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Troy Johnson speaks with the business owners who made the neighborhood what it is today
Convoy – main
“It rose out of nowhere,” says Junya Watanabe. The thrill of things is amplified by their unlikeliness. It is always likely that great restaurants will dot the drop-dead gorgeous coastlines, that Michelin-star kitchens will bloom in the shadows of skyscrapers. But when mom-and-pops create a bustling dining culture in the city’s unsexy middle, behind some car dealerships and paint stores, in a part of town not designed for restaurants, where parking is so scarce it’s nearly a mythological construct, turning entire strip malls into food courts of nuanced and authentic cuisines of various Asian cultures—that’s a thrill.
That’s Convoy District, the freeway-bordered triangle of Kearny Mesa bursting with Korean barbecue and bibimbap, Vietnamese pho, Chinese dim sum, Japanese ramen and bento boxes, Taiwanese boba tea and shaved snow, and endless beer-soaked karaoke rooms. In 2020, the city of San Diego officially designated it a pan-Asian cultural and business district, recognizing what locals had already known for quite some time.
Junya Watanabe at RakiRaki
“Every week I get calls from some of the biggest restaurant groups in San Diego inquiring about space,” says Alan Wong, who helps run his father’s 40-year-old business, Stanley Wong Insurance Agency, whose clients include many Convoy restaurants. “They’re coming. That’s exciting, because while it’s great for Convoy to be the area for cultural relevance, the more multicultural you get, the more sustainable you are in the long term.”
Convoy restaurants are tucked in with salons and car dealerships
Convoy is now basking in, and trying to navigate, its own success. The bones of Kearny Mesa weren’t designed for hot pots or mochi donuts—or consumer pursuits of any kind, for that matter. Like the rest of San Diego, the land was part of the Kumeyaay Nation, colonized by Spain, and changed hands to Mexico and then the United States. In 1917 the US Army established the 2,130-acre Camp Kearny (the San Diego Union called Kearny Mesa “San Diego’s great war city”). During World War II, the mostly industrial- zoned streets served the Pacific Fleet, training marines in artillery and sailors in flying. The largest defense housing project in the country at the time (3,000 homes on 12 acres) was finished here in 1941.
Convoy – sign 2
Two years later, Congress repealed the Chinese Exclusion Act. Originally enacted in 1882, the wildly racist CEA had numerous disastrous effects on the local Asian community. In addition to outlawing immigration from China and preventing Chinese immigrants from gaining US citizenship (and forcing those without proper ID into labor camps), the act dictated where they could live, and how they could earn a living. In San Diego they were permitted to live only in the city’s Chinatown (now called the San Diego Asian Pacific Historic District), an eight-block area on the southwestern edge of what is now the Gaslamp. And, as Chinese historian Murray K. Lee told Voice of San Diego, they were relegated to labor and service jobs on farms, in laundromats, and in restaurants.
“Once those racist ordinances got lifted, it was like, ‘Cool, let’s move,’” says Wesley Quach, director and business advisor for the Asian Business Association of San Diego.
Alan and Stanley Wong at their insurance agency
One of the Chinese families who moved was the Homs, who had started their grocery store, Woo Chee Chong, in Chinatown in 1899. Ask a dozen veterans of Convoy when the food scene started, and most of them point to Jennings Hom opening a Woo Chee Chong location at 4625 Convoy Street in 1979. It was a partnership with Frank Wong, a commercial real estate developer and a crucial recruiter of mom-and- pop businesses to the area. “People say there would be no Asians in Convoy if it weren’t for the Wong family,” says Quach.
Frank Wong’s daughter, Eva Hum, explains the impact of Woo Chee Chong: “That area was just empty land until they built that store. People were moving out of the old neighborhoods and into more prosperous neighborhoods, and they wanted grocery stores that catered to their own community. They had a cooking school; they were really innovative.”
Wesley Quach and Lauren Garces of the Convoy District Partnership
After 16 years, Woo Chee Chong closed in 1995. In its place is the Dumpling Inn and Shanghai Saloon, long famous as one of the first restaurants in San Diego to serve xiao long bao (soup dumplings). This one small strip mall contains shops for boba, sushi, shaved ice, Korean hot dogs, and dim sum takeout. At the strip mall across the street, 14 of the 15 storefronts are restaurants or specialty food and drink shops (Shabu Shabu House, Tofu House, Crab Hut, O’Brien’s, RakiRaki, and so on). Convoy has expanded, but an argument could be made that these two strip malls are both the historical and the modern heart of San Diego’s Asian food scene.
