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).
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.
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.
Best Place to Buy Original Art Without Needing a Tiny Paddle
Goblin Shark Emporium
Almost everything in this Oceanside shop is made by local artists and independent weirdos, and almost none of it requires a gallerist’s budget. Goblin Shark Emporium rotates a new featured artist every month between the vinyl crates, blacklight posters, and hilariously specific stickers, so you can walk out with original work and a tarot reading to contemplate as you sip your Banana Dang Coffee from a couple storefronts down.
Best Hidden Gem
Through the Fold
Tucked within the potting tables and ferns of Mission Hills Nursery, the oldest nursery in Southern California and a Kate Sessions original, sits Through the Fold, the sweet indie bookstore that mother-daughter team Gail Levine and Jennifer Medeiros hand-built and opened in late April. Two retired educators and lifelong bibliophiles run it like a neighborhood living room: three book clubs, toddler story time, and a summer camp for the 7-to-12 set. It’s the rare retail run that smells like soil and new paperbacks, which is to say, like a very specific kind of heaven.
Open since 1993 under the unbeatable tagline “Books of Martians, Murder, Magic, and Mayhem,” this Rosecrans Street institution is the city’s portal for anyone who would rather be on a different planet. Load up on sci-fi, horror, and fantasy, then stick around for the weekly Dungeons & Dragons campaign, because the only thing better than reading about another universe is rolling a d20 inside one.
Best Stop into Trinket Town
Library Shop
On the ground floor of the downtown Central Library, tucked into the Joan and Irwin Jacobs Common, sits the Library Shop, a tightly curated gift store stocked with presents and trinkets you didn’t know you needed: wind-up kitchen timers, specialty pencils, felt coasters in colors cheerful enough to overcome the first half of the Padres’ season—you get it. Every dollar funds the San Diego Public Library system, which makes the shop’s official “Guilt-Free Shopping” motto the rare slogan that holds up. Come for a paperback, leave having formed a genuine emotional attachment to a $4 pencil.
The window at this North Park shop is alive: a front-of-house catio where adoptable rescue cats audition for your heart while you pretend to be just browsing. From there, a literal catwalk runs along the ceiling to a back resting room (because existing around inferior beings is exhausting for cats). Owner Vera Blatchley of Purrgatory stocks the full cat-lover arsenal, plus a wall of gifts for the feline who already has nine of everything. Fan favorite: a retro-style, bubblegum-pink Kit-Cat Clock.
Best San Diego Mood Board
Club Paradise
Surf art’s everywhere, but it’s somehow always a little kooky. Painter Andy Davis’ style captured that elemental soul, making him one of the most successful surf artists of the last few decades (check his giant mural at Town and Country Resort). His tiny Encinitas storefront, Club Paradise, is a gallery-slash-gift shop that stocks his paintings and prints—and he’s using the space as a culture club for local and touring creatives.
Best Limited-Edition Tan Line
Tulux Resortwear
Tulux is the Pacific Beach swimwear label out of Cass Street, where designer Yamhed Torres turns the whole Tulum fantasy into bold, limited-run bikinis. This year, Vogue México y Latinoamérica named her one of just 10 emerging designers to watch, so each suit comes with the kind of credentials that practically books its own sunset getaway. Everything is one and done: When a piece sells, it’s gone for good, which is either smart scarcity or the universe telling you to commit.
Free lotto tickets at crystal shops? Yes, please. Pacific Beads owner Shlomo Gruer greets you at the door of this Clairemont Mesa warehouse with 4,000 square feet of crystals, geodes, and beads by the bin. You come for wholesale amethyst and sterling findings; you leave holding a fistful of healing stones and a statistically remote shot at early retirement. Need another reason to visit? Owner Gruer has his own line of jewelry, and Pacific Beads also hosts jewelry-making classes.
Best Nostalgia Purchase
123 Sweetsss
El Cajon’s Parkway Plaza could look radically different in the near future, as city officials are hatching plans to reinvent the one-time community and commercial center. Inflection points of iconic structures are always compelling times to visit and tabulate your own urban-planning daydreams. As you do, hit the first NAMA-certified automatic cotton candy vending machine in the country. Push a button, and 123 Sweetsss spins you a fresh cloud of childhood in under a minute. No carnival, no county fair admission, no sweaty teenager in a paper hat required.
