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Ready to know more about San Diego?
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We asked 16 locals—from students to nurses, hoteliers and store owners—how they're working through the pandemic and helping others
Gigi Farrell
As told to Erin Meanley Glenny
I manage San Diego Blood Bank’s main donor center near downtown and the one in El Cajon. I’ve been with the organization for 20 years and thought I had seen it all until COVID-19.
We supply blood to nearly 50 hospitals in the region; including some hospitals in Orange and Los Angeles counties such as City of Hope.
We usually have a general sense of what each hospital will use each week. We have real-time eyes on hospital supply and can see when there is a major drop, perhaps due to an emergency. This is why it is so important to have a 5-to-7-day supply on hand. At times during the pandemic, we’ve had less than a half-day supply of several blood types for several days in a row.
Each month, we typically collect about 2,800 pints of blood at our six centers and more than 5,000 pints from our bloodmobiles. So more than 60 percent of the local blood supply is collected on our bloodmobiles. We normally have six to 10 of them out in the community on any given day.
Around mid-March, our bloodmobile drives began to cancel due to schools closing and companies switching to remote work. We didn’t have enough blood on the shelves, and it was scary. We immediately jumped into sending out the plea—everyone was tweeting. We asked younger donors to step up to allow older donors to stay safe at home. The community answered our call, like they always do.
People were waiting two hours. It got very overwhelming. There was a point when we had an eight-day supply—that was unheard of.
Over my 20 years working at the blood bank, I have found that tragedies bring donors in—I was at SDBB in the days after 9/11. We had donors in lines around the building, waiting hours to donate. I believe people need to be with the community so we can mourn together and support one another. Coronavirus is slightly different, in the sense that there’s so much fear of the unknown out there.
Because a lot of our donors are baby boomers, we really need to bring the younger generation in, the millennials, Generation X. We got a lot of new donors, first-timers coming in, but we need them to come back. It’s not a one-time thing. The blood is only good for 42 days, and it is usually out the door within a few days. The platelets, in the blood plasma, have to be used within five days.
We need more COVID-19 convalescent plasma (CCP), which we collect from donors who have recovered from the illness. One CCP donation can help as many as three or four patients still fighting COVID-19. The demand for convalescent plasma in June was double that of May, and as of July we are starting to see even higher demand—we need more recovered patients to sign up.
Many hospitals have told us that our ability to stand up our CCP program so quickly was almost unheard of.
On a personal note, I reached my 15-gallon milestone recently, and donated in honor of my Uncle Rudy, a regular blood donor who was admitted to the hospital in April for a critical case of pancreatitis. Rudy received eight pints of blood over the course of five surgeries. These units saved his life, and it really hit home for me and reminded me of my purpose.
Dr. Wilma Wooten
San Diego County Public Health Officer
That we all have the power for personal and collective action—and we should use it. The pandemic is not over by any stretch. The virus is still here, and it’s likely to be with us for a while longer. We can’t be complacent and go back to living our pre-COVID lives. We all play a role. The health, and in some cases, life of someone’s child, parent, grandparent, or loved one is at stake. Wearing a face covering, maintaining physical distance from those not in your household, washing your hands frequently, and avoiding gatherings are small steps that can have a big collective impact.
Personally, a challenge I share with public health officials worldwide is not internalizing attacks on my character. I fully understand and appreciate that this is an inordinately stressful time and sympathize with the frustration, hardship, and other complicated feelings around this pandemic’s impact on our lives. Every once in a while, an attack is so personal and so off-base that it can feel unfair, but I take a breath and remind myself that this person is likely struggling and all my actions need to be focused on helping everyone cope with today and prepare for tomorrow.
Elvin Lai
Fourth-generation hotelier, Ocean Park Inn
We closed the hotel for two months. Since we were already in renovation mode before COVID-19, we took the opportunity to move some projects up on the schedule for completion. Adapting to COVID-19 protocols for our guests wasn’t much of a leap. We faced the hepatitis A outbreak just prior and the industry—and we, as independent operators—mobilized to keep our staff and guests safe at that time. That being said, COVID-19 is very different.