Beef bone soup from Woomiok
Grocers like Woo Chee Chong have always been key to Convoy’s evolution as a three-dimensional food destination. The stores draw families from across San Diego who can’t find proper Asian ingredients at a Western grocery store. While here, they often eat at the local restaurants. The stores also provide the raw ingredients for people who taste, say, tonkotsu (pork ramen) and want to try re-creating the dish at home, creating a deeper understanding of the cuisine. The area has national chain grocers like 99 Ranch Market, H Mart, Nijiya, Marukai, and Mitsuwa, plus local success story Zion Market, which opened in 1979 and offers mostly Korean food.
“It’s pretty amazing, we’re seeing a bit of a renaissance in Asian food,” says Kevin Hwang, whose father, Kyu, has built Zion into a chain with seven locations across the US. “David Chang, Roy Choi—now you see these guys cooking Korean.”
Convoy – Zion Market 1
Zion Market
What I’m trying to figure out is: Why Convoy? What drew San Diego’s Asian community here?
“It’s where all the churches were,” Hwang suggests. “I think if all the churches were in Rancho Bernardo, then this market would be there.” More than a few people point to the holy houses—like Korean United Methodist Church, opened in 1978—as a reason why the neighborhood has plenty of bulgogi (marinated Korean beef). The function of church as a refuge is obvious, but crucially so when you’re new to a place, in search of community, trying to establish new traditions without abandoning sacred ones. Maybe the almighty deserves some of the credit for creating food scenes like this.
And there is no scene quite like dim sum. Opened in 1992, Jasmine Seafood became Convoy’s unofficial dim sum palace, a giant temple to food. Dim sum is one of the most communal forms of eating on the planet: Huge groups—multiple generations of families—gather at the tables while servers promenade with steam-heated carts filled with snacks in bamboo baskets: char siu bao (barbecue pork buns), siu mai (silky pork and shrimp dumplings), chicken feet, spare ribs, coconut milk pudding, sponge cakes. You peruse, pick, and share. A Cantonese phrase that roughly means “heart’s delight,” dim sum started in the teahouses of Hong Kong, where Jasmine owner Allen Chan was born.
dim sum at Jasmine Seafood
When I put the same question to him—“Why Convoy?”—he says: “San Diego’s Asian communities are not like other cities—they’re spread all over. Convoy is centrally located in the county, so people started coming here to meet on the weekends. That brought in traffic and local businesses. And then whenever an Asian moved to San Diego, they would come to this area. During the past 29 years it has grown so much.”
Chan also believes the growth of different Asian cuisines in San Diego is directly tied to incoming refugees. After the Vietnam War, the city saw more pho restaurants. “After the LA riots over Rodney King and the attack on Koreatown, Korean businesses moved to San Diego and that brought so many Korean barbecue places,” he says. Following Britain’s handover of Hong Kong in 1997, we saw more dishes from mainland China. Part of dim sum’s appeal has been that it’s inexpensive (snacks cost less than entrées), which makes it more inclusive—exactly like Convoy itself. Although its price has risen along with its popularity, the low cost of rent here made it affordable for small-restaurant owners to set up shop. That wasn’t just feel-good egalitarianism; it established the whole mom-and-pop landscape that makes Convoy so compelling.
“The cheap real estate in the middle of the city was a big draw, especially for the early immigrants,” says Wesley Quach. “Now you’re seeing people coming over with money, but the first ones here came over with almost nothing.”
The lower menu prices made Convoy a popular night spot for college students, particularly from UC San Diego. In 2019, Asians and Asian Americans made up 52 percent of undergraduate enrollment at the campus, which is a straight shot six miles to the west. One UCSD alumnus, Cris Liang, would go on to open one of the district’s most popular spots, Common Theory.
real estate developer Frank Wong and his wife, Carolyn
Common Theory represents the new guard of Convoy, a wave that arguably started with the arrival of RakiRaki Ramen & Tsukemen in 2012. Owner Junya Watanabe was born in Tokyo and moved to the US for junior high. After college he spent 20 years in fashion, launching a well- known line of dresses called Tadashi Shoji (it’s still going; you can get them at Nordy’s). When cheaper knockoffs started to come out of China, he left the industry and traveled to Japan to learn ramen. Watanabe looked all over the US—Seattle, San Francisco, LA—for a place to open his first ramen restaurant.
“Once a week I came down to Convoy from LA and just watched the neighborhood,” he says. “If you see an aerial shot of Convoy, there’s nothing around it. No industries, no big residential projects— there’s a municipal dump off the 52 freeway. It’s very underdeveloped. But the Asian restaurants here were more concentrated, and respected as authentically Asian.”
