Featured articles
Featured articles
Featured articles
What's next
Featured articles
Featured articles
Featured articles
Ready to know more about San Diego?
SubscribeReady to know more about San Diego?
In La Jolla, a Sushi Ota protégé sticks to an age-old tradition of quality
Cup, shake, squeeze, release…
Cup, shake, squeeze, release…
Their hands work with a music conductor’s delicate, concussive rhythm. Or like a craps player romancing the dice before a crucial roll. The same exact motion, over and over and over. Each time, they open their fists to reveal perfect nigiri. Repetition breeds an artfulness to anything, and artful repetition is how sushi went from a Tokyo street food to an upscale dinner show.
Cup, shake, squeeze, release…
It’s a simple thing, rice and fish. And yet so simple to mess up. At half-assed sushi joints, you can smell that low-tide musk. The sashimi appears to be cut with garden shears. The rice isn’t cooked right, or formed correctly, and halfway between the plate and your mouth, it air-drops with a splat. Too much mirin, and it’s puckery. Too much sugar, and it’s fish dessert. Piece after piece after piece, Himitsu nails it.
Sushi’s Next Gen Is Here at Himitsu
OLIVIA HAYO
No surprise. Chef Mitsu Aihara spent 17 years as the protégé of the city’s top itamae (skilled sushi chef)—Master Yukito Ota.
Sushi Ota opened in 1990 in an unsexy Pacific Beach strip mall. (With a 7-Eleven and dentist, that mall offered America’s problems and its solutions.) As American sushi did its best ’80s country music impression—ditching understated craft for overstated glitz—Ota remained true to the old art, where time and devotion are the most important kitchen tools.
For nearly two decades, his restaurant has been the training ground for the next generation of San Diego itamaes, who learn to honor the sourcing, the gutting, the cleaning, the cooking, the cupping, the shaking, the molding, the plating, and the conversation of the omakase. All those enormous tiny details. And now his protégés—first Roger Nakamura at Hane, then Roger’s brother Robert at Shino Sushi in Little Italy, and now Mitsu Aihara here at Himitsu—are finally spinning off on their own. Sure, you’ll find more playful, modern techniques from this younger generation. But Ota ethics and rituals are sewn into them.
Sushi’s Next Gen Is Here at Himitsu
Sashimi plate with salmon, amaebi, toro, and uni tongue
“How long can it take to learn how to cut fish?” people often ask.
Long. In Japan, it usually takes 10 years to become a true itamae. Jiro’s dream was a protracted one.
Knife skill is only one of the vital techniques. It’s the fun one diners get to see, so they assume, “Hey, zip, that’s it, easy peasy.” But to master sushi, an apprentice often spends the first couple years learning how to spot the freshest fish (moist flesh, bright eyes and gills, should smell like high tide—not low tide). Local fishermen give Ota and his team first pick of every day’s catch. If they dock before Ota arrives, other potential buyers are told to wait. It makes sense that same courtesy is extended to protégés, which might partially explain the excellent quality at Himitsu.
Their Spanish mackerel, an oily sucker that can taste like it fell behind the couch for a few days, is mild and lovely. “We found a mackerel that swims at medium depth,” explains Aihara of its clean flavor. San Diego has world-class uni, but they’re not currently serving it—”Water’s too warm and we don’t like the taste, so we’re getting it from Korea until it’s better,” he says. Warm water makes female urchins spawn, which makes their meat slimy and bitter. And this San Diego summer was hell. It’s quality first, provenance second at Himitsu. That’s why their uni lives up to its reputation as the foie gras of the sea.
Sushi’s Next Gen Is Here at Himitsu
Tuna nigiri two ways
Before they’re permitted to cut fish, apprentices spend icky, bloody months perfecting the gut-and-clean (cut incorrectly, bloodlines result in “fishy” fish). They work over and over on their knife skills, often practicing on garlic, learning to cut it to 1/16th of an inch. You can see the surgical skills in Himitsu’s seasonal soft-shell crab, served in a broth with peppers diced in perfect, millimeter-thin cubes that infuse each bite. I didn’t know you could cut food that small. Bet their knives could cut beer cans in infomercials.