Being a small hotel was much more beneficial. We have been able to be more nimble and ready to move fast on the implementation of protocols. But it has been more challenging to source the right materials due to the lack of purchasing power and the lack of a purchasing entity doing it for us. In the end, we found ways to buy directly from out of the country or leaned in hard on our relationships to make plans come through.
Liberty Zabala
Reporter, Fox 5
We’ve had to adapt to this like everyone else, by taking advantage of technology (conducting virtual interviews) and modifying our equipment (using longer stick mics) to maintain six feet of physical distance. We wear masks, disinfect constantly, and have limited the number of people inside the newsroom to a skeleton crew.
Steven Dinkin
President, National Conflict Resolution Center
The underlying concepts between one-on-one conflict resolution and peaceful large group protesting are essentially the same. Will yelling and screaming or violently protesting help an individual or group be heard, or is it just noise and a distraction? Perhaps a more thoughtful, strategic approach might actually get you closer to the finish line.
Shannon Cotton
As told to Marie Tutko
I work at A COVID-designated ICU. When COVID-19 first came to the US—to San Diego specifically—it was people disembarking from flights at the air bases, and they would send them to the hospital. There were military guards and extreme precautions. Now, we still have patients in the ICU, but it’s much thicker than in the beginning. We’re getting patients from all over Southern California. It’s really busy—the patients are extremely sick and require a lot of nursing care. Nurses continue to show up to work every day, for their patients and community, but we have to stay healthy to take care of people.
It’s really hard to see patients through the glass door. Because of the isolation, we have to keep the door shut and watch them. Maybe they’re confused, or are trying to take out their breathing tube, and you have to make that choice: Do I go in without it, stop the patient from doing this, and risk my own health? Or do I put on my PPE* as quickly as I can and pray that I get there in time? It’s a hard choice that we make every day.
Nurses in my ICU were the first ones who asked for, and practiced, universal masking. We wanted to wear surgical masks through the nurses’ station and every single patient room, whether or not they had tested positive. Nurses really led the fight on this. We continued to do it, despite threats of discipline and even discharge from administration. And now we have a universal masking policy.
We are mostly getting patients from Imperial County, where the positive testing rate—last time I checked—was 23 percent. Some of the sickest patients go to UCSD La Jolla to our COVID ICU, where they get ECMO treatment—extracorporeal membrane oxygenation—in which they move the blood out of your body, reoxygenate it, and send it back into your body through a large catheter. The patient is still intubated with a breathing tube, and ventilated.
I was at work on Monday, and the ICU was nearly at capacity when I left that night. It feels—just the heightened level of adrenaline you walk into the unit with—it feels like everyone is sick and needs you. I assume the hospital is not at capacity since we’re still doing elective procedures and surgeries, but as a front-line worker I rely on hospital administrators to monitor that situation and let us know what’s going on with transparent communication to all staff from their bird’s-eye view. Because to me, it feels like we’re on the verge of a surge, and that we need to start preparing our second ICU to take positive COVID-19 patients. The feeling in the unit is that it could come at any minute.
We worry about our patients when we go home. I’m still thinking about the patient I took care of in that room—did they make it through the night? There is that heightened sense of anxiety, at all times. The nursing staff used to be able to have lunch together at a break, talk about our lives, our kids… now it’s a social-distance-mandated break, and you don’t even have that connection with your coworkers. A lot of front-line staff are going through this emotional toll: I want to show up for my patients every day, and I do. But at what point do I have to take a step back and say, “I need a break for my own family or my own mental health”? It can be exhausting. But we show up every day, and/ we just go.
What’s difficult with really sick patients diagnosed with COVID-19 is that our visitor policy is severely restricted, and there’s very few exceptions. I had a Zoom meeting with one of my really sick patients and four of his family members; it’s hard, because they can’t touch him. They can see him, but it’s not the same as being there and being able to hold their hand. The nurse really does become the emotional support for the patient, and the patient’s only contact at the bedside. In my head, I understand and support the restricted visitor policy. But in my heart, I feel that someone has to be there to help you know that we’re watching you, that we love you. That you’re not just a number. We all try to provide that support to our patients, now more than ever.
We all remember the patients who died from COVID-19. Their families are so grateful for the care. It’s heartbreaking, but we know we did our best, and we fought for their lives as hard as we could. We know who they were. We know their names.