A cocktail from Realm of the 52 Remedies
RakiRaki instantly stood out from the strip mall: reclaimed wood, tile work, lanterns, mood lighting, black steel. The fashion industry vet brought design to a neighborhood that had long been okay with shingles-and-seats. Two years later, Liang opened Common Theory, which also invested in design. In 2017, same with Cross Street Chicken and Beer—owned by Tommy Nguyen and his wife, Grace Chi—a craft beer and Korean fried chicken restaurant that opened in the parking lot of Friend’s House Korean (which is owned by Grace’s mom). Then Liang hired a big-name chef—Jon Bautista, formerly of George’s at the Cove—and tapped top interior designer Michael Soriano (The Pearl, Queenstown) for a speakeasy called Realm of the 52 Remedies.
Convoy is at a critical moment. A few large-scale mixed-use developments are in the works (including one at the site of Zion Market and Kearny Mesa Bowl) that could change the face of the neighborhood. Successful non-Asian restaurant groups are looking to come in. “It is now ‘the Asian location’ for any new projects that fit that bill,”says Liang.“More and more popular Asian brands from LA or out of state are choosing Convoy as their first opening in San Diego. If your Asian concept is legit and good, it better be on Convoy.”
Cris Liang
At long last, the restaurants have voices speaking for them among city officials, thanks to the Convoy District Partnership, Kearny Mesa Planning Group, and Asian Business Association. But it remains to be seen how they’ll be able to navigate this growth without undercutting the authenticity that made this such a valuable cultural site. “The word ‘gentrification’ gets thrown around a lot,” says Quach. But he thinks there’s room for both the big and small players.
“The community overall has been super supportive of the mom-and-pop shops,” Grace Chi says. “The younger generations are taking over and it’s becoming an iconic place. It’s pretty competitive. At the same time, San Diego is very rooted. All these trendy places do come and they end up shutting down.”
Tommy Nguyen, Susan Cho, and Grace Chi
When I’m on a phone call with Chi and her mom, Susan Cho (who started Friend’s House Korean 16 years ago), we chat a bit about the future. Chi theorizes that the rising demand for Korean food is a spillover effect from the wild popularity of K-pop groups, like BTS and Blackpink, and Korean dramas. They welcome the attention.
Cho gets straight to the point—what it really all comes down to—and says I need to try her bibimbap.
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.
After a childhood obsession with the Barefoot Contessa and years in Michelin-starred kitchens, Juan Lopez is bringing Poppy Bakeshop to Liberty Station
It wasn’t his mother who inspired Juan Lopez to start baking. Nor was it pandemic boredom. It was Ina Garten. Lopez remembers it clearly—he was in third grade, watching TV at home in San Diego when the Food Network’s Barefoot Contessa appeared on the screen. She was in Paris, France, making profiteroles, which are essentially French cream puffs. He’d never seen them before. “That stuck with me forever,” Lopez says.
Forever, or at least present day. It was enough inspiration for him to launch his own pop-up bakery this June: Poppy Bakeshop, which now appears every weekend from 7 a.m. to 12:30 p.m. (or sellout) at Moniker Coffee in Liberty Station.
But let’s not fast-forward how he went from a third-grader to burgeoning bakery entrepreneur. After falling under Garten’s spell—I mean, who among us hasn’t at one point or another—Lopez decided to try his hand at making cookies, which proved equal parts satisfying (making something from scratch) and frustrating (not actually knowing what on Earth he was doing). But that itch never went away through high school, when he decided to pursue culinary school. But before enrolling, prospective students had to complete a six-month internship in a professional kitchen.
So Lopez went to the first French restaurant he ever visited—Cafe Chloe in East Village, where chef Katie Grebow took him under her wing. School didn’t pan out, but his education was just beginning.
In the early 2010s, San Diego’s culinary scene was still an afterthought on the national scale. Lopez recalls Grebow encouraging him to move to San Francisco to really hone his skills. “I was 18 and was like, ‘Well, I’ve got nothing else to do,’” he laughs. He walked into the one Michelin-starred La Folie in the Russian Hill neighborhood, resume in hand, and asked chef Roland Passot for a job. He started the next day.
After a few years in San Francisco, he returned to San Diego with the intention of moving out of restaurants and focusing on perfecting the foundations of pastry. After stints at Con Pane Rustic Breads, Herb & Wood, and Hommage Bakehouse, he landed at Wayfarer Bread & Pastry in 2023.