If you can’t quite swing the cost of a trip to the African outback, the Safari Park’s new Elephant Valley is a pretty convincing Plan B. The 13-acre immersive habitat—the largest project in the San Diego Zoo Wildlife Alliance’s 109-year history—is home to eight African elephants, but it’s the thoughtful details that steal the show. Keep your eyes open for intricate Kenyan-inspired artwork, native landscaping, and stop by the Mkutano House, where you can grab lunch with a front-row view of the herd.
Best Fresh Grounds
Pepper Park
Pepper Park became the emotional anchor of the bayfront overhaul when the National City park reopened this March with a 2.5-acre expansion. Hopefully that’s just the start. The California Coastal Commission also approved the city’s ambitious waterfront plan, clearing the way for a long-envisioned 77-acre bayfront makeover with more green space, better bike paths, and improved waterfront access. Money still has to be raised, but head to Pepper Park, sit on a brand-new bench, and gaze out at the future of the South Bay.
Not every family destination comes with roller coasters—sometimes, they have paint rollers. The Willie Henderson Sports Complex in southeast San Diego recently received a new paint job and major facelift (courtesy of San Diego FC, the Prebys Foundation, and community advocates), giving thousands of kids a safer, smoother, and more colorful place to play basketball or soccer. If your weekends revolve around sports gear, folding chairs, and orange slices, you’ll definitely appreciate the upgrade.
Best Slice in the Galaxy
Killer Pizza From Mars
Parents come for the pizza. Kids come for the games. Sci-fi nerds come for it all. Killer Pizza From Mars is an Oceanside mainstay for families who love arcades, vintage Star Wars memorabilia, and piled-high pizzas with outrageously silly names like the “Mars”gherita pizza. Order a basket of Killer Fries, sink your teeth into a Martian Melt sandwich, and don’t be surprised if your kids clamor for a return mission.
Best Return to Monkey Business
Fanuel Street Park
After what must have felt like an eternity for Pacific Beach families, Fanuel Street Park’s playground is finally back. The old play structure got the heave-ho nearly two years ago, but this spring, the community raised enough donations to replace it with modern climbing structures, new swings, and better accessibility. It’s finally back to being a low-key locals spot perfect for picnicking, splashing around, and letting the kids burn off some energy.
Photo Credit: Farah Assi
Best Way to Frustrate Your Child in a Fun Way
Lara’s Labyrinth
If screen time has obliterated your attention span, try giving your brain a workout at an escape room. Lara’s Labyrinth provides a few options ranging from kid-friendly to “try not to pee your pants in fright,” where participants can attempt to escape an enchanted forest or decipher clues left by Leonardo da Vinci. (Some rooms have G, PG-13, and R-rated versions for your family’s comfort level, but maybe save the “Cannibal” room for an adults-only excursion.)
Best Babysitter With a Degree in Marine Biology
Living Seas at Birch Aquarium
Birch Aquarium has always made a splash, but the $18.7 million Living Seas exhibit is a tidal wave of awesome. The immersive exhibit features different marine ecosystems throughout the Pacific Ocean, from the warm aqua waters of tropical zones to the frigid (but nourishing) Pacific Northwest. Bigger is better here: There are areas designated for the gigantic sunflower sea star and giant Pacific octopus, so prepare for oceanic marvels to wow you.
Best Hip New Thing at the Hip Kid Place
Artopia at The New Children’s Museum
Forget “don’t touch the art.” At Artopia, touching, building, climbing, experimenting, and making a colorful mess are all exactly the point. Created by the museum’s in-house Creative Studios team, the interactive space invites kids to become artists through hands-on projects like weekend ceramics workshops and after-school programs. When creativity gets a little chaotic is when it’s at its most fun.
The Fairmont Grand Del Mar used to feel like someplace you admired from afar. Grand Social changed that. Three levels of outdoor space are now home to a bar and grill, bocce courts, and other lawn games, as well as a summertime concert series and other family-friendly events that welcome locals just as much as overnight guests. It’s proof that one of San Diego’s fanciest addresses also knows how to have a little fun.
