If you feel lost, you’re probably on the right track. Turn left at the 7/11, resist the urge to get sassy with your GPS. Look for a woman checking her mailbox, a bike in a yard, a man working on a “project” in his garage with a serene, glossy escapism in his eyes. None of those things will help you, of course, but they are probably the most common sights in the vicinity of this restaurant. No signs are permitted, per the city or county or whichever jurisdictional body governs this kind of experience. Stay moderately alert and you’ll see the A-shaped structure towering above a side fence in this suburban Serra Mesa neighborhood.
That is it. The hut you’ll have a pretty remarkable meal in tonight.
Photo Credit: James Tran
Dave Sims will meet you at the gate. He will likely be wearing something tropical, a fashion portal to his former wanderlust surf life in Indonesia, where he worked at a resort at the top of a cliff overlooking a famed surf cove. Where, he’ll tell you, the waves echoed like thunder, creating a shocking natural white noise that put traveling surfers to sleep. Where he first spotted his now-wife, Rie, an Indo native full of sass and life, outside a local bar. Where he braved a hello. And why he’s here, welcoming us to an elaborate six-course Indonesian feast inside a gigantic remodeled rice hut in their backyard.
Built in 1935, the hut floated for a month on a cargo ship across the Pacific until it landed here and became the symbol of an entirely new form of restaurant in San Diego.
Dave will show you their food plants—spiky dragonfruit (which, later, we’ll eat as a sorbet), makrut lime leaf shrub (it flavors the soup), bananas, a hopeful little coffee plant, a verdant wall of passion fruit vines that separate his grow area from their single-story home, where he and Rie live with their two boys. The home Dave grew up in.
Photo Credit: James Tran
On our night there, we follow Dave through a wooden arch, past the American Ninja Warrior course he built for the kids. We weave around a stack of surfboards and mini-projects in various stages of tinkering and disarray on the back patio. Walking through a sliding glass door into the tiny kitchen, we see Rie wearing a sleeve of tattoos, a flower in her hair, and blood-red lipstick. Her smile is moon-sized and electric.
She’s putting the final touches on the elaborate, symmetrical plating of our first course: siomay ayam, dumplings filled with spiced meat with peanut sauce, a universal street snack of West Java. Behind her is a black Whirlpool fridge with Las Vegas magnets and pictures of the kids and grocery lists. If you need to use the restroom, it’s through the living room to the right. Don’t mind the toys.
This is not a Food Network kitchen. It is one measured in phone booths and modesty. And it’s where, every Thursday through Saturday night, she cooks up to a dozen six-course tasting meals that represent her native Papua and Indo culture at large, changing menus seasonally with the produce of San Diego.
Photo Credit: James Tran
Dave escorts us back up the slope of the yard, and we enter the hut. It’s about the size of a ten-person tent, but with 20-foot ceilings and a second deck (where rice farmers would sleep, above their harvest on the bottom floor) and a wooden table that fits up to six people. He asks Siri or Alexa or one of those to play his island mix. Light tropical vibes fill the hut. It’s winter, so Dave squeezes past us, fires up a small space heater that’s attached to a propane tank, and goes off to corral the first course.
This is Warung RieRie, a fine dining restaurant in someone’s home. Or behind it. And it’s the star of San Diego’s world of MEHKOs—Micro Economic Home Kitchen Operations. Warung RieRie offers two seatings a night, Thursday through Saturday, and they are booked out for a year (their reservation software won’t allow them to book any further).
Photo Credit: James Tran Toto, I don’t think we’re in Clairemont anymore.
For chefs like Rie, MEHKOs are a way in, or just a different way. Few people can afford to open a restaurant, which can run (at the very lowest end) tens of thousands to millions of dollars and lock dreamers into long-term leases. In 2013, California implemented the Homemade Food Act, allowing anyone to make and sell low-risk foods (granola, jam, the like) out of their homes. Hot meals were a no-go, deemed too dangerous.
But on Jan. 1, 2019, AB 626 allowed cooks in California to run restaurants out of their homes, serving all but the most notorious get-sick foods (like oysters and tartare). The new restaurants were called MEHKOs.