The Bird Rock bakery was already well on its way to national acclaim—it was named one of the best 100 bakeries in America by Food & Wine Magazine in 2020, not to mention the Critic’s Pick for “Best Bakery” by San Diego Magazine in 2022, 2024, 2025, 2026, runner-up in 2023, critic’s pick and runner-up in 2021, and then I stopped counting (because I’m pretty sure we all get the picture).
He still works part-time at Wayfarer while growing Poppy, but Lopez says he hopes to increase his pop-up schedule and collaborate more with other local makers. “The ultimate goal is to get a storefront,” he says. Normal Heights would be ideal, but he’s flexible on location and timeframe.
One thing he’s not flexible on is boxing himself into one type of pastry or flavor profile. “I really want Poppy to be this overwhelming abundance of items with different colors and different textures… I don’t want to be known for one thing,” he says. French-inspired, Mexican-influenced, and yes, even taking cues from the fashion industry. Take his plum cornbread, for instance. It’s an homage to Belgian designer Dries Van Noten’s vibrant palette.
“They had this one outfit that had this very, very bright kind of burgundy with this khaki-ish color. Then I went to the farmer’s market, and one of my favorite farmers, Heritage Family Farms, they had these gorgeous, gorgeous plums, and I was like, ‘Well, those are literally the color of that.’” The result? A sweet slice of rich reddish-purple plum cake.
He also draws inspiration from his own family. Every year, he makes coffee cake for Mother’s Day. Cinnamon rolls for Christmas. Basically, anything and everything that makes it onto his shelves is “based on what I’m craving,” Lopez laughs.
And he’s ready to share his cravings with you. “I’ve had so many bad days, and so many of them have been made better through pastry or through food,” he says. “I think as long as everyone just takes the time to just really enjoy what’s in front of them, that’s kind of all I hope for.”

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Beth Demmon is an award-winning writer and podcaster whose work regularly appears in national outlets and San Diego Magazine. Her first book, The Beer Lover's Guide to Cider, is now available. Find out more on bethdemmon.com.
Along with other Filipino culinary icons, Ashley del Rosario is making Filipino pastries a category of their own
Baker Ashley del Rosario estimates she makes five people cry every day. It’s not because she’s some salty old grump. In fact, del Rosario is such a delight to talk to that we ended up chatting in the sunshine for 20 minutes after my two-hour parking meter ran out. (I got lucky—no ticket!) It’s because her baking philosophy, which centers around spotlighting her culture as a Filipina-American and using some of her mom’s recipes as inspiration, seems to uniquely touch a nerve in her community.
“People message me every day saying… ‘Oh my God, my mom loves your stuff. Oh my God, this made me so emotional. This reminds me of my childhood,’” she says. “I must be doing something right.”
We’re sitting outside at Michi Michi in Bankers Hill, where she finished up a two-month residency as the in-house guest baker on June 30. Her menu of Filipino-inspired pastries feature ingredients like mango, ube, pandan, calamansi, and taro leaves in items like French croissants and Italian maritozzos. But she’s also pushing flavor boundaries with pastries like a champorado tart, a Filipino chocolate rice pudding topped with a dollop of anchovy paste.
Love it or hate it, to del Rosario, the point is that she introduced champorado to a new audience. “If you don’t like Filipino food, or you’re not interested in it, or you don’t even get it… you [still] came into this bakery and you saw Filipino desserts,” she says. So the next time you come across champorado, your brain will already recognize it and hey, maybe you’ll give it a try.
San Diego is home to the fifth-largest Filipino population in the United States, with enclaves in Mira Mesa, National City, southeast San Diego, and Chula Vista. That’s led to a rise in popularity of Filipino food in San Diego, as well as across the country.
In 2021, Phillip Esteban—San Diego Magazine’s “Chef of the Year” in 2020—opened the first location of his fast-casual Filipino concept White Rice, which now has locations in Normal Heights and Sorrento Valley. Kristin Cleavinger’s coffee and matcha pop-up One of One draws inspiration from her own Filipina-American heritage. Tara Monsod, executive chef at Animae and Le Coq, is a three-time semifinalist for Best Chef in California by the James Beard Awards and one of the leading champions of Filipino-American cuisine. She was also del Rosario’s boss at her first kitchen job, which was doing pastries at Animae. (Nothing like jumping straight into the fire!)
Del Rosario says Monsod became a cultural and culinary mentor, pushing her to explore new and bigger opportunities. When she got the chance to study at the illustrious Italian Culinary Institute in Calabria, Italy, Monsod encouraged her to go. It changed del Rosario’s life—so much so, she’s moving to Italy later this year to continue honing her pastry skills.