One patient who really sticks in my heart was on the step-down unit. He was requiring more and more oxygen. The nurse on his unit was really concerned, and the doctors brought him to the ICU. When he arrived, the doctors and I had a serious conversation with him: “Your numbers aren’t good and you’re breathing really fast. We have to put in a breathing tube.”
He said, “I have to call my mom.”
My colleague got on his phone and FaceTimed his mother and sister so he was able to tell them, “I’m sick and I’m in the hospital. I probably won’t be able to talk to you for a while, but I’m going to get through this.”
It was amazing to give him that chance to talk to his family, because you don’t know if you’re going to come out on the other side alive or dead. It’s so unpredictable. Within 30 minutes of him transferring to the ICU and making this phone call, we had him on a ventilator—but he eventually recovered, and was discharged home. He holds a special place in my heart.
It’s great to see someone move out of the ICU. In my unit, we clap and cheer when someone recovers and is wheeled out to the step-down unit. A special chime is played when a COVID patient moves out of the ICU or is discharged from the hospital. Everyone knows something good is happening, because usually those overhead announcements are emergencies. But these special chimes—you look up and you wonder if that’s someone you know. It feels like a victory.
*Our PPE is an N95 respirator, a gown, gloves, and a face shield. The hospital doesn’t require shoe coverings or hair coverings, but most of the nurses on my unit use them, simply because this is a novel virus. We just want total protection.
Nancy Maldonado
CEO, Chicano Federation
We don’t have to look further than the COVID-19 infection rate among San Diego Latinos to know this pandemic has exposed and exacerbated inequities that have existed for far too long. Our community’s greatest challenge right now is ensuring that we answer this call to action so that someday, we may be able to look back and see how this terrible moment in time pushed us to finally address structural inequities that make some communities more susceptible to poverty, disease, and death than others. My biggest fear is that we return to “normal” and miss our opportunity to interrupt the status quo and evolve in ways that can lead to a more equitable future.
Sumit Chanda PhD
As told to Josh Baxt
For a virologist, when a new influenza or coronavirus comes on the scene, it’s just bad news. In contrast to something like Ebola, where you need close contact with bodily fluids, or Zika, where you need a mosquito to transmit it, these respiratory viruses just need one infected person on an airplane.
We knew from experience that coronaviruses could be dangerous: SARS in 2003, MERS in 2012. But no one had ever worked on this coronavirus—SARS-CoV-2—before, because it didn’t exist; we had to figure out how to grow it, how to manipulate it.
These are skillsets that scientists acquire over years. Because we already had those skills, we went from discovering the virus in January to having a screen done by April. If we hadn’t already done the work in influenza and dengue, there’s no way we could have moved so quickly.
We had a variety of tools we’d developed over the years for other viruses that we could adapt to the coronavirus. We didn’t have to build a biosafety level 3 facility in January. That already existed. If we were forced to start from scratch, we’d still be scratching our heads, going: “How do we get this virus to grow in the lab?”
The investments the government and Sanford Burnham Prebys have made in these programs around flu, SARS, and MERS have helped us, and everyone else around the world, move quickly, both in the therapeutic space and the vaccine space. If no prior investments had been made, we’re talking years, if not decades, to do something comparable.
Working with collaborators in San Diego, Kansas, New York, Hong Kong, and elsewhere, the Chanda lab has used SBP’s high-throughput drug screening capabilities (by which scientists can quickly investigate thousands of potential treatments) to identify existing drugs that might work against the coronavirus.
There are only a certain number of labs that can conduct high-throughput drug screening and work with nasty viruses. We have access to a collection of compounds from Scripps Research and, through collaborators in Hong Kong, we had early access to the virus.
We initially tested around 12,000 compounds and found 30 potential candidates, which are now being investigated further. For companies that had antivirals they thought might work against it, we screened those as well. Given our skillsets and resources, we felt it was our obligation to global health to move as quickly as possible.
In May, the Chanda lab received a $10.2 million Department of Defense grant to develop broad-spectrum antiviral therapies—a grant he initially applied for in June 2019, long before the coronavirus hit.