Photo Credit: James Tran
As always, laws come with parameters, catches, and more than their fair share of BS. To prevent neighborhoods from becoming restaurant rows, MEHKOs were only allowed to serve 30 meals a day and 60 per week, with no more than $50,000 in gross annual sales. That’s hardly a living, but it was a start. Before you could begin, your county had to sign off on AB 626. San Diego County gave MEHKOs the green light in 2022. The program was scheduled to sunset in 2024, but last November, the Board of Supervisors voted unanimously to not only make the program permanent, but to expand how many meals could be served (90) and how much money made ($100K). San Diego’s model for them is considered one of the best in the state.
Per the county’s analysis, the program was a wild success. None of the feared potential negative outcomes— restaurant traffic ruining neighborhoods, salmonella outbreaks, you can imagine—came to bear. And a meal at Warung RieRie is a showcase of the positive effects.
For starters, per the US census, only 25 percent of businesses in San Diego County are owned by women or minorities. Compare that to the 60-something MEHKO permits issued in San Diego: 58 percent are women-owned, and 70 percent minority-owned. The smaller scale of MEHKOs also allows restaurants to showcase food from cultures that don’t have the demand or audience of, say, Thai or Chinese.
Photo Credit: James Tran
Rie was trained to cook Indonesian food by her father, and over a couple of efficient hours she sends out sayur sop (a traditional vegetable soup with coriander, garlic, and nutmeg); a green salad with ribbons of cucumbers, citrus from their backyard, and a passion fruit vinaigrette; a sextet of scallops with pea sprouts in a triple citrus sauce, her father’s recipe for a dish from the Maluku, Moluccas archipelago; and sous vide duck confit, served in a thick Indo coconut cream curry with garlic green vegetables (for which cucumbers are hollowed out to serve as vessels for three variations of homemade sambal, ranging in spice level from mild to abusive). We finish the meal with coconut-mango-dragon-fruit sorbet topped with coconut flakes and passion fruit syrup.
It’s plated beautifully. The food is good to excellent, all far exceeding expectations from that tiny kitchen. The dumplings are among the best I’ve had. The duck is incredibly tender, its sauce nearly a gravy, undeniably great. The entire room eats the sorbet as if it’s life’s final treat.
Sitting in that hut, staring out its three windows, you can barely see Clairemont. There is passion fruit out one window, palm trees out another, the night sky the other way. You feel transported.
Photo Credit: James Tran
Warung RieRie is not cheap: $220 per person. For me, the food and wildly unique experience is worth it. I’ve paid more for less. There’s nothing like this in San Diego (had the food been bad or even subpar, I’d let you know, but it was rather fantastic).
The transaction of commerce is admittedly odd in this environment. Restaurants in homes are standard in many parts of the world, but not here. In the US, backyards have long been the realm of the potluck, of the polite Venmo or just a deep gratitude. But no friend of mine also serves six courses of delicious and elaborately plated Indo food in a nearly 100-year-old rice hut.
At the end of the night, I ask if it’s ever exhausting, inviting this steady stream of strangers into their home three nights a week. They love it, they say. Rie, leaning against one of the hut’s open windows with a beer in hand, explains this is how it’s done where she’s from. Warungs (homes that double as restaurants) are everywhere. Where people live and where people make a living are one and the same.
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.
Food is a notorious diva to photograph. The wrong lighting can make José Andrés’ paella look like a jaundiced grain bowl. You could be staring at the best sandwich of your life, but shoot it from above and—hey, congrats on that abandoned piece of lettuce bread. A cottage meme industry has been built around the hilariously bad photos on review sites that make Michelin-star food look like Michelin tires.
Especially in a visual modern media world, food culture depends on great photographers capturing the painstaking work in equally deserving ways. We asked four of San Diego’s top food photographers for their favorite shot from another year of documenting what we eat.
Photo Credit: Kimberly Motos
Kimberly Motos
Birdman Sandwich at Chick & Hawk
Getting this kind of shot takes a bit of yoga. Asana yourself into the corner, hold your breath, pray that a chef on the move doesn’t back into your light stand.
“You’re stepping into someone’s workspace during their busiest moments, so it’s a balance of being present to get the shot and being invisible to not slow anything down,” Kimberly Motos says.