Best Place to See Sharks and Only Be a Little Scared
SeaWorld’s Shark Encounter
You don’t need a cage to come face-to-face with sharks anymore. SeaWorld’s revamped Shark Encounter lets you get startlingly close to species like reef sharks, massive sand tigers, and endangered Australian leopard sharks, all inside newly redesigned habitats. It’s equal parts adrenaline and education, and a good reminder that these misunderstood predators are closer to Bruce in Finding Nemo than Jaws in… well, Jaws.
Photo Credit: Richie Wireman
Best Mission for Major Tom
LEGOLAND’s LEGO Galaxy
Houston, we have a new reason to visit LEGOLAND California. LEGO Galaxy is the plastic-brick haven’s biggest in-park investment ever, including the first new roller coaster in 20 years. Between the customizable Galacticoaster experience, build-your-own spacecraft stations, and interactive space adventures, aspiring astronauts can easily spend hours exploring this brick-built universe.
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.
Most San Diego spots serve phở bò—the dark-brothed, beef-boned Southern Vietnamese specialty, loaded with the loud spices (star anise, cloves, cardamom, etc.). But Kim Pham, one of the sisters behind Crab Hut and perennial best-restaurants list-maker Kingfisher, is doing her mom’s phở gà.
The Northern Vietnamese original has a lighter, cleaner broth, using runner chickens (free-range diet and action means more flavor), the garlic from Gilroy’s famed Christopher Ranch (intense garlic-garlic), organic ginger, and housemade noodles. For condiments, Phở Gà Go uses Red Boat (the gold standard, barrel-aged 12 months). It’s essentially the same broth made at Kingfisher, served casual in Mira Mesa.
Best Fish Party for a Purpose
Dockside Night Market
This issue isn’t about shame, but let’s add a touch for emotional tension. We live on the water, but only about 10 percent of seafood eaten in San Diego is caught locally. Meanwhile, the local fishing industry that once employed 40,000 people is down to about 130 commercial fishers. Local fishing families are a crucial (my words, and they feel right) but endangered species. And three groups have joined forces for one pretty killer event that does a lot about it.
Puffer Malarkey Group (operator Chris Puffer and celeb chef Brian Malarkey) joined with Tuna Harbor Dockside Market—the spot where local boats drop their catch every weekend, a waterline treasure. Each year, Dockside Night Market gathers live musicians and the city’s top chefs who cook with local boat fish on the water. Even better: 100 percent of the profits go to the San Diego Working Fishermen’s Group (the third group—the actual fishers). Make it a quarterly/monthly thing, for chrissakes.
Best Home Away From Home
Make Cafe
Hard to find a more special place to eat lunch than Make Cafe. Finally with a permanent address, Make is where refugee women new to life in the US cook recipes from their various home countries: like mandazis (East African fry bread, like a beignet), koftas, congees (Asian ginger-rice bowls), lemongrass soda waters, and clean-eating creations. Exec chef Ashley McBrady (who helped turn Cellar Hand into a farm-obsessive hit) oversees the operation and teaches the women everything she’s learned.
Make Projects (which includes a farm and a training center) is a nonprofit that director Anchi Mei spun off from the International Rescue Committee—and now includes the cafe, a farm, and a training center. The idea is to help women refugees—often those who’ve worked fields and didn’t get great access to education—develop job, language, and cultural skills to adjust to this radically new and disorienting life. Even if you’re immune to an emotional backstory: Normal Heights has a charming new 5,000-square-foot bistro with a talented chef.
Courtesy of This Musubi Love
Best Way to SPAM Your Friends
This Musubi Love
The slander of SPAM is part of its allure. Those who have either been raised in the musubi arts or converted to the minor food religion tend to exude a higher-than-expected life happiness. This Musubi Love, a Leucadia musubi speakeasy (you heard that right), focuses exclusively on the Hawaiian/Asian tradition of SPAM “sushi.” It’s a MEHKO (Micro Enterprise Home Kitchen Operation) from founder Roger Post, serving classics and riffs like the Cordon Bleu-Subi made with panko-fried SPAM, shredded rotisserie chicken, Swiss cheese, and Bachan’s Japanese BBQ sauce. Or try the Dawn Patrol with SPAM, egg, bacon, cheddar cheese, and spicy mayo.