People need to start viewing pathogens, like SARS-CoV2, as existential threats to our health, to our economy, to civilization as we know it. We’ve been saying this as virologists for a long time, and people said, “This is science fiction, it’s the movies, it’s fear mongering.” We didn’t dodge the bullet this time, and I would say the bullet still just grazed us. I think we need to prepare for a much worse scenario.
We feel the best way to combat this threat is to develop broad-spectrum antiviral drugs. The whole premise of the grant is to move away from the “one bug, one drug” paradigm and develop drug candidates that are effective against multiple respiratory viruses—a broad-spectrum approach, which is commonly used to treat bacterial infections.
We can do that with bacteria because their genomes are so big, thousands of genes, and we can target one mechanism that many bacteria use because we have so many choices. Viruses, by contrast, are super compact. Most have just 20 genes, and there are almost no opportunities to find something that works on a broad swath of viruses.
Our strategy is to target the host—in other words, the people being infected rather than the virus infecting them. Our lab focuses on identifying and understanding the specific proteins in our bodies that viruses hijack to help them grow. If we do these kinds of analyses for enough viruses, we can find hijacking mechanisms common between viruses that we can target therapeutically.
If we can develop these broad-spectrum antivirals, we could have them stockpiled and ready. Then if there was a new, emerging virus, we could send them to the source and completely block the worldwide spread. We put out the fire while it’s still in the ashtray, not when it’s consuming the entire house.
Paul VerHoeve
CEO, Mission Healthcare
We recently had a COVID-19 positive patient on our hospice services in a private home. When building a care plan for a patient at the end of his or her life, we normally would have the family be very involved. However, COVID-19 creates a difficult situation that we haven’t previously faced. From top to bottom, we seem to be learning on a daily basis how to stay safe while also being on the front line caring for people who contract the virus.
Drew Koehler
Lifeguard II, City of San Diego Fire-Rescue Lifeguard Division
When it comes to medical aids we definitely have to take a step back and think about things, ask the right questions before we try to help someone. It’s our duty to make water rescues and perform coastal cliff rescues, but it definitely makes you evaluate safer ways to get things done. We have to remember to keep ourselves up to date with department policies so that we are doing the best possible job at keeping each other safe.
Dealing with the large numbers of people on the beach while still maintaining social distance guidelines. Ever since the beaches opened up again the crowds have been massive. It’s been a challenge to still provide the best possible service to the public while keeping our distance, especially when the beaches are as crowded as ever.
Julie Rais Ellis and daughter, Kaia
As told to Sarah Pfledderer
At the beginning of the pandemic, I planted a handful of sunflower seeds at our brick and mortar. It was the day we officially closed, March 16. It’s incredible to watch a seed sprout and turn into a flower, a reminder that we are a part of nature and a cycle. Rais Case is part of a cycle, too—a garden of its own.
We jumped into 2020 with a business plan to promote our new storefront, The Rising Co., and expand our bag line. One hundred percent of our sales came from our bags and accessories. Then in mid-March we had to stop and temporarily change course.
It all started when one of our team members, Avery, spoke with a nurse friend whose hospital was almost out of masks. Avery shared with me: “It would be amazing if we made masks. Maybe we work directly with her hospital and donate them?”
Honestly, I cannot recall wearing a face mask before then. I was overcome with the feeling that we should sew masks, and stayed up well into the night creating prototypes to share with my team. We began by sewing ourselves, driven by the immediate need for essential workers.
It was all-consuming for the first 60 days, working days, nights, and weekends to meet demands. We created a sewing collective. I had to calculate how to source, produce, distribute, and finance making masks with the resources I had in place. We transitioned my garage into our headquarters, creating a shipping station, inventory storage areas, a workshop space with a cutting surface, sewing stations, and other spaces.
Working alone, we couldn’t keep up, and eventually reached out to our handbag production partners. Because we use local manufacturers, we could train our cut-and-sew team in person, get them materials, and get them up and running making eco-cotton twill face masks immediately.
Making masks has carried Rais Case through the past few months. It kept the lights on and allowed us to keep our team together. We have made approximately 10,000 face coverings to date, and customer purchases directly support our ongoing efforts to donate masks to medical staff and other essential workers across the US.
Now, bags and accessories represent 40 percent of our sales, masks and bandanas 60 percent. We feel blessed to have successfully introduced these new products while helping our community stay safe.