The subject here is the Birdman sandwich from Chick & Hawk—hot fried chicken thigh, tangy slaw, kimchi comeback sauce, sweet and spicy pickles, potato brioche bun—getting a hearty dousing of its difference-maker seasoning. Motos captures the parts of the process that diners don’t usually see: the chaos behind something that looks so simple.
Photo Credit: Lucianna McIntosh
Lucianna McIntosh
Oysters + Jewel of the Sea Martini at The Fishery
“I love this image because it feels like a moment you want to step into,” says Lucianna McIntosh. A warm, sunny day at The Fishery in PB with oysters, caviar, and martinis. Yes, please.
The little details—the glass sweating a little, the direct afternoon light creating stark shadows, the oyster glistening on the tray—are the main characters. Instead of trying to overly control the setup, McIntosh “followed the light and lines that draw you in more,” she says. “This was one of those moments where everything lined up on its own for a second. I love it when the shadows end up being just as important as the food itself.”
Photo Credit: Eric Wolfinger
Eric Wolfinger
Herb-Roasted Golden Chicken at Fleurette
La Jolla native Eric Wolfinger—who won a James Beard Award for Tartine Bread, one of the most stunning bread books of all time—says he doesn’t have a signature style. His style is a conduit.
“I see my job is to translate the chef’s point of view into something you can feel,” he says.
For this shot, Fleurette chef Travis Swikard had one directive: cuisine du soleil (“cuisine of the sun”). With a spread of leeks vinaigrette, herb-roasted golden chicken, and beets, Wolfinger wanted to create a scene that felt straight out of the French Riviera, relaying the light, bright style of Swikard’s new spot.
Some bonus additions here: Extra lights—to add lots of warmth—and a clipping from an olive tree.
Photo Credit: Dee Sandoval
Dee Sandoval
Espresso Ice Cream at Lucien
Timing and light are everything in food photography. In Lucien—La Jolla’s tasting-menu-only restaurant with moody ambiance—a single strobe flash creates the ideal spotlight.
Dee Sandoval says she uses the “natural, just-plated energy” of the dish to “create a portrait of moment and craft.” That’s why this Mostra Ghost Bear espresso ice cream—with San José dark chocolate mousse, soy-miso caramel, and koji shoyu chocolate sauce—looks like it might dissolve halfway to your mouth.
Emma Veidt is an editor at San Diego Magazine. She earned her bachelor's and master's degrees from the Missouri School of Journalism. She loves running, hiking, and rock climbing, but really, she mostly loves encounters with the street cats around North Park.
I peel myself off my couch, crack my back, and force myself to the bar (23 years old, by the way). It’s a Friday night, and my smart watch is already informing me my body battery is critically low.
Nevertheless, party we must.
Because, to be fair, one of the best things about going out—dive bar, velvet-clad cocktail lounge, or anywhere in between—is the performance of it all. Watching a bartender shake and stir like it’s choreography, finishing the drink with a sprig or petal placed just so, feeling like your collection of mixers and spirits is worth pouring into the Holy Grail.
One of the worst things about going out, though? Being out.
So I thank God for the home bar.
No lines, no cover, no shouting your order over someone named Kyle who just discovered the AMF. No $19 cocktails that taste suspiciously like juice. Just me, my apartment (where I can play whatever music I want), and the quiet confidence of knowing I can make something decent without putting on real pants.
A home bar, I’ve learned, doesn’t have to be impressive. It just has to be intentional—a few bottles you actually like, some tried-and-true tools, and at least one drink you can make without Googling. That’s it. That’s the barrier to entry.
To create the ultimate home bar collection, we tapped the folks at San Diego cocktail supply shop Collins & Coupe to give us some of their recommendations. Pick and choose what you need, and start cocktailing.
Courtesy of Collins & Coupe
The Must-Haves
Shaker Tin
You won’t get very far in your cocktail-making-journey without shaker tins. Boston shakers (two pieces, tin-on-tin) and cobbler shakers (three pieces with a strainer and cap) are the most classic styles, but if you want to avoid the tins getting stuck (or creating a mess on the floor), Boston shakers are the way to go.