In the future, she says she hopes to split her time between Italy and San Diego, continuing collaborations and pop-ups while developing what she sees as an entirely new lane within pastry: Italian pastry technique with distinctly Filipino flavors.
Italian pastry technique is different from classic French. Take croissants, for example. The Italian version, called cornetto, is often filled with creams, jams, or savory fillings, and tends to feel softer than its buttery, flakier French counterpart. They’re also more regionally driven, with different areas utilizing local specialties like citrus for the filling—an ideal vehicle for launching a Filipino-fusion creation.
There are plenty of globally-inspired bakeries in San Diego with their own specialties—Azúcar in Ocean Beach is Cuban, Su Pan offers traditional Mexican pastries, and Asa Bakery is modeled after Japanese kissaten cafés. There are even a number of local Filipino bakeries like Valerio’s 1979 (formerly Valerio’s City Bakery), Kababayan Bakery, and Starbread Bakery. But a Filipino-Italian bakery? Not yet. And even if there were, del Rosario says the more, the merrier.
“There is no competition,” she says. “It’s just showing our culture.”
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 Mexican restaurant continues the Barrio Logan tradition of art in unexpected places
I’m sitting in a slab of concrete under a freeway, eating a ceviche black as eyeliner.
There might be seven seats in this restaurant. Or maybe it’s 12 minus five. That area under the stairs might also be a couple seats, or it might just be a very inviting storage area with a flower vase. The restaurant is so small your core instinct is to count seats and tabulate if Alchemy – Choose Thy Poison is a real place with a sane business plan or if it’s a social art project designed to question the reality of restaurants and business plans.
There’s a large, floor-to-human-height window near our table. Through it, I notice someone didn’t make their bed this morning. It’s a decision I deeply empathize with. It’s moments like this that make you acutely aware that Alchemy is also technically the courtyard of a six-room micro-hotel called Narcissus. Not the kind of massagey boutique hotel you’re thinking of with soft woods, obscene amounts of linen, and opinions on bonsai therapy. It’s a near-Brutalist cube of base industrial materials—concrete and acrylics bent and molded into a series of alcoves, with pods to sleep in. Sculptures lie behind glass like Tilda Swinton circa 2013.
The window to the unmade bed forcibly crams light voyeurism into the dining experience. The hotel and Alchemy feel like the parts of Mexico I love the most. Although Mexico has its multimillion-dollar restaurants, a vast majority of the best street-level places feel like you’re temporarily recreating in a very lovely construction project.
Alchemy’s location is what most people comment on (“I can’t believe a place like this exists on a block like this.”)—jammed at the bottom of the freeway embankment on the northeast side of Barrio Logan. But that makes it distinctly Barrio, the historic cradle of San Diego’s Hispanic and Chicano culture. The I-5 freeway was built through Barrio in 1963—a fairly traumatic gashing of the neighborhood—and residents responded by painting epic murals on the ugly concrete belly of eminent domain. Where some would’ve just accepted the industrial blight, locals saw shade for a park. There is a deep history here of turning concrete into art, and Alchemy carries that on.

The vision for the property came from owner Benjamin Longwell, whose company—The Society of Master Craftsmen—sounds like it wears a monocle. Longwell is part of the new guard of developers who focus on urban infill. Instead of adding to the city sprawl, they find unused or underutilized parcels of land in established neighborhoods, then build creative mixed-use spaces that, in perfect scenarios, add something of value for locals.
I’m not making a case for architectural sainthood, but there isn’t a huge list of developers who would look at the line of cars exiting the freeway in front of Alchemy and think, “We must build here.” So in that sense, Narcissus and Alchemy feel additive to the community, not extractive.

I stare back at Alchemy’s ceviche negro, a glossy mound of halibut that looks inspired by the La Brea Tar Pits or melted vinyl records. Chef-owner and Mexico City–native Eddy Cortes saves all the trimmings of his dishes (garlic and onion skins, vegetable shavings), then chars them into an ash to create a recado negro—a Yucatán specialty that usually involves toasted chiles, achiote paste, vinegar, and a ton of warm spices. He tosses local halibut with squid ink, tamari, charred pineapple, and citrus. The usual charm of ceviche is that it’s light, bright, full of color. Not here.
It is fantastic—acidic but with a whole world of toasted, warm flavors, like ceviche that’s seen some things.