Our most important job as human beings is to grow and nurture those around us. Those sunflowers are in bloom right now at the shop, reminding me that we are a part of that natural cycle.
Dr. Nathian Shae Rodriguez
Assistant professor of Digital Media, San Diego State University
When everything closed down physically, the university administration basically said, “Get out, you can’t go back.” You needed permission from the deans to come onto campus. Everything was done in haste.
My students were feeling mentally and emotionally drained. A lot didn’t come to class. They were scared. They had to find ways to support themselves; many had lost their jobs. It’s not just teaching, it’s helping support them—finding resources for them, giving them information.
The intersectionality issues brought to light from the Black Lives Matter movement. We’re going into the fall being more aware of intersectional oppressions, and more cognizant of our students’ experiences.
Danny Khairo
Jenny Siegwart
As told to Erin Meanley Glenny
The Alta Dena Drive Thru Market was already an established drive-thru when my family bought it, but it was just a dairy—milk products, cheeses. It’s been there for 71 years. The guy who started it is the landlord; he’s 97.
My dad and my brother and I have owned the drive-thru for 16 years. Sometimes people call and ask for the old Alta Dena ice cream, where it was a powder and you’d do the mixing. I hardly have anybody ask for it, so it’s not worth it to stock.
We expanded the market to alcohol, snacks, soft drinks, a little bit of everything. Apple juice, firewood. We still carry dairy products. You always get people driving through for the first time saying, “This is so cool, wow. How have we never heard of this?” There aren’t other drive-thrus in San Diego because they don’t give the license out; ours is grandfathered in. You can do a drive-thru with a window, like Burger King, but you can’t drive through the building. A lot of mothers like it because they don’t have to get the kids out of the car seats.
At the beginning of the pandemic, milk sales jumped really high. Milk and eggs were the two hot sellers. I’d say 75 percent more milk, so about 100 to 150 gallons a week.
We’ve always carried toilet paper. Whatever we got our hands on, it would sell out immediately. One person came in and bought everything, 15 four-packs of toilet paper, and it was unfair for the rest. So we limited it to one per person.
Business was a lot better. Because of no bars being open and grocery stores closing early, people realized they could save money here. People didn’t have much to do, and collecting an extra $600 a week did good for us. The grocery stores were always packed, so people were coming to us. The line could be 10 cars deep.
People were afraid to get out of their cars. We wear masks for our own safety. We use sanitizer after every customer.
My brother, my dad, and I worked 13, 14 hours every day. My dad is 62. My brother is 30. We have six employees, not including us, between all three stores. Business was good but really exhausting.
Martha Gilmer
CEO, San Diego Symphony
What I love about all of the content we are producing [Symphony Stream virtual performances, podcasts, weekly Lunch & Listen episodes on YouTube] is that it brings the audience closer to our musicians, to music director Rafael Payare, and to each other. The storytelling nature of these productions is something we have talked about for years, and before now had not found a format that worked. The fact that suddenly we all have become adept at using technology to connect makes this communication possible, and I think it will be with us even after we can begin live concerts again. However, the crucial core of the experience remains live performance, and we cannot wait to return to hearing our musicians making music together on our stages with a full audience.
Zara Irshad
Jenny Siegwart
As told to Erin Meanley Glenny
Around mid-March I heard a lot of rumors about the school shutting down, and we kept getting these updates but no one knew what was going on. One by one, classes went online, and then people went on spring break and left all their stuff in the dorm. I had three roommates; one left early and didn’t take her stuff. Her dad came two weeks later to clear out her room.
They kept changing the day when you had to leave. There was a window that kept getting smaller. We had only a few days’ notice. It was overwhelming, stressful, and scary having to leave your friends and not know how long it would be. Everyone was crying. My friends and I had decided to go to Disneyland the weekend before, and we are so glad we did that together.
My parents moved me and my second roommate out at the same time. She stayed with my family for about a week at our house in Rancho Peñasquitos. Then her dad drove down from the Bay Area, but some of her stuff is still in our garage.
It was finals week when we moved out, so the last week of March we had to take our finals online. Professors didn’t have time to construct online plans, and it was very experimental for everyone. That was a challenge—studying for finals in the midst of moving out.