“Koriko Tins by Cocktail Kingdom are the gold standard for every bar worth their salt. Every new bar we help outfit with tools insists on this brand and model,” says Collins & Coupe co-owner Gary McIntire.
“These are handmade, 100 percent solid copper and will last a lifetime,” McIntire says. “Because they are solid, there is no plated finish to wear off, and they will only look more beautiful with age.”
Bar Spoon
According to the pros, don’t even bother getting bar spoons shorter than 12 inches. One foot long is the magic length to get the best stirring results: “Rule of thumb is at least 50 percent of the spoon should be out of the glass,” says McIntire.
Pulp in your orange juice? We’ll allow it. But in your cocktail? Smooth and strained is optimal. You have two choices here: Hawthorne strainers have a spring that attaches snugly to shaking tins; julep strainers have no tabs or springs (originally created to drink mint juleps before straws became commercially available).
We’ve all seen those seasoned bartenders with the arm tats and haughty demeanors who can assemble perfect drinks with their eyes shut. The rest of us, however, need training wheels. Jiggers—those hourglass-shaped measuring tools—make consistent cocktail-making easy, although cheap versions tend to be inaccurate. Don’t skimp out on these.
“Heavy-duty and made of one piece,” McIntire says. “We use [this jigger] in our classes and at home. It comes in a bell-shaped version and a Japanese version, which is tall and narrow.”
“Glassware is always essential to the cocktail experience,” says McIntire. The martini glass is an avatar for American hair-loosening for a reason: sleek, viciously “V,” and highly spillable (danger always looks good). To start, look for a coupe glass (the fancy cat bowl-looking thing), a highball (glassware with posture), and a rocks glass (the blue collar hero).
You know how Caesar dressing tastes way better when you don’t think about the fact that there are anchovies in it? The same goes for cocktails and raw egg whites. Some of your favorites rely on the frothy ingredient to shine (whiskey sours, gin fizzes, etc.). Mesh strainers help make that magic happen. According to McIntire, always get the conical version; the round, bowl style could cause spills.
Lili Kim is a content coordinator and writer for San Diego Magazine, with experience highlighting local businesses and communities. When not writing or shooting film, she is likely brewing her seventh cup of tea of the day or strolling along Sunset Cliffs.
San Diego’s coffee industry has yet to hit its ceiling. There are at least 850 coffee shops across the county (possibly over 1,000 at this point) and more specialty cafes and roasters seem to join the roster every other week.
Some newcomers, like Chance’s Coffee, focus on specialties like Vietnamese coffee; other stalwarts, like Bird Rock Coffee Roasters, have helped put the local coffee scene on the map with internationally acclaimed beans and baristas for 20 years. You can get a classic pour-over or an ultra, whipped cream–topped strawberry lavender basil blueberry matcha latte sprinkled with unicorn glitter—whatever your coffee style, San Diego’s got it… somewhere.
Steady State Roasting falls more in the former category, focusing on traceable, sustainable sourcing and no-nonsense roasting (no unicorn glitter here, sorry!). Founder and lead roaster Elliot Reinecke first started Steady State in a garage behind his house, roasting small batches until expanding slightly to a shared and not-quite-permitted space before landing in a lucky spot on State Street in Carlsbad.
Now, eight years later, Steady State is scaling up once more, opening its second cafe in San Marcos next to their roastery. The new location offers the same food and drink menu as the original Carlsbad location, and Reinecke says he plans to add an onsite bakery to bake items like English muffins and country loaves to supplement Prager Brothers’ more specialized pastries.
He doesn’t plan on opening more cafes, though. Rather, Reinecke plans to expand roasting operations and strategic sourcing. Currently, he sources beans from Colombia, Panama, across Africa, and as of this year, Costa Rica. “We’ve had Costa Rican coffee before, but we went to origin a few months ago and bought six different lots from there, all from really good high-end local farmers,” he explains.
The rising cost of sourcing does present some challenges, as does changes within coffee culture itself. Coffee has moved from a mass-market beverage to a highly personalized artisanal experience, but the current feeling is moving back towards focusing on quality over flashiness, says Reinecke.