Then they learn to cook rice, whose fluffiness and sweet/sour balance is essential (the word “sushi” translates to “seasoned rice,” after all, not “cut fish”)—and Himitsu’s is fluffy, not too sweet. Half of it doesn’t give up on the way to your mouth and go splat.
Finally, they work alongside the master at the counter for years, learning how to assemble nigiri and maki rolls with a fluid combo of speed and grace—which is the cup, shake, squeeze, release hand jive Aihara and his team perform at the sushi bar. The grace is especially important, since itamaes are your friends, whether they want to be or not. There are few spaces in the restaurant world as intimate and face-to-face as a sushi bar. So, from their traditional “Irasshaimase!” greeting to weather commentary and explanations of each piece of fish and sauce, the art of chat is essential. Aihara and his team elegantly crank out nigiri while asking about your kids and keeping all their fingers.
Sushi’s Next Gen Is Here at Himitsu
Himitsu’s dining room
The omakase is the ultimate sushi experience, which means you put your meal in their hands. The itamaes select the best fish they’ve got and prepare it in front of you, serving two to four pieces at a time until you politely surrender. Himitsu’s omakase bar seating is handsome, dark-stained wood forming a semicircle around Aihara and his cohorts.
My omakase starts with a duo of snow crab and halibut in sweet vinegar. Two slices of daikon radish, thin as Bible pages, rest against it. It’s a clean, delicate handshake of a bite, with no need for soy. The next plate is bonkers, a real Noah’s Ark of raw seafood: salmon, sweet shrimp (amaebi), Spanish mackerel, amberjack, toro, and uni tongue. The head of the shrimp is served, its eyes still moving and spindly legs still spindling, reaching for its shrimp god, heebing and jeebing a few nearby diners. Sweet shrimp is one of the only shrimp you can eat raw, and its juicy flavor pops with still-electric life. Then Aihara serves tuna two ways, one rested for five minutes in a soy marinade until it has a deep, lacquered appearance and salty-sweet flavor, and the other fresh otoro (the belly cut, the fattiest and most delicious). Amberjack (kampachi) is my favorite sashimi, and Himitsu’s doesn’t disappoint.
Sushi’s Next Gen Is Here at Himitsu
Treasure Bowl with toro, tuna, yellowtail, salmon, octopus, albacore, uni, salmon eggs, gold flakes, and sushi rice
With each piece of sashimi and nigiri, Aihara gives instructions.
“Eat in one bite.”
“I put ponzu and ginger on top, so no soy.”
“Dip this one in soy.”
“Don’t eat the head.”
That last parcel of wisdom he shared in an effort to save my life. Sushi has been a part of my monthly ritual for decades. I’ve studied its customs and terms, read multiple books on it, made plenty at home. I know the Japanese word for almost every fish and proper chopstick etiquette (never plant them in your food like flagpoles). But it’s been ages since I’ve had amaebi. I know I’m supposed to eat the whole shrimp, head and all, but I have a nagging feeling there’s a step I’m forgetting.
I panic. I eat the raw tail.
It’s a treat—like cutting up a credit card and eating the shards. I instantly remember I’ve done this wrong. I’m supposed to only eat the head, and even then wait for it to be deep fried. One of Aihara’s chefs sees this, his eyes bulge with WHAT THE—, and he informs his itamae that some idiot has eaten the raw tail. Aihara watches me to make sure I don’t try to stuff the still-wiggling head and legs into my wild, stupid, animal mouth. I do not. I sit there, the alchemy of soy sauce and shame lingering on my road-rashed palate. A server takes the head back to the kitchen and deep fries it. I eat it all, and it tastes like a cross between a shrimp boil and potato chips, warm and salty and more delicious than it is unsettling to eat a creature’s face.