I was taking intermediate Spanish all year; a large part of that is conversation, and it was really hard to facilitate online through Zoom. The teacher did a good job trying to adjust, but I had a lot of frustration because we would be put into Zoom breakout rooms where it’s you and a couple peers on screen with no professor to moderate. I wasn’t getting much out of the conversation.
I was struggling in Spanish and seeing my friends struggle. I was like, I need help. I got an email from the UCSD Communication Department about this mobile app, PEERS edu, that was developed through Connect (a startup accelerator founded at UCSD). I downloaded it and tried it for Spanish. You can have a conversation with a native speaker. My tutor was someone in Spain. You type in what subject you like, it tells you where they’re from and how much they charge. The app uses credits, and the tutor decides the price. You can tutor, be a student, or do both—“earn or learn.”
I thought it really helped, thought it was a cool concept and my friends would benefit from it. The founder, Andres Abeyta, has been working on the concept for four years; I spoke to him and started interning for the company. His goal is to roll it out for college students around California who are trying to adjust.
I’ve learned to be more accountable to myself. It’s very difficult to focus from home—you’re not at a desk in the library. I had to block out times of the day to study each subject. It’s hard not to become discouraged when you’re unable to leave.
I’m excited to see how the school rethinks and restructures, and I’m looking forward to the fall. I wasn’t planning on living on campus for my second year anyway—my plan was always to commute from my parents’ house, but now I won’t have to. I’m hoping to be able to go to my newspaper offices a few times. I recently got promoted to opinion section editor at The UCSD Guardian, so I’m hoping to meet the other editors and writers in person.
Now I appreciate what I had. I look at pictures and wish that was still happening. I was personally so caught up in being busy: going home on the weekends to see my parents, work at a coffee shop, plan things with friends, go to class. I took that chaos as stress. It was really crazy, but honestly, I kind of miss that now.
Paul Downey
President and CEO, Serving Seniors
I am busier than ever and have become a Zoom master! Serving Seniors had to completely reimagine our operating model—akin to building an airplane in-flight. In February, we served 60,000 meals to low-income seniors. We served over 220,000 meals in June. Pre-pandemic, about two-thirds of our meals were served in 15 senior centers throughout the county. Now, almost all are home delivered. We continue to serve homeless seniors “to-go” meals from our Gary and Mary West Senior Wellness Center downtown every day. We also have had to implement an array of safety protocols to ensure the health of our seniors, staff, and volunteers. I’m proud to say we’ve adapted to the new normal and are meeting our mission to help seniors in poverty.
PARTNER CONTENT
I worry that we have lost our way as a nation. It boggles my mind that we are divided over a basic human right that everyone is equal and should be treated accordingly. Why is wearing a mask to protect yourself and others from a deadly virus a polarizing political issue? Unless we regain our moral compass—including decency, compassion, and empathy for others—we can’t begin to solve our problems and heal our wounds.
Food writer Beth Demmon names local bites we love—both at the high and low ends of our budgets
We love a mega-fancy tasting menu, but let’s be honest—we’re not all blessed with unlimited Wagyu funds. So we picked some of the breakout dishes of the last year (or couple of years) from the best chefs in the city, reverse-engineered their chief charms (salty, smoky, caramelized?) in the test lab of our mouths, and found some budget-friendly alternatives that hit some of the same notes with an everyday price tag.
Where do delicately plucked marigold blossoms adorn Deer Isle scallops, or ingredients like fermented raspberry precede roasted coffee oil, shiro miso caramel, or bronze fennel in a parade of hit-after-hit dishes? Lilo in Carlsbad, of course. San Diego’s newest Michelin star changes its menu with the seasons, but one stalwart dish has kept tongues wagging since opening day last April: the caviar ice cream. A boat-shaped sliver of orgeat ice cream, smoked celery root bushi, and freshly pressed almond oil are topped with a generous heap of caviar. It’s a dish so good and defining that chef Eric Bost will tire of talking about it for a very long time.