If Reinecke’s prediction is right, coffee is headed on a similar trajectory to craft beer. Ten years ago, no one knew what Citra hops were. Now, even casual beer fans are versed in hop varieties, and that attention to detail is spilling over to coffee as well. How many of San Diego’s 1,000 coffee shops will remain once the unicorn glitter’s luster fades? My bet is on anyone remaining steadfast to sourcing, sustainability, and simplicity.
Steady State San Marcos is now open at 1320 Grand Avenue, Suite #9, San Marcos. Initial operating hours are Tuesday through Saturday, 7 a.m. to 2 p.m.
Sake lovers would do well to keep September 27 open. The 10-year anniversary of the San Diego Sake Festival is coming to Julep Venue in Mission Hills with over 150 different sakes and shochus from across Japan, plus VIP tickets get special access to unlimited tastings from Michelin-starred Soichi Sushi. VIP opens at 2:30 p.m. and general admission is 3:30 p.m., but early bird tickets are limited to the first 40 people. I mean c’mon, sushi and sake? If you’re even remotely interested in learning more about sake (or already know you’re a fan), this is the event of the year.
The uber-luxe spa The Golden Door in Escondido has been rejuvenating guests for over six decades, even winning Best Bathhouse Remodel in our Best of San Diego 2023 for its multi-million dollar overhaul. Now, you can try making the property’s signature nourishing cuisine at home with Chef Greg Frey, Jr.’s debut cookbook The Golden Door Table. There are over 100 recipes ranging from potassium broth to miso black cod, plus desserts, breakfast items, and a ton more to inspire your own wellness journey. The book hits shelves on September 15, but preorders are available now.
Love her or hate her, Gwyneth Paltrow has undeniably created a wellness dynasty with Goop, her blog-turned-brand with locations across California. Soon, San Diego will get its own shot of Paltrow-power when the first Goop store opens in One Paseo later this year, followed by an on-campus location at UCSD’s Triton Center. Charge your crystals and send out good energy to the construction and permitting entities…
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.
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.
My 15-year-old daughter tried to steal our car this week, so I’m ready to become a NASCAR dad. It would be appropriate discipline. We just relocated to a nice suburb within walking distance of her high school. The suburbs are like living in a Tesla commercial. I am pretty far from the wealthiest dad in this neighborhood (I am the least wealthy dad in this neighborhood), more than a few engineering degrees short of being in the running.
I’m fairly certain watching NASCAR is a violation of our HOA and a violation of my daughter’s emotional HOA. But NASCAR hits San Diego this weekend and I have a fever I’ve never felt before. I want to watch 111 drivers do dangerous things in cars and trucks on an active military base in the ocean. Since my lifelong exposure to NASCAR is limited to Talladega Nights and every single iteration of the movie Cars, I can only base my plan of attack on oafish stereotypes.
So while other neighbor dads are sizing bubble jackets for their golf simulators, I’m gonna grow a Ricky Bobby, run the extension cord for the TV out into the carport we share with six other condos, fill a cooler with a proper 80-20 split of Hamm’s and Mountain Dew, treat a lawn chair like an ADU, and spend a few hours yelling ohsheeeit as if it’s a single, nine-syllable word.
The quality parents in our neighborhood seem highly attuned to the sound of any vehicle breaching the 6 MPH threshold, so I should gather a crowd pretty fast. They may come over with strongly worded emails in their hearts, but one glimpse of Shane van Gisbergen and hometown hero Jimmy Johnson guzzling the last remaining drops of gasoline on the planet in a dazzling display of carmanship—they’ll join my NASCAR pop-up party.
By the time my daughter brings her friends over, we’ll have a real welcoming committee.
Because, like I said, my daughter tried to steal my car.
She wasn’t going to Mexico. But while Claire and I were off doing businessy stuff to afford my teen’s skincare rituals, she and a friend decided to teach themselves stick shift. She’s never driven a stick before. I’m not saying she has, but if she has driven a vehicle at all—it would have been done in a remote, abandoned parking lot where the only possible thing she could destroy was the concept of driving itself.
But a couple TikTok videos later, she and her friend felt a certain level of mastery had been achieved, and they gave it a go. They backed our VW Bug out of the garage with a series of stalls and transmission seizures, and managed to get it into the carport, attempting to do “donuts.” That’s when I got a call from a resident, who had taken an active interest in this experiment.