Sushi’s Next Gen Is Here at Himitsu
Himitsu’s omakase bar
Lunch at Himitsu could use a sprucing, even if its shaded, plant-laden patio is an afternoon oasis. We try three of their donburis (bowls of sashimi over rice): the Himitsu (yellowtail, jalapeño, lemon juice, avocado, micro-cilantro, seaweed, and sesame seed), the Treasure Bowl (toro, tuna, yellowtail, salmon, octopus, albacore, white fish, uni, salmon eggs, and gold flakes), and the Tuna Bowl (toro, tuna, spicy tuna, and chopped toro with green onion, jalapeño, daikon radish, shiso leaf, sesame seeds, and seaweed). Really, it’s just generous piles of unseasoned, high-quality fish. The only seasoning are the minimal herbs, the lightly sweet vinegar of the rice, and the aqua-saline of the kelp, with soy sauce for dipping.
This is where tradition gets in Himitsu’s way, much like it does for Old World wines (Europe’s strict rules blocked innovation, whereas American wines had very few rules and experimented until they won taste tests over French classics). If an omakase features various sauces, why shouldn’t the donburi? The intense, brackish flavor of soy gets abusive pretty quick. Himitsu has all kinds of sauces—ponzu, yuzu, sakura, cilantro. Serve the bowls with a few of those. Or all of them. Tease the breadth of flavor available at the sushi bar, and make each bite different.
Sushi’s Next Gen Is Here at Himitsu
Hamachi on corn tostada with cilantro sauce, radish, red jalapeño, serrano, and Maldon salt
Aside from the excellent sashimi and nigiri, one of the best things we eat is the wasabi Caesar salad. Doesn’t look like much. Just a bunch of lettuce under a snowstorm of cheese. But that dressing is a sublimely light and garlicky song, with a gentle wasabi zing as backing vocal. The hamachi tostadas are served on freshly fried chips, with cilantro sauce, red jalapeño, serrano, lime zest, and sea salt. It’s a delicious sushi nacho, although a too-thick slice of serrano is hurtful. The hamachi kama (grilled yellowtail collar) is a tad overcooked and underseasoned. But their soft-shell crab, served fried in a shallow pool of ponzu, is everything a dish could be—crispy, tender meat, deep umami in the sauce.
Every meal has quibbles. But Aihara and his staff at Himitsu largely live up to the pedigree. It’s sushi done his own way, and the way Ota dreamt it.
Sushi’s Next Gen Is Here at Himitsu
OLIVIA HAYO
After a blind taste test, these four desserts came out on top—see the winners here
Basque grandmothers have not been making it for centuries. If you’re a millennial, there’s a strong possibility you’re older than the dessert itself. Yet somehow in less than 40 years, the Basque cheesecake—a half-pudding, half-cake creation with a top that looks like a mistake—managed to ooze its way onto menus all over the world.
It became the undisputed dessert star of San Diego’s restaurant world this year. So we invited 19 of the top restaurants, pastry chefs, and bakers to bring their best to the San Diego Magazine office for a blind taste test to find the best in the city.
First, a little history and context.
In 1987, after failing to find a job as an electrician, Santiago Rivera started working as a bartender at his parents’ unassuming pintxo bar La Viña, in San Sebastián, Spain. He was a naturally curious, self-taught cook who spent his free time testing recipes, tinkering with ingredients, and tweaking techniques.
So when it came to the cheesecake—which hadn’t changed much since its invention (a rudimentary version was served at the first Olympics in Greece 4,000 years ago, and the modern New York version in 1872)—he got radical with it.
He removed the crust (partly just to speed up the process because time is money for a small business). Without the crumbly crust, the experience was far creamier, less granulated. Then he cranked the oven to 400 degrees, nearly 100 degrees hotter than the normal baking temperature.
The result? The top became deeply caramelized, almost burnt, while leaving the center luxuriously soft and loosely set. The restaurant became a legend because of this breakthrough in the dairy arts, and his father never let him stop making it after that.
Now, 67 years after the restaurant’s opening, La Viña stands out for the unceasing line spilling onto the street, and the remarkable amount of curd cultists standing nearby, hovering over cream-smeared plastic containers. It’s the kind of scene that makes you stop and think: What the hell are they eating?
Now, the blind tasting. To keep things fair, the contenders were divided into four categories: Restaurant Traditional, Restaurant Flavored, Bakery Traditional, and Bakery Flavored. (It’s a tad unfair to pit a baker who specializes in the one glorious thing against a restaurant that cooks dozens of things.) Each entry was served blind and judged on texture, flavor, and number of vaguely inappropriate food moans.
