid conspicuous and fallow until a few months ago when Bacari took it on. It’s an LA transplant, but they’re proving forgivable of that trespass. Chef and co-founder Lior Hillel cooked at Jean-Georges before opening the first of this Venetian-style restaurant in 2008 with brothers Danny and Robert Kronfi (Bobby started his food venture with a pop-up dinner series in his college apartment at USC).
For dinner, it’s house-baked bread, crudo and shrimp ceviches, Mediterranean street corn, lamb hummus, shawarma, and glazed pork belly. Weekend brunch is bellinis and French toast and burekas (famed Jewish stuffed puff pastry), and chef Noa’s cauliflower (caramelized with chipotle). It’s Italian-ish with a heavy dose of pan-Mediterranean and Middle Eastern. Doesn’t hurt that they left the iconic exterior as is, adding chandelier-farmhouse insides with charm that echoes two of the city’s dearly departed (Jayne’s Gastropub, Cafe Chloe).
Courtesy of TRUST Restaurant Group
À L’ouest
Much tolerance for friends who hate mussels because they look too biological. But if they manage to dislike À L’ouest’s—served over ice with vadouvan curry aioli and chili crisp—then you’ve successfully identified your brokemouth friend and should try bicycling or crafting with them to bond instead of eating in public places. It should be on everyone’s short list for dish of the year.
Chef Brad Wise and his team have earned their rep over multiple concepts—Trust, Fort Oak, Cardellino, Wise Ox, Rare Society. But he’s been eyeing this corner of North Park since before he opened his first (Trust, in 2016). North Park has been rising for a while, and À L’ouest feels like the missing piece—an indoor-outdoor brasserie stunner on the marquee spot of 30th and University, which long sat boarded up and vacant like a neighborhood missing a front tooth.
As with his other concepts, woodpile is king; smoldering red oak boosts the flavor of just about everything. Get the spätzle with braised rabbit, maitake mushroom, secret de compostelle (the famed Basque sheep’s milk cheese), and black truffle. Or the chicken liver parfait with persimmon, fennel aigre-doux (sweet-sour), and chives on toast. Or, like everyone else in there—the steak frites.
Photo Credit: Eric Wolfinger
Fleurette
Chef Travis Swikard’s first solo restaurant, Callie in East Village, proved how details can make the most composed of us blubber a little in fine places—from citrus left in ovens overnight to blacken and transform, to the Scripps Oceanographic Institute saltwater he keeps his spot prawns thriving in until ordered, to the days-long fermentation and stone-ground dukkah that turn carrot shavings into a statement piece.
Now, he’s focusing on French food with a fitter, less buttery San Diego heart. Fleurette is his doubling-down, a SoCal riff on the food he learned under mentors Daniel Boulud and Gavin Kaysen. The French gave us the mother sauces, and Fleurette showcases the lightest and brightest evolutions. Like the anchoïade on his beef tartare, which uses famed Italian anchovy sauce colatura di alici, mixed with cured egg yolks over tiny, uniform-sized cubes of raw, USDA Prime Flannery beef.
There is soubise (onion sauce), a sauce vierge (tomatoes and herbs), and a fennel marmalade on the duck liver and bone marrow pâté. Although the structure is stunningly pure glass, Fleurette’s in a location—an office park on the edge of La Jolla, near UTC—that few chefs would be able to pull off. But Swikard’s Michelin-bound house of saucework pulls hard.
The Escondido taqueria from Rosarito-born-and-trained chef Juan González and farmer Megan Strom took the county by storm this year. The married couple started as a popup four years ago, hosting farmside dinners before taking up residency at Vino Carta in Solana Beach. Strom was working a small, 5-acre heirloom bean farm in Valley Center owned by Mike Reeske (aka “The Bean Man”) when he retired and sold them the plot.
The huge bonus was that the sale included Reeske’s famed collection of beans, curated over 20 years. The couple planted other things and now grow much of what they serve in the form of tacos and burritos at a permanent spot in Escondido: Mesa Agrícola.