Which got me wondering about the power and might of vehicles. Turns out, even at carport speeds there exists a bit of potential fireworks. A garage door could become not a garage door anymore. At 145 MPH on Naval Base Coronado this weekend (don’t worry, they slow down to 100 MPH for turns), NASCAR drivers are essentially doorbell ditching gods. I didn’t register the temperature after my daughter’s trial run, but the track at NASCAR races usually hits a cool 130-150 degrees, enough to lightly sear some Nikes (the tires themselves hover in the 200 degree range).
And that is at least part of our fascination with NASCAR (the other fascination is the legendary pit parties, which either set humanity back a few evolutionary links, or advance it by the same amount of links). These drivers do something all of us do every day in a very efficient, boring way—drive a car—and take it to its extreme impulse. Grace and precision at the thunderous edge of shit going terribly wrong. Most of us have looked at San Diego home prices and felt a burning desire to see how fast our Honda Pilot could make it to our new home in Vegas. So NASCAR drivers are acting on our own wildest impulse.
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.
Carlsbad’s Newest Restaurant Is All About One Perfect Dish
The team behind Harumama and Blue Ocean will open Little Kiki Katsu & More on June 15, serving premium cutlets, Japanese sandos, and curated sake pairings
Every culture has its own comfort foods—cozy dishes that nurture the soul as much as the body. In the US, dipping a grilled cheese sandwich in a bowl of tomato soup can feel as satiating as pulling a warm sweater out of the dryer. In China, a steaming bowl of congee is basically a miracle remedy for anything you can imagine. I’m pretty sure Italian carbonara could achieve world peace. And in Japan, katsu remains one of the most universally satisfying inventions of the past century.
Katsu was originally invented as a riff on côtelette de veau, the classic French veal cutlet coated with breadcrumbs and pan-fried in butter. In 1899, a Western-style restaurant called Rengatei in Tokyo decided to put their own spin on the dish by pounding the cutlets until thin, then coating them with softer panko and deep-frying versus pan frying (like tempura) for a crispier, lighter, crunchier bite. Today, pork—called tonkatsu in Japanese—tends to be the most common base for katsu.
The dish has yet to achieve the same mainstream status as say, chicken nuggets, in the US. But Little Kiki Katsu & More hopes to change that, when the katsu-focused restaurant opens in Carlsbad on June 15.
Created by the team behind Harumama and Blue Ocean, Little Kiki will focus on premium katsu dishes paired with sake and around a dozen small bites like miso soup, karaage, edamame, and Japanese pickles. Executive chef James Pyo, who co-owns all three restaurants with his wife Jenny, created a menu that features proteins like Berkshire Kurobuta pork, Jidori chicken, salmon, scallops, and dry-aged Pacific cod for the katsu and grilled stone selections. (Note: the grilled stone options will be offered for dinner only.)
Photo Credit: Arlene Ibarra
The lunch menu includes Japanese-style sandos like a tonkatsu sandwich with pork, housemade bread, and tonkatsu sauce (available regular or spicy). Dessert options are simple to start—yuzu cheesecake, matcha crème brûlée, and mango/yuzu mochi ice cream. The Pyos curated a selection of premium sakes as well, specifically for pairing purposes, as well as offering some beer and cocktails.
Little Kiki, which is named for Jenny’s cat, seats 25-30 guests inside with room for only a few more on the small outdoor patio as well. Designer and assistant Yoojin Jang says the vibe is meant to be warm and welcoming but modern, using colors like olive green, cream, and pops of orange against Japanese-style wood slats.
Initially, Little Kiki will only be open for dinner service, but aims to introduce lunch hours for the grand opening on July 1. Due to the limited seating, Jang encourages guests to make reservations, and while the restaurant will offer takeout, it will not be available on food delivery apps like Uber Eats or DoorDash to motivate guests to come experience it for themselves.
“Come in curious and leave satisfied,” says Jang. And keep your eyes open for subtle cat motifs—she promises they are hidden all over the place. Whimsy, it seems, is also on the menu.