The logistics were chaotic, to say the least. Our fridge—not a walk-in, sadly—was packed to the brim. Each cake was sliced, secretly labeled, and shuffled onto plates while the team gathered in the conference room. The whole shebang was not in any way sponsored by Lactaid, despite our various attempts to convince them of this ripe marketing opportunity.
The judging became gloriously unhinged. We heard it all, from “I don’t care how the cheesecake gets in my mouth, it just needs to happen,” and “Is it supposed to be this jiggly?” to “Kind of a baby throw-up situation,” “Straight cheese,” and “I’m getting vague socks there.”
But four Basque cheesecakes stood out among the rest, earning themselves the title of Best Burnt Basque Cheesecake in San Diego.
A restaurant for the people. Rosarito native chef Juan González and Megan Strom are the ideal married couple to be running a farm-to-table joint. She’s been a farmer for decades, selling top-notch produce to some of the best restaurants in California—which is how the two met. A couple years ago, she started working at the small organic farm in Valley Center run by Mike Reeske, who had spent decades breeding the perfect heirloom beans for SoCal’s climate. He recently retired, and gifted those strains to Strom—who grows them (and other crops) for their tiny Escondido taco/burrito shop specializing in guisados (Mexican stews).
A Basque cheesecake in a taco shop? You bet. Juan’s got family roots in Spain and has cooked in Spanish kitchens.
Mesa Agricola’s winning Basque is by far the most “burnt” of all contenders—so much so that an Instagram follower declared it a mistake. But as Chef Juan notes, there’s an art to hitting the sweet spot where “the bitterness of the char balances the richness and sweetness without turning it into ‘chicharrón.’” Plus, char is a core charm of Baja cooking. It’s the perfect Basque for the people who prefer setting their campfire marshmallows fully on fire.
With red leather booths and a retro steakhouse vibe, Moe’s in Mission Beach is a good cheat day destination. The menu is flavor maximalism—dry-aged steaks, housemade pastas, brown liquors, and sides like the lobster truffle mac ’n’ cheese. Pastry chef Eli Peralta (whom some might remember as the creator of The Patio on Lamont’s “Twisted Elvis”—a peanut butter-banana brûlée stunner) brings that same intensity to the dessert menu.
Baked at sister restaurant Molly’s (6 feet away), his Basque is served on a bed of caramel with walnut brittle and a dollop of whipped cream, an indulgent recipe that converted the pastry chef himself. “I wasn’t crazy about cheesecakes,” Eli admits. “Then I started making different flavors, and I started to like them.” He’s not the only convert: During our blind tasting, one judge likened the cake to crème brûlée, concluding, “I don’t even like crème brûlée, but I like this.”
Every creative pursuit starts with a muse—and Lada Sadovnyk’s has been the Basque cheesecake for years. In Ukraine, she baked them for friends and family gatherings, never imagining she would one day build an entire bakery around them in the US. “When we moved to San Diego,” she explains, “I kept thinking, ‘What can I do? What do I really love to do?’”
The answer is pretty fantastic.
After obsessing over proportion and techniques, chasing that molten center and deeply caramelized top, what began as an online recipe evolved into something entirely of her own.
She moved from her home kitchen to a rented commercial kitchen close to Sports Arena. The orders kept coming, and so did the pressure. “At one point, I was thinking about divorcing my husband,” she says with a laugh (while sitting next to him). The grind paid off: Today, Muse Cheesecakes bakes roughly 1,200 cheesecakes a month and is planning to open its first brick-and-mortar home in Pacific Beach.
For our competition, the expectations met reality. Muse has made a quick name in San Diego as the Basque to beat. In a blind taste test, there’s no bias, no reputational shine to sway a room. The response on reveal: “Oh, of course.”
Husband-and-wife duo Alex and Anastasia Kiperband pulled off the number of failures (and then some) that are required of any search for the best recipe. After adjusting baking temps, sugar rations, and experimenting with different brands of cream cheese and heavy cream—they finally landed on something worthy of a business license.
“When we started this business in America, we were really nervous,” Anastasia says, co-owner of Bite Cheesecakes & Bakery.