Best Lead Restaurant Singer
Todd Henderson, General Manager at Valentina
How many of your favorite bands don’t have a talented lead singer? Due respect to Charles Mingus, but kinda hard to get emotional without someone expressing a story in a compelling way. The same is true for restaurants: a likable storyteller who deeply knows their stuff and can translate the stories of the food, drink, people, and place is both key and exceedingly, exceedingly rare. Well—found one.
Valentina General Manager Todd Henderson is a likable certified sommelier who can wax on about the history of the breed of pigs used to create the famed jamón (Cinco Jotas), trace each Spanish pintxo back to its origin tale, or orate the Ken Burns doc of 20 different types of Champagne. Valentina had the design charm and the roots (Leucadia locals wanted better restaurants, so they built them). But with Henderson and chef Enrique Ñol (who trained under Davin Waite at Wrench & Rodent), Leucadia’s date-night bistro feels like it pulled up a rung.
Some local legends engrave so deep that it’d feel wrong if even their original locations they outgrew became, like, some chain lamp store. Kiku Room feels like a rightful heir to the Casbah’s first throne. Kurt Cobain played in this tiny box on Kettner, dammit. Kiku’s a minimalist steel-concrete-and-punky-wheatpaste box, loaded with enough red lights to summon some beanie diehards and chill demons. One “bar” is a DJ deck (dark disco, Balearic house, everything), and the other is proper craft cocktails. They even brought back Midori Sours. The room is small and the line is not, so plan ahead or amiably accept fate.
Some locals would prefer if Coronado’s historic charms were flash-frozen and preserved. Others feel that Elisha Babcock and Hampton Story (the 19th-century developers who modernized the “island” and birthed the Hotel del) were radical change agents, and that spirit should be renewed. Undoubtedly, Baby Grand is a renewal. The newest hotel from CH Projects (Lafayette Hotel) turned an old, meh motor lodge (La Avenida Inn) into a freshly feral cocktail lagoon with Greek food and statues and plus-sized plant life, a tuckaway bar (Fallen Empire), and rooms with clamshell beds and obscenely giant bathrooms. All due respect to our hearts’ desire to embalm old magic—this feels like a grand Coronado win.
Best Places to Visit Captain Keno’s Ghost
Anigma and Breakers
Two local dreamers truly understood the emotional voltage of Captain Keno’s, Leucadia’s affordable family restaurant/dive bar (a real hospitality mullet). When owner Gerry Sova closed it after 54 years, they basically battled it out to buy Keno’s beloved bones—knickknacks, plucky furniture, signage—and memorialized that old meatloaf-and-vodka-cranberry voodoo in their own places. The first is Encinitas’ tuckaway bar, the highly designed, Tarot-fied Anigma (from the DIY industry vets who own The Roxy). Second is Breakers, the Hawaiian-inspired hang from pro surfer Benji Weatherley, who grew up between Encinitas and Oahu. Long live Cap.
Photo Credit: James Tran
Best Homecoming for Food City
Ironside Fish & Oyster
When it opened in 2014, Ironside Fish & Oyster hit all the right notes. A giant fish house and craft cocktail spot dedicated to local fishing lore—created by locals. They put in the area’s first oyster bar at the time. It didn’t make the rapid evolution of Little Italy feel like a cheap land grab, and filled holes rather than piling more glitter on already-filled holes. A key part of that magic was opening chef Jason McLeod, who was in charge of Ria in Chicago when it earned two Michelin stars. Twelve years later, after bouncing between big projects, he came back this year and set down permanent roots in a landmark kitchen.
If I have to choose between letting a trusted friend pick a bottle of wine or some random algorithm boosted by a faceless entity, I’m gonna go with the human 10 out of 10 times. And when you have friends like Amanda Sarich and Robert Blair, it’s pretty easy to trust their picks are going to be unique, tasty, and probably something I haven’t seen before.
Between the two of them, they have over three decades of experience working in wine. From buying to operations to building wine lists, they’ve worked together, wined together, and now, are going into business together with the Word of Mouth Wine Club.