The menu’s bone simple: housemade tortillas in your choice of taco or burrito norteños (which are smaller, like burritos de hielera) that change constantly and often topped with guisados (Mexican braises or stews) like lamb and garbanzo, birria, chicharrón, mushrooms al ajillo, rajas, you name it. And, of course, some of the best beans honoring the local legend of Reeske.
Courtesy of Lucien
Lucien
San Diego is now the recipient of national food buzz. The dark ages—during which we learned how to sear ahi and asada some carne and called it a day—felt prolonged, and they were. The problem was never ingredients. San Diego County always had the best raw dinner materials (more small farms per capita than any county in the US, seafood right there); it just didn’t have a critical mass of highly trained chefs to do them justice. Easy to understand the chef dearth.
For a very long time, if you wanted to be a serious chef you had to go to the restaurant superplexes of New York, San Francisco, or Chicago (which imported their raw ingredients from places like San Diego). But now—credit farmers or Alice Waters or Dan Barber or Michael Pollain or the reasonable conclusion that food picked right here tastes better than food picked way over there—some of the most talented chefs are moving to the ingredients, not the other way around.
In San Diego, we got Richard Blais, Swikard, and now Elijah Arizmendi, who cut his teeth in Vegas with Joel Robuchon (plus Boulud and Thomas Keller) and was chef de cuisine at NYC’s L’abeille when it got its first Michelin star. His debut restaurant in La Jolla—with partners Brian Hung and Melissa Yang—is a dark, moody multicourse tasting-menu hideaway with one of the best egg dishes in 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.
Some keep lists of favorite books, of quotes, of enemies whose time shall come. At SDM we keep vast, nuanced, hotly debated lists of the best food and drink in the city. Menus are our smut novels. From Michelin stars to mom and pops, our list constantly evolves over hundreds of new bites tried every year. Here’s the 2026 list from food critic Troy Johnson and 129,000-plus votes from our readers, who really, really know their food.
Scroll down for the full list of Best Restaurant winners
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.
Is there any food more quintessentially San Diegan than the California burrito? That was a rhetorical question since the French fry-stuffed, flour tortilla-wrapped torpedo of carne asada bliss came into being in the 80s (either invented by Lolita’s or Santana’s, depending on who you ask). But now, Vietnamese-Mexican pop-up Một Bánh Mì may be giving the longtime champ a run for its money.
Một Bánh Mì’s original California banh mi takes cues from both cultures, using traditional Vietnamese baguettes from Paris Bakery filled with carne asada and garnished with cilantro-jalapeno crema, Vietnamese mayonnaise, pickled vegetables, cilantro, cucumber, jalapenos, and of course, French fries.
“It’s so San Diego—it’s so us,” says Desmond Bui, pop-up founder and owner with partner Marisol Santiago. “It really encapsulates the Vietnamese-American and Mexican-American journey and identity here.”
Both grew up in San Diego. Bui is Vietnamese. Santiago is Mexican-American. The sandwich makes utter personal sense.
Neither of them cooked professionally before launching Một Bánh Mì earlier this year, when they popped up for the first time at Convoy Rising for Lunar New Year. But after seeing the rise of the local Vietnamese coffee scene with shops like Saigon Coffee, Chance’s Coffee, and Em Coffee House, Bui knew there was an opportunity for a new generation to put a fresh spin on Vietnamese food in San Diego.
While there are plenty of places to grab a banh mi around town (K Sandwiches, Ba Le French Sandwich Shop, Lee’s Sandwiches, and so on), we’ve yet to hear of a California banh mi. Firsts are being firsted.
“Banh mi is regarded by top chefs as the best sandwich in the world,” says Bui. (Side note: I concur.) And after discovering overlap between Mexican and Vietnamese cuisines through common ingredients like cilantro, lime, jalapeno, white onion, and pickled vegetables, they began planning a menu.