Once they won over those first customers, their confidence grew enough to start tinkering. When Dubai chocolate took social media by storm, they developed their own version, making the pistachio paste from scratch before layering the buttery kataifi pastry beneath a glossy chocolate shell to create its signature Dubai Chocolate Basque Cheesecake.
“In a lot of situations, we’re converting cheesecake haters to cheesecake lovers,” they say. “That’s probably the best feedback that we get.”
Camila Ibarra Gallego is a CaliBaja native pursuing a master's degree in culinary journalism at the Basque Culinary Center. Shaped by the culturally rich, bicultural megaregion, she's passionate about sniffing out stories that connect people, territory and culture through food. When she's not tumbling down internet rabbit holes, you can find her pretending to be a wine connoisseur at a local wine bar or nose-deep in a good book.
Casa Del Lobo blends coffee culture with Mexican design, serving seasonal drinks alongside its own handcrafted ceramics
There aren’t many places left in San Diego with a lack of specialty coffee options. This week, we can add La Jolla Shores to that list—Casa Del Lobo has arrived. Life-and-business partners Christine Silver and Saul Moreno came to San Diego the same route so many of us have: coming for vacation and falling in love with the city and each other.
Silver was working on Wall Street in New York City and decided to visit some friends in SoCal after the pandemic clouds lifted. Moreno happened to be visiting from Mexico City at the same time. The two met, moved here, got married, had a baby, and thought, “Hey, why not start our own business?”
Apparently, their whirlwind lives needed more windy whirls. (Windy whirls? They like to stay busy.) Casa Del Lobo isn’t either of their first rodeos, although it’s both of their first forays into the coffee space. “We’re both serial entrepreneurs,” laughs Silver. She runs a venture capital business that invests in women-owned wellness companies, and he runs his own logistics company out of Mexico City. “We keep saying, ‘Oh, it’s the last time we’ll start a business. Then all of a sudden, a year or two later, we can’t help ourselves.’”
The idea to open Casa Del Lobo initially started when the pair began decorating their house in Windansea. After looking for large-scale ceramic planters and outdoor fountains that met their quality expectations without egregious price tags (something Moreno was used to seeing in Mexico), they realized there simply weren’t any comparable options here.
So rather than continuing to drive over the border to go shopping, they decided to bring Mexican ceramic style to San Diego.
The partners now run a manufacturing facility in Tecate, specializing in large-format ceramics and specialty glazes. As they sought out potential locations to open a planter store, they realized they could go one of two routes. One, get a warehouse in an industrial area and rely on marketing to get the word out. Or two, they could diversify by opening a homey retail store where people have to walk through the shop area to get a cup of specialty coffee.
They went with option two, and coffee quickly became their primary objective.
“My husband and I, we love coffee,” she says, adding that whenever they go on vacation, no matter where they are in the world, figuring out where to get a java fix every day is their number one goal. (Side note: I can strongly relate.) Mexico City coffee and design culture lean heavily urban and industrial in feel, mixing both an Old World architecture with modern sensibilities—something Silver says they felt was missing locally, specifically in La Jolla Shores.
Casa Del Lobo, which translates to “house of the wolf” in Spanish, soft opened this week, with traditional coffee offerings like lattes, cappuccinos, and Americanos, along with four housemade syrups that will change seasonally (currently, they are vanilla, lavender, orange blossom, and brown sugar cinnamon). For now, the food is simple pastries from Knead Artisan Bakery, but Silver says they plan to add more options like breakfast burritos, paninis, and natural wine in the future. Eventually, customers will also be able to purchase their signature ceramics online, and one day, they may open more locations along the California coast.
But for now, they’re just getting started in La Jolla. “We’ll be here forever,” says Silver. “We want this to be the first of many.”
Casa Del Lobo is now open at 2246 Avenida de la Playa every Tuesday through Sunday, 7 a.m. to 1 p.m.
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 team behind El Agave and Nómade will open a breezy new restaurant with tapas, housemade pasta, seafood, and plenty of wine this September
After running El Agave Restaurant & Tequileria in Old Town for 30 years and opening Nómade Tapas & Records in North Park in 2025, owner Juan Carlos Gomez wasn’t actively on the hunt for a new project. But sometimes, you have to grab the opportunities as they come, unexpected though they may be.