The menu from Cortes—a home cook his whole life, only having taken it professional a few years ago with his popular pop-up, Barracruda—is really a tour of specialties from various states in Mexico.

A crema de poblano has the blended ghost of rajas at its core: an emulsion of roasted poblanos with butter-sautéed onions and garlic, plus a touch of milk that’s topped with queso fresco, chile ancho, and morita oil. Morita—a smoky Mexican condiment made from dried and smoked red jalapeños for a less intense, fruitier cousin of chipotle—is the key here. It specializes in spiking fats (guacamole, fried eggs, burritos). Sop up the crema with house-baked garlic-rosemary sourdough, blackened from the ash of a corn husk.
Smoked tuna is a Baja gift that’s become an anchor for most San Diego taco shops, and Alchemy combines mesquite-smoked yellowtail with caramelized onions, sweet peppers, and Chihuahua cheese (the OG quesadilla filling), then stuffs it in a perfectly baked masa empanada. The result is somewhere between a TJ Oyster Bar taco, a calzone, and a tamale—but with extra flavor and more black hue from cuttlefish ink.
Alchemy’s huaraches de res is Cortes’ ode to where he’s from. Huaraches are the New Haven–style pizza of Mexican food—thick, oblong masa flatbread layered with refried beans and a payload inspired by the Mexico City markets the chef grew up roaming with his dad: braised beef (braseado), avocado salsa, pickled vegetables, salsa macha, and jocoque (Mexico’s fermented dairy product, like a cross between crema and labneh).
Alchemy’s seared tuna crudo gets a tad abused by the riot of big flavors: charred hibiscus salsa, avocado salsa, pickled grapes, pomegranate salsa macha, and chipotle aioli. It’s a fate that also tempers the joy of the zarandeado, with the adobo marinade on the shrimp fighting a bit with recado negro and chipotle crema. Sticking with curmudgeonly food critic notes, flies are a part of the Alchemy experience, at least during our visit. They’re fairly hard to evict from the outside world, but more measures could be taken to discourage their participation.

The oxtail tetelas—like a Mexican pupusa—are a diary note from Cortes’ travels to Tlaquepaque, where they famously superboost their salsa with a touch of instant coffee. First, Cortes braises the oxtail with beer and Mexican spices. Then he blends that braising liquid into a salsa with beef tallow, guajillo, charred onions, tomatoes, and black garlic. Keeping with the goth food theme, the oxtail goes into masa negra infused with squid ink.
Desserts are where you realize just how deeply Alchemy is committed to the art bit. Rarely do you see a neighborhood bistro trying to pull off trompe l’œil—the French specialty of making pastries and other desserts look like fruit or other everyday objects. (The phrase means “to deceive the eye” and is the historical precedent for the Is It Cake? phenomenon.) Pastry chef Catherinne Avila does, though. A “Naranja” comes out in the form of a mandarin, but inside is orange blossom mousse, apricot jelly, and sablée (a delicate, crumbly shortcrust). A “Philosopher’s Stone” comes in the form of a brick of gold with a serpent on top; inside are mango mousse, mango-Tajín jelly, and a coconut dacquoise.
As Barrio Logan enters an apprehensive phase—its creative culture and restaurant scene growing rapidly, bringing economic promise face-to-face with the need to protect the Chicano way of life—this concrete tuckaway from a Mexico City kid feels like a good step. The Barrio has a long history of making art in unexpected places, and Alchemy carries that a little further.
Photos Credit: Dee Sandoval






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.
A customized memory-filled explosion gift box is a creative way to show someone you care
Finding a gift that feels truly personal can be surprisingly difficult. In a sea of generic options — flowers, gift cards, candles, and the like — Xplosion Box offers something more lasting: a customized keepsake built around the photos, messages, and memories that matter most.
Founded by Southern California entrepreneur Jay Vijay, Xplosion Box LLC creates fully customized explosion gift boxes that arrive professionally designed, printed, assembled, and ready to gift. Each box opens layer by layer to reveal personal photos, heartfelt messages, pull-out albums, origami-style photo pockets, and hidden notes, turning a simple gift into an emotional reveal.

The brand was built for people who want to give something meaningful without spending hours printing photos, cutting paper, folding cardstock, or assembling a DIY project. Customers simply choose a box, upload their favorite photos, add personal messages, and the Xplosion Box team transforms those details into a polished keepsake that feels thoughtful, personal, and beautifully made.
Xplosion Box offers personalized gift boxes for birthdays, anniversaries, weddings, graduations, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Valentine’s Day, Christmas, proposals, bridesmaid gifts, long-distance relationships, and thoughtful “just because” moments.