Little KiKi Katsu & More soft opens on June 15, 2026 at 2958 Madison Street, Suite 101 in Carlsbad. Hours are Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Sunday from 11:30 a.m. to 3 p.m. for lunch and 5 p.m. to 9:30 p.m. for dinner; Friday and Saturday from 11:30 a.m. to 3 p.m. for lunch and 5 p.m. to 10 p.m. for dinner; closed Tuesday.
Courtesy of San Diego Restaurant Week
San Diego Restaurant News & Food Events
Beth’s Bites
The Cygnet Theater in Liberty Station roared back to life last summer and hasn’t slowed down since. Their current show, The SpongeBob Musical, runs through July 12, and anyone who wants to enjoy a meal from a Michelin-recognized restaurant before the curtain drops need only pop next door to Solare Ristorante. The local Italian favorite just nabbed multiple accolades in this year’s Best Restaurants issue (Reader’s Pick for Top Five Restaurants, Critic’s Pick for Best Gluten-Free Menu, and runner-up for Best Wine List in San Diego) and is offering a prix-fixe menu for the show for $59 per person. With choices like “Bikini Bottom Bruschetta” and “Squidward’s Shell City Risotto,” parents and kids can both enjoy a cheeky evening out.
It’s the most wonderful time to eat—or at least, it’s coming soon. San Diego Restaurant Week returns September 13 through 20 to celebrate everything delicious the area has to offer for eight gloriously gluttonous days. Over 120 restaurants in every corner of the county will have pre-set menus to showcase their crème de la crème dishes, so at three meals a day, that’s at least 24 meals you can check off your list. But if you decide to go for triple-digits, I certainly won’t judge you.
Following Vanguard Culture’s 10-year anniversary dinner series, artist Ben Guerrette will once more take over The Chapel at Liberty Station for Ritual:SOLSTICE, an immersive dining experience to celebrate the summer solstice. On June 20, he’ll light up the chapel with his signature illumination experience, with Riva providing the smooth sounds of jazz, Beth Guerrette and company showcasing their choreography and dance, and Snake Oil Cocktail Company on hand for specialty cocktails. What better way to commemorate the sun’s slow retreat than with an explosion of creative energy to carry you through the next seasons?
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.
National Philanthropy Day, presented by PNC Bank, Celebrates the Best of Philanthropy in San Diego
The 53rd Annual National Philanthropy Day Takes Place on November 21. Join us from 11:00 a.m. – 1:30 p.m. at the new Gaylord Pacific Resort & Convention Center!
Once yearly, AFP San Diego joins with others worldwide to celebrate National Philanthropy Day (NPD), a special day set aside to recognize the great contributions of donors and nonprofits that enrich of our community and the world. San Diego’s NPD is one of the largest and most successful in the U.S., attracting nearly 900 participants, including philanthropists, nonprofit leaders, CEOs, board members, development professionals, and business, community, and civic leaders.
Sponsorship proceeds from National Philanthropy Day are reinvested in education, training, scholarships, career development, and the advancement of fundraising professionals throughout San Diego. These resources and training provide fundraising professionals with the tools necessary to support our region’s diverse array of nonprofit organizations, which rely on charitable giving for close to half of their annual revenues.
The National Philanthropy Day Honorees are selected by the NPD Honorary Committee, a group of highly respected, diverse nonprofit and business leaders. Our 2025 Honorees include:
Outstanding Development Emerging Leader – Taylor Thompson Self-Nominated
Outstanding Development Professional – Sharyn Goodson Nominated by: AJ Steinberg & Jeanne Schmelzer
Outstanding Organization for IDEA – Accessity Self-Nominated
Outstanding Philanthropic Institution – Life Science Cares San Diego Nominated by: Blair Search Partners
Outstanding Philanthropist – Dan & Phyllis Epstein Nominated by: CSU San Marcos & KPBS
Outstanding Student Volunteer – Camden Hall Nominated by: Curebound
National Philanthropy Day San Diego provides an opportunity to reflect on the meaning of giving and to celebrate the selfless contributions of individuals and organizations across the region. We look forward to celebrating with you!
Sponsorship opportunities and individual tickets are available. Please visit www.afpsd.org for more information.