He was taking a stroll in Bankers Hill last year when he noticed Barrio Star was closing after 17 years. “[It] was a neighborhood staple for a long time,” he says. So he figured he’d take a look. “We were talking with ownership and threw out an offer, and then it was accepted. So we were like, ‘Okay, cool, guess we’re going to get a new concept going!” (Much respect to the YOLO business style.)
That new restaurant is nearing completion. Filo will open early in September. The restaurant’s name, pronounced fie-low, references phyllo, the Greek word for “leaf” and an unleavened pastry dough commonly used in Mediterranean (often Greek) cuisines. Gomez says the menu will range from all over the Mediterranean region.
“I’ve always been a fan of European cuisine, obviously, but I can’t land on just one,” he laughs. “I’m part Spanish, so we wanted to do something Mediterranean, have a little bit of Spanish, have a little bit of French, Italian, Greek… a lot of olive oil, a lot of sea salt, and very, very light seasoning.”
Although the menu feels European, Gomez says expect the vibe and ingredients to feel very Southern Californian. There will be tapas, of course, and other small plates, along with housemade pastas, salads, with lots of seafood (like a whole branzino) coming from local purveyors. The accompanying beverage program will feel equally breezy, “fresh, very light, citrusy, salty,” he says. “We’re going to have a pretty hefty wine list and full bar.”
Gomez’s goal for Filo is for it to feel like a laid-back, seaside eatery on the craggy Mediterranean coastline—light colors, white oak, lime wash, flowing between the indoor dining room and outdoor patio. Personally, a European escape sounds pretty awesome right about now.
Filo opens at 2706 Fifth Avenue in early September. Initial operating hours are 4 p.m. to 10 p.m. daily, with lunch and happy hour coming soon. (Subject to change.)
Listen Now: The Latest in San Diego’s Food and Drink Scene
Have breaking news, exciting scoops, or great stories about new San Diego restaurants or the city’s food scene? Send your pitches to [email protected].
Beth Demmon is an award-winning writer and podcaster whose work regularly appears in national outlets and San Diego Magazine. Her first book, The Beer Lover's Guide to Cider, is now available. Find out more on bethdemmon.com.
Inspired by the effortless charm of French cafés, this taste of France on Orange Avenue invites guests to embrace the simple pleasure of taking their time.
Strolling down Orange Avenue on a sunny afternoon, you’ll hear the hum of beach cruisers rolling by and visitors making their way toward the Hotel del Coronado. Dogs pause to greet one another on the sidewalk, palm trees sway overhead, and for a moment, you’re convinced you’re living inside the postcard from the gift shop you just passed.
Then the scene shifts. Towering white columns, black café awnings and gold-trimmed windows frame Little Frenchie, where woven bistro chairs spill onto the sidewalk and servers deliver bubbling crocks of French onion soup. The scent of caramelized onions and melted Gruyère is practically an invitation to ask, “How long for a table for two?”
That feeling of pulling up a chair and staying awhile is exactly what inspired Little Frenchie. French cuisine has a reputation for feeling a little intimidating, but the restaurant is rewriting that narrative with food and wine that feels approachable.
“Sometimes when you read a French menu, you come across words you can’t even pronounce,” David Spatafore, the owner of Little Frenchie, says. “We wanted to create a restaurant where people felt comfortable.”
Little Frenchie was designed to capture the spirit of the French sidewalk cafés that inspired it. Dating back to 1917, the space already carried the charm of a Parisian bistro, with architectural details that felt more at home on a European street corner than in Coronado. The team saw an opportunity to create a restaurant that matched the character of the space while filling a gap in the neighborhood.
The result is a French restaurant that honors tradition without taking itself too seriously.
At Little Frenchie, classic French techniques are at the heart of the menu, but there is always room for creativity. A cassoulet featuring Toulouse sausage and duck confit pays homage to the recipes and regions that inspired it, while a rich hot chocolate made with ingredients imported from France brings a taste of French café culture to Coronado.