Price: $265 for the tasting menu (before tax, tip, and drinks)
There’s a reason Stella Jean’s s’mores ice cream is part of the local scoop shop’s “always available” menu. Made with fire-roasted marshmallows and coconut ash ice cream mixed with dark chocolate-covered graham crackers and mini marshmallows, its strangely ashen hue dabbled with flecks of tawny brown is a far cry from the wildly vibrant ube and pandesal toffee flavor seemingly made for Instagram reels. But it’s a sensation in your mouth—smoky, toasty, torched, creamy, marshmallowy, coconutty, ashy, and bitter from the dark chocolate. Pro tip: If you really want to DIY Lilo’s ultra-luxe treat, bring your own caviar.
Price: $6.25 for a single scoop
There’s no question what comes first at Lucien. It’s the egg. Chef and co-owner Elijah Arizmendi’s 12-course tasting menu begins with welcome bites under the calamansi tree before moving inside to start the Journey (the actual name of this section of the menu). The first step is one of the most astounding—a perfectly intact, upright, ochre-hued eggshell containing his take on Japanese chawanmushi (egg custard), topped with a dollop of caviar. The accompanying ingredients have ranged from sweet corn and huitlacoche to banana and buckwheat, but each one has precisely demonstrated Arizmendi’s commitment to French technique with California experimentation and global influence.
Price: $260 for the chef’s tasting menu (before tax, tip, and drinks)
The biggest difference (besides price) is that while Lucien’s dish changes with the season, Sushi Ota is comfortably predictable. A San Diego staple since 1990, the legendary Sushi Ota has been one of those if you know, you know joints that locals try to keep off the radar. (It hasn’t worked at all.) Known for ultra-fresh fish and ultra-traditional service, the small Pacific Beach restaurant also serves Japanese comfort foods like udon noodle soup alongside sashimi, nigiri, and rolls. But it’s the savory steamed egg custard, called chawanmushi, that really gives you the warm and fuzzies. Add a side of salmon roe (ikura) for a few bucks more, and this dupe is about as good as it gets.
Price: $12 for chawanmushi, $11 for ikura
Enough ink—and tears, I’m sure—has been spilled over Chick & Hawk’s long and arduous journey to opening its doors. But now that the Encinitas eatery is in full swing, chef Andrew Bachelier’s tightly curated menu of fried chicken sandwiches, fries, and bowls command lines of hungry locals and skate-culture loyalists. The Birdman, the signature hot chicken sandwich named for partner and skateboarding legend Tony Hawk, is piled with cabbage slaw and pickles and slathered with a tangy kimchi comeback sauce on a soft brioche bun. Although this Nashville meets California meets Mississippi meets Korea sando doesn’t command a triple-digit price tag, the fact that it’s nearly a $20 chicken sandwich (sans side) has been a topic of conversation. Bachelier—who worked at Addison before opening Jeune et Jolie, then launched SDM’s 2024 “Best New Restaurant,” Atelier Manna—and his team earned that price tag.
Price: $18
It’s hard to beat Koreans at the chicken game. Korean fried wings are defined by a double-fry technique—first at a low temperature to ensure the chicken is cooked through, then at a high temperature to ensure the famed extra-crispy, ear-splittingly crunchrageous magic. At Cross Street, they follow a similar fusion ethos as Chick & Hawk, using inspiration from the American South as well as Thailand, Korea, Vietnam, and more, with flavors like “Seoul Spicy” or “Honey Butter” for whatever you’re feeling that day. Pair it with a cold beer to go full chimaek (a popular Korean combination of pairing fried chicken and beer). Now that’s a combo—and price tag—that’s hard to beat.
Price: $8.75 for five wings
PB&J. Captain & Tennille. Brad Wise and steak. Steak frites ranks among the iconic global duos. And when the holy union of prime cuts and twice-fried carbs comes from Wise and the meat-loving masters at Trust Restaurant Group, it’s a pretty safe bet. À L’ouest—the group’s newest fancy, but not fussy, drippy plant dreamscape of a French steakhouse on the prime corner of 30th and University in North Park—gives guests a choice: 12-ounce New York strip, 8-ounce filet mignon, or 8-ounce Wagyu hanger, topped with sauce au poivre (the classic French pan sauce—peppercorns, shallots, heavy cream, brandy) and served with a heaping pile of 24-hour salt-brined fries and a watercress salad. One bite acts as a transport to a Parisian brasserie, so if you think about the cost in terms of time-space travel, it’s a pretty great deal.