Customers can choose from flexible customization options starting at $27. The Mini Surprise Box includes 10 photos, three message cards, and one hidden secret note, while the Mega Surprise Box offers a fuller keepsake experience with 40 photos, three message cards, and one hidden secret note.
What sets Xplosion Box apart is its high level of customization combined with convenience. Filled with personal photos, custom text, decorative details, and layered surprises, each box gives customers the freedom to create a gift that feels one-of-a-kind — without having to make it themselves.
At its core, Xplosion Box helps people turn favorite photos, stories, and words into something tangible: a keepsake that can be opened, revisited, and remembered long after the occasion has passed.
After building a loyal following through coffee shop pop-ups, Scoopy Scoopy is putting down roots in Leucadia
There’s a saying in business that if you’re not evolving, you’re dying. I personally have a saying that if you’re not eating ice cream, you’re also probably dying, but of sadness.
Scoopy Scoopy doesn’t have either of those problems. The premium ice cream pop-up launched last year with the idea of setting up in coffee shops after hours, helping those businesses maximize their profitability while also avoiding the costs of a brick and mortar. But it turns out, a lot of people in Leucadia really like ice cream—so much so that Scoopy Scoopy decided to open their own scoop shop in the same building as Moto Deli and Cadence Cyclery (in the former Queenstage Coffee House space) on July 8.
Evolving doesn’t mean leaving the old ways behind. Zach Zien, who runs Scoopy with his partner Steven Segal and wife Sophia, says they will continue to pursue the shared space model on weekends at Coffee Coffee in Leucadia through the summer and are still open to popping up at other venues. “That’s still a core part of our business,” he says. But with steady demand in the Encinitas area, it gave them the confidence to put down roots of their own.
“People have really welcomed us and we’ve been well-received,” he explains. “We think this is the market to succeed in.”
The super-premium ice cream is still sourced from Chocolate Shoppe Ice Cream in Wisconsin, but instead of the eight flavors they’re limited to for popups, the permanent storefront will be able to offer 12. “There will be three or four that regularly rotate, with probably eight staples that are our best sellers,” says Zien, pointing to flavors like peanut butter, oatmeal cookie, and the alternating vegan options. They’ll also be able to fill pints to order, something they haven’t been able to do in the past.
Currently, Moto Deli closes at 4 p.m. daily, but once Scoopy Scoopy is up and running, it will offer beer and wine until 8 p.m. for a shared drinks-and-dessert Happy Hour. “We’re hoping to get a food truck vendor on regular rotation to have food options available after hours as well,” says Zien.
The spontaneity of pop-ups can be as exciting as it is efficient. But when it comes to ice cream, I like knowing exactly when and where I can get a scoop—before the sadness kicks in.
Scoopy Scoopy soft opens on July 8 at 190 N. Coast Hwy 101 in Encinitas. Initial operating hours are Wednesday and Thursday, noon to 8 p.m.; and Friday through Sunday, noon to 9 p.m. (subject to change).

Speaking of pop-ups, San Diego’s culinary entrepreneurs keep ramping things up with more concepts launching every week. But after a parade of pastry prodigies and brilliant breadmakers, it might be nice to sink your teeth into something with a bit of protein. (Shoutout to all my carboholic brethren out there.)
Jim Adamski is joining the ever-swelling ranks of MEHKO (Micro Enterprise Home Kitchen) businesses alongside the likes of The Hidden Gazebo Eatery in Lemon Grove and Warung RieRie in Serra Mesa with his new venture, Cold Smoke BBQ. He’s not following a specific regional barbecue style like Central Texas, Kansas City, or St. Louis—he’s driven by whatever inspires him at the time (or, whatever he’s craving). He’s also not following a specific schedule. “My loose plans are weekends… then eventually maybe during the week,” he says. His menu and pick-up schedule get updated regularly, with pre-orders available to pick up from his house in 4S Ranch. So far, he says the dry-rubbed ribs and rib tips have been the best-sellers. But if you absolutely can’t resist adding a bread-adjacent item, you’re still in luck—he’s got cornbread.
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.
We found a handful of inspiring people who live in, and truly know, these 'hoods and asked them how they’d spend their time out and about
Growing up in Carlsbad, I never quite understood why people vacationed there. What, so you want to check out the field where I have soccer practice? Pay my orthodontist a visit? Carlsbad just felt like a town by the beach, no better or worse than any other in the country. It took going to college out of state for me to actually understand just how rare a place like Carlsbad is.