The team loves finding unexpected ways to make familiar dishes feel new. A burger becomes a showstopper when it is finished tableside with melted raclette, while a French Dip gets elevated with prime beef and Wagyu makes its way into the burgers. Even Eggs Benedict gets a French twist, swapping the traditional English muffin for a buttery croissant. The GB&J, Little Frenchie’s take on a grilled cheese, brings that same playful approach with seasonal jam and French Brie layered into a comforting classic.
Nearly everything at Little Frenchie is made from scratch, with ingredients carefully chosen to match the restaurant’s standards. Even the bread receives special attention. Each morning, the team sends a car to Prager Brothers Artisan Bread to pick up freshly baked loaves, ensuring every element of the meal reflects the restaurant’s commitment to quality.
Wine is woven into the experience just as naturally as the food. Inspired by the effortless pairings found in French cafés and bistros, Little Frenchie’s by-the-glass selection invites guests to sip their way through different regions and discover new favorites without the pressure of knowing all the rules.
The city's fish taco hero is opening Concrete Cowboy across the street, plus a home-cooked Mexican sandwich spot
You have to be crazy or a genius to name a restaurant Fish Guts. You have to be even crazier to open a restaurant that holds maybe two dozen people at a time—if you don’t mind elbowing one other while scarfing down some of the best fish tacos in San Diego.
And yes, “best” is a relative term. But in Fish Guts’ case, it’s for real—and that’s saying something in a town literally world-famous for fish tacos.
Ever since Pablo Becker opened up his diminutive eatery in 2023 at the corner of Logan Avenue and Sampson Street in Barrio Logan, Fish Guts has been named one of the city’s best new restaurants in 2023, Critic’s Pick for the best fish tacos in San Diego in 2024, 2025 and 2026, as well as readers’ top pick in 2024. It’s like if Rubio’s married into the royal family.
Most of his ingredients come straight from the cold waters of the Pacific Ocean, which happens to be down the street. His de espada (blackened swordfish) taco is the stuff of legend. He’s kept Fish Guts operating at an elite level, which tends to happen when you work for five years in Chicago under chef Richard Sandoval (who, by chance, is also his cousin) and open an ahead-of-its-time high-end modern Mexican restaurant in East Village (El Vitral Restaurant & Tequileria, 2009-2013).
Now Becker is branching out again, opening two new concepts in Barrio Logan this fall.
The first will be upstairs from Fish Guts, which at one point was destined to become an intimate omakase counter. Santo Poco will be a lunch-only sandwich shop, offering takeout and delivery (no dine-in), and the sandwiches will be a little Mexican, a little French, a little Italian, a little from Chicago, a little from New York. Basically, a bunch of different styles all on really, really good bread.
“There’s probably going to be a Cuban-style sandwich in there with a touch of Mexican, some cold cut Italians, too, putting my touch on them,” he says. “That’s what I feel like is my style of cooking.”
Things will be traditional, but inventive. Like his fish & chips taco at Fish Guts: two classic dishes, one killer mash-up. There will also be a hat tip to the late, great Anthony Bourdain, a sandwich called the Antonio Bourdain.
The second will be across the street from Fish Guts in the former Lia’s Lumpia space. Concrete Cowboy will be a taco-driven joint on the same wavelength as Fish Guts (keep it simple, keep it special), but featuring land animals rather than sea brethren. Think tacos made with duck confit, ribeye, pork belly, skirt steak.
The inspiration behind Concrete Cowboy comes from Becker’s father, a lifelong Western obsessive, despite growing up in Mexico City’s urban metropolis. “He always liked that cowboy life, that vibe,” he says. “I always say ‘Dad, you just grew up in the wrong city.”
He’s aiming to open Santo Poco in October and Concrete Cowboy in November. Neither require massive renovations, and while the former Lia’s Lumpia space will keep the cabin-esque aesthetic, he’s creating more of an adobe-style exterior and an interior lined with Western-themed wallpaper and taxidermied animals. He’ll also tweak the bar layout to move from a fast-casual feel to full service.
Local designer Dane Danner is designing both spaces and visual direction for menu layouts, logos, and packaging, going for low-key, but high on vibes. Once Concrete Cowboy opens, Fish Guts will temporarily close to remodel the space to switch its white palette for a warmer feel, plus introducing a refreshed menu featuring some new tacos and other items.