Courtesy of Một Bánh Mì
Một Bánh Mì also serves Bánh Mì Đặc Biệt (Vietnamese cold cuts), Bánh Mì Thịt Nướng (grilled lemongrass pork banh mi), and Bánh Mì carnitas de hongos (mushroom pâté banh mi), along with some specials like Thịt Nướng tacos (grilled lemongrass pork) and hopefully soon, al pastor trompo banh mi (marinated pork shaved off a spit) and charcoal-grilled adobada.
Other banh mi shops Americanize names for English-speaking audiences—for example, listing “grilled chicken sandwich” instead of Bánh Mì Gà Nướng. Not Một Bánh Mì. If you’re not sure how to pronounce something, Bui says they’re happy to help. It’s an educational opportunity, he explains, as well as a chance for them to be “unapologetically Vietnamese and Mexican.”
Part of the immersive experience is playing Vietnamese tunes from the ‘60s and ‘70s.
“When you think of universal languages, what are ways when you travel or meet a different group of people that you can still find common ground and connect and feel like we’re a lot more alike than we are different?” Bui asks. “Food and music.”
The musical element is part of Một Bánh Mì’s greater vision. They’d like to evolve into a lifestyle brand and media company, with merch, jars of pickled vegetables, you name it. Eventually, they’d like to open a brick-and-mortar somewhere in Mid-City. In the meantime, they’ll continue to pop up at places like Mixed Grounds and Chance’s Coffee, or wherever they can. (Bui called Provecho Coffee their “dream collab,” hint hint.)
San Diego bartenders have been making serious waves over the past few years, and it looks like 2026 is carrying on that momentum. Dominique Muñoz, bar lead at Polite Provisions, just nabbed a top spot on Punch’s Best New Bartenders 2026 list. She’s hardly new to the game, having been behind the stick for nearly a decade and founding the Sirens and Spirits collective to elevate women and nonbinary bartenders in the industry, but it’s fabulous to see some (well-deserved) San Diego representation on the short list. Congrats to Muñoz—we can’t wait to see what you do next.
Speaking of awards, Tribute Pizza just earned a prize of its own. The North Park pizza palace hit #38 on the 50 Top Pizza list this year (for the fourth year) right before its 10th anniversary on June 2. Here’s to another decade of delightful pies, ridiculously good Caesar salads, and the weird-to-have, but delicious-to-eat Sichuan spicy noodles.
But the recognition doesn’t stop there. San Diego’s only three-Michelin-starred restaurant Addison by William Bradley (which is freshly re-open after a thorough renovation) just made San Diego history by being the first restaurant in the city to make it on North America’s 50 Best Restaurants 2026 list at #31. Considering there are something around 70,000 restaurants in North America (if not more)—I’d say landing in the top 50 is pretty monumental.
San Diego has one of the highest concentrations of people in the African diaspora, including one of the nation’s largest East African populations behind Minneapolis and St. Paul, Minnesota. To celebrate the huge diversity of cuisines from countries like Somalia, Eritrea, Ethiopia, and beyond, head to the annual San Diego Soul Food Fest on August 1 at the North Park Mini Park from 11 a.m. to 4 p.m. Soul food’s roots come from the American South, where generations of enslaved people made do with what resources they had; today, it’s a celebration of culture, cooking, and community. I, for one, am salivating at the thought of getting some legit collard greens and fried catfish.
In lieu of catfish, I just might pop over to Bica in Normal Heights on June 20 for the Tuna Takedown, where chefs from Kingfisher, Mabel’s Gone Fishing, Ironside, À L’ouest, Fish Guts (plus a few more) will go full nose-to-tail on a 150-pound bluefin tuna. That’s about as fresh as it gets, and with beer, wine, and a DJ on top of that, I’m hard-pressed to make any other plans that night.
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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.
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.
Courtesy of Herb & Sea
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.
Courtesy of Herb & Sea
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.
Courtesy of Herb & Sea
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.
Courtesy of Herb & Sea
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.