Word of Mouth is a members-only monthly subscription that sends you two handpicked bottles each month, chosen entirely by the duo’s palates. It’s less “build your own box” and more “enjoy the surprise.” “The goal with the wine club was basically to get members that want to turn over their faith in our collections,” Sarich says. “Trust us—we’ll send you the cool stuff.”
The two first met while working at We Olive wine bar and shop in La Jolla, where Sarich joined the opening team in 2011 before eventually becoming a corporate wine director overseeing stores and franchises throughout California. Blair arrived the following year, after stints at Holiday Wine Cellar in Escondido and Alternative Wines in Carmel Valley, later spending nearly a decade helping build Village Vino in Kensington.
When Village Vino closed last November, Sarich had recently returned home to San Diego after years in the Bay Area and brought Blair on board for a project she’s working on—Serafino, a cafe and wine bar slated to open in Mission Hills next fall. But to bridge the gap between Village Vino closing and Serafino opening, the two partners kept the momentum going by launching Word of Mouth.
Blair says once Serafino opens, the team will launch a wine club for that business that will focus on everyday drinking wines from anywhere. Word of Mouth is for us “to geek out a little bit,” he says, with more adventurous or hard-to-find options from small production family farmers. (But as a bonus, Word of Mouth subscribers will become Seraphino’s founding members, receiving exclusive benefits for supporting the project from day one.)
Current memberships include two bottles delivered monthly—usually a red and a white, though sparkling, rosé, orange, or skin-contact wines are always fair game. Members can choose three-month, six-month, or annual subscriptions, and every shipment includes detailed tasting notes, producer stories, pairing suggestions, and fun extras like playlists, puzzles, and the occasional surprise.
The selections often revolve around loose themes. For instance, they used the idea of what wines they’d drink at a summer barbecue to select the two bottles in the July box—which happened to be a pale French rosé and Mourvèdre from the Languedoc-Roussillon region of southern France.
Over the last decade, places like Rumi, Clos, and Vino Carta have helped transform the San Diego wine scene from mainstream labels and a stodgy vibe to eclectic discoveries that break a lot of the former rules. Word of Mouth hopes to continue that evolution.
“I think it’s fostered a more adventurous sense of exploration,” Blair says. “There’s room in San Diego to keep expanding people’s palates.” Sarich agrees. “We’re trying to bring our fun wine palate to the world.” Bottoms up.
An’s Gelato continues its march towards worldwide domination this weekend when it opens its fifth storefront at the Top Gun House at Mission Pacific in Oceanside. An’s Gate D5 opens on Saturday, July 25 with an airport-inspired theme that follows in the footsteps of its previous stores (An’s Dry Cleaning in North Park, An’s Hatmakers in Del Mar, etc.) and will offer rotating flavors like “Checked Bag,” “Carry On,” and global flavors like “Ho Chi Minh” with banana and Saigon coffee, or “McAllen” with strawberry and grapefruit.
Tony Gwynn Day returns to AleSmith Brewing Company on August 15 in celebration of Mr. Padres’ 2,000th and 3,000th hit anniversary. Grab one of the special beer releases and a bite from one of the onsite food trucks and watch the Padres take on the Guardians at 4 p.m. Go Dads!
Celebrate 10 years of the San Diego Sake Festival on September 27 at the Julep Venue, where guests can dive into over 100 premium sakes from 50 booths, plus food pairings, workshops, and kagami-biraki (the ceremonial opening of a sake barrel). VIP tickets get you in an hour earlier, plus a $10 food voucher, and that’s not even mentioning getting first taste of some of the rarest and most limited sakes at the festival. This is the real deal, so get your kanpai on and toast a decade of deliciousness.
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.
It’s estimated that 44% of women in the U.S. have high blood pressure, also known as hypertension, but many don’t know it. The disease often has no symptoms, and when symptoms do present, they can appear similar to many other conditions. High blood pressure increases the risk for heart disease and stroke, so it’s critical that it’s detected and treated early. And for women at risk of developing high blood pressure, prevention is key. Click here for the basics of high blood pressure and how Scripps physicians at Scripps use screenings not just as a diagnostic tool, but as part of routine preventive care.
For more nutrition, wellness, and healthy living tips, sign up for the San Diego Health newsletter here.