Thanksgiving break my freshman year, my first time coming home after three months in the Midwest, my shoulders dropped. I rolled down the windows and drove to lifeguard tower 37—the hangout magnet for Carlsbad’s youths (and, in the summer, tourists)—and the smells of the ocean woke me right up like smelling salts do. I finally got it.
Carlsbad isn’t just a stopover town on your way to something better. It is the destination. Travel + Leisure named Carlsbad one of the top 50 places around the world to travel in 2026. From the whole globe, the travel magazine picked my home. Sure, we’ve got the Flower Fields and Legoland—but now it’s the smaller ships and indier dreams that are giving it street-level character.
It’s not just Carlsbad, either. People have talked about the “North County bubble” for decades—a force field that prevents its residents from traveling south of the 56. It’s often used derogatorily, and it’s a fairly accurate burn.
For decades, living up in North County meant giving up on culture, or at least culture within close proximity. But now, the main expansion of San Diego culture is happening up north. Central San Diego restaurants have started taking notice and are expanding into the area—spurred no doubt by Oceanside’s food boom and the Jeune et Jolie–Campfire–Wildland–Lilo constellation in Carlsbad. City Heights burger joint Key & Cleaver opened a new spot in Oceanside; the owners of Parc Bistro-Brasserie in Bankers Hill opened Parc Lounge in Rancho Santa Fe. Possibly the strongest market indicator is that Sam Fox—one of the most successful restaurateurs west of the Rockies—has started focusing on North County for his concepts. In 2025, he opened both The Henry in Carlsbad and Culinary Dropout in Del Mar.
For the ultimate insider guide, we found a handful of inspiring people who live and create and truly know six North County neighborhoods—San Marcos, Escondido, Oceanside, Leucadia, Rancho Santa Fe, and Vista—and asked them how they’d spend a dream day out and about in their town.

San Marcos is in full renaissance mode. The biggest story is that the grand North City vision is starting to peek through the scaffolding. It’s essentially the North County Downtown that’s been written in the tea leaves and discussed whenever someone gets stuck in traffic at the 5/805 merge: a 200-acre, pedestrian-friendly, mixed-use face-changer that’s slated for 2,600 homes, 350,000 square feet of retail and restaurants, 250 hotel rooms, and about a million square feet of offices and labs. Its most recent manifestation is 222 North City—a 12-story residential tower with over 450 residences, rooftop garden, pool cabanas, art installations, and almost 20,000 square feet of ground-floor retail (Necessity Coffee, Buona Forchetta, Draft Republic, Milonga Empanadas, and a grocery store anchor on its way).
Which means Restaurant Row is no longer burdened with being the primary caregiver for the hungry or the socially inclined. Patricia Prado-Olmos has watched the city morph during her nearly three-decade tenure at CSUSM, having spent the past six years as the school’s chief community engagement officer. She also just announced her forthcoming retirement at the end of the 2026–2027 school year, so she’ll have even more time to haunt local haunts.
Those in the know call the university “Cal State StairMaster” from the Sisyphean amount of stairs on the hillside campus. So, any day at or around CSUSM should start with a homestyle carbo-load (biscuits and gravy) from Mama Kat’s.

“There’s something about this breakfast spot that immediately puts me in a good mood,” she says. Mama Kat’s is also known for its pie (strawberry-rhubarb), which is breakfast if you change your perspective.
After a few hours on campus—with a break to pet the university’s official therapy goldendoodle, Frank, who helps ease finals tremors or apprehension of on-campus stairs—Prado-Olmos will wander into North City, just steps away. She says the almond croissant and coffee at Christophe Rull Patisserie rival Parisian cafés: “It feels like the kind of place you’d stumble across in a much bigger city.”
Rull, a Michelin-trained pastry chef who’s done stints on Netflix (Bake Squad) and Food Network (Super Mega Cakes, Halloween Wars), opened his patisserie last fall. The hype hasn’t cooled off yet: Get there early because the crowds do.
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.
Innovative treatment could offer cancer patients new options with fewer side effects
Chemotherapy and radiation have long been considered gold standards of cancer treatment, but they can cause severe side effects. A promising new approach called theranostics—a combination of “therapeutics” and “diagnostics”—could offer patients with certain types of metastatic cancers new hope. It’s a two-step process that uses a drug that binds to specific receptors on cancer cells. Advanced imaging detects this radioisotope, allowing doctors to then use a second radioisotope that binds to the cancer cells and destroys them. Click here to learn more about how specialists at Scripps Cancer Center are using theranostics.
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