Could another Fish Guts be on the way somewhere else in San Diego? Not likely, says Becker. “Fish Guts is cool, “ he says. “I feel once you start branching out, it’s more forced, not as organic.” So for now, count on Becker staying in the neighborhood.
Santo Poco opens for lunch daily October 2026, 2222 Logan Avenue (above Fish Guts). Concrete Cowboy opens Tuesday through Sunday for lunch and dinner November 2026, 2219 Logan Avenue.
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 University Heights eatery will close September 7 for a multi-month renovation and rebrand
Ten years ago, restaurant design centered around sleek minimalism. Fonts lacked serifs, clean lines dominated, and any manufacturer that made globe-shaped chandeliers must have made an absolute killing.
Things have changed since then, and Jeff Fink says it’s time for Madison on Park to glow up. On September 7, Madison will temporarily close its doors for a top-to-bottom renovation of the space and concept. Fink hopes to reopen this fall ahead of the busy holiday season, with a new look he calls moody mid-century maximalism.
“We have to take into consideration what’s going on culturally,” he says. When Madison first opened, TikTok wasn’t a thing in the U.S. and craft cocktails felt relatively cutting-edge. Today, he sees a resurgence in the vintage look, handmade goods, and low-to-no ABV drinks dominating menus everywhere.
Fink and his partner Matt Sieve have already dabbled with that sort of motif at Sonny’s Pizza, their Brooklyn-inspired joint around the corner. Fully half of the cocktail menu is made up of spritzes, mocktails, and Negronis. Madison 2.0 will take it further.
The new concept doesn’t have a name yet—Fink says they have to feel out the vibes as they make progress with the design. “The name comes when you see it appear,” he says. But he has a few design elements in mind: things like more artwork and more uplighting. “Not cluttered and overstuffed… I want to keep it intimate, sexy, and immersive.”
Madison rightly earned its rep as one of the best-dressed eateries in San Diego, nabbing an Orchid Award for interior design its first year. The returning designers Anna and David Sindelar originally transformed the space from weird padded walls and fake greenery at Lei Lounge into a mid-century modern wonderland, complete with a signature arched ceiling and geometric patterns aplenty. Michelin-recognized chef Mario Cassineri (Ciccia Osteria, Bice Ristorante) built a menu heavy on Mediterranean flavors mixed with California classics.
The new menu shouldn’t feel completely jarring, but will take cues from Fink’s recent travels in Spain with his family. Expect shareable plates with lighter ingredients. “Americans eat way too much, and our portions are way too big,” he says. “I like the idea of smaller plates, healthier plates, and being creative… I’d rather see 15 items on the menu that are all less than $20 so that I can try different ones.” Bar manager Danny Kuehner will continue developing craft cocktails and mocktails for the new venture, as well as curating a selection of wine from Europe and locally.
This isn’t the only project on their plate. Besides running Sonny’s in University Heights and Madi in Normal Heights, later this fall, Fink and Sieve will also open Josie’s, a modern all-day, Midwestern-style diner inspired by Sieve’s Minnesota roots. Like all their restaurants, it’ll hold a special part of their families’ legacies—something Fink hopes people feel as soon as they enter.
“You walk into Sonny’s, you’re like ‘Oh, Jeff’s at home,’” Fink laughs. “[Josies’] will be ‘Matt’s at home.’” The next version of Madison? We’ll have to wait and see.
Madison on Park will temporarily close on September 7 until October (barring any unexpected delays). Keep up with the newest updates on Madison’s Instagram.
Listen Now: The Latest in San Diego’s Food and Drink Scene
Have breaking news, exciting scoops, or great stories about new San Diego restaurants or the city’s food scene? Send your pitches to [email protected].
Beth Demmon is an award-winning writer and podcaster whose work regularly appears in national outlets and San Diego Magazine. Her first book, The Beer Lover's Guide to Cider, is now available. Find out more on bethdemmon.com.
Laika Nur, MD, takes her love of volleyball from the court to the clinic as team physician for the San Diego Mojo
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.
For more nutrition, wellness, and healthy living tips, sign up for the San Diego Health newsletter here.