Price: starts at $48
To satisfy the same urge for meat and potatoes, feel at least moderately European while doing so, and save a couple quid, a trip to The Shakespeare in Mission Hills ticks all the boxes. The classic British shepherd’s pie arrives in a piping hot oval au gratin dish, smothered with a thick layer of mashed potatoes. Beneath it lies a hefty portion of marinated ground beef and vegetables in the pub’s secret sauce, and while there are a few choices of sides, the correct order is peas and “proper” chips (a.k.a. chunky, thick-cut fries versus the typically thinner American “French” fries). It’s more tickety-boo than très bien, but it’s immensely satisfying in any language.
Price: $22.95
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.
From dedicated line cooks to seasoned bartenders, these are the people making magic happen in city's top restaurants
Chefs have done gobs of thankless, lumbar-breaking work over years to land the role. Restaurateurs put their entire livelihoods on the line, microdosed sleep, took ultimate responsibility for every minor stress. They earned the spotlight they get. But ask one of them, and they almost always defer to a line cook who’s showed up for years, been deep in the thing, and whose absence would bring the kitchen to its knees. Or the bartender with a warmth that draws people whether they’re thirsty or not. Or the noble and spreadsheetable soul in charge of purchasing everything needed for the nightly show.
They call it the “heart of the house.”
Spotlight or not, these are the people who make a food culture hum at its daily core.
For this year’s “Best Restaurants” issue, we asked a handful of the top chefs and one restaurant owner—Tara Monsod (Animae/Le Coq), Jason McLeod (Ironside Fish & Oyster), Ananda Bareño (The Marine Room), Owen Beatty (A.R. Valentien), and Ryan Thorsen (Mister A’s)—who that person is for them.
These are the hearts of houses.
Roger Feria Krile is not only the guy you want to be friends with at work, but also the guy you want to hire: respectful, nose-to-the-grindstone, versatile. And he’ll drop off a fresh batch of cinnamon rolls at your house for the holidays. Born in Tijuana, Krile moved to the US with his mom and sister when he was in elementary school. He saw the sacrifices his mother made to give her children a better life, and he pushed himself to live up to that brighter future.
He came to cooking during the pandemic, asking himself, “What do I really love to do?” His answer: “Bake cakes for friends and break bread with people,” he says. That led to a culinary school degree and a stint in a Michelin-starred NYC kitchen, where he grew to “love and understand” fine dining. Now back in San Diego, Krile’s showing up at Animae in a major way. He does prep work three mornings a week and comes later in the day twice a week for dinner service. Most line cooks do one or the other, but he requested both tours of duty.
“Gotta get my reps, keep my skills sharp,” Krile says, “and I don’t want to miss the rush.” Prep work in the mornings helps him learn how Executive Chef Tara Monsod uses each ingredient to the fullest. Krile’s not just a line cook. One-quarter Filipino (and learning about his culinary heritage from mentor Monsod), he’s building his own Mexican-Filipino pop-up concept. Look for Sarsa—Filipino for salsa—where every dish is a play on words fusing Mexican and Philippine Spanish or Tagalog. He’s already R&D’d a breakfast sandwich, the tortantalong: a torta filled with a signature Filipino eggplant omelette called a tortang talong. Friends in the industry say it’s unexpectedly delicious.
“He shows up every day with a clear goal of one day opening his own restaurant, and that drive pushes him to go above and beyond,” says Monsod. “He is constantly learning, asking questions, and absorbing as much as possible, all while leading by example on the line.”
Ruben Martinez knows every bottle of wine at Mister A’s—not necessarily by taste (though he was on the tasting committee for years), but by where they are in storage and whether they need replenishment. Owner Ryan Thorsen wants the wine list at 100 percent available every night, and Martinez’s job is to make that a reality. He’s been keeping inventory on Mister A’s wines since the 1970s, back when he worked for founder John Alessio. And it’s not just vino: Martinez also procures the ingredients, arriving at 5 a.m. to meet delivery trucks, stock shelves, and alert chefs if anything’s amiss.
Then he hits the dining room for a once- or twice-over to find any imperfections. If a light is out, if the plumbing acts up, if something major happens after he leaves in the afternoon, he’ll fix it all. He’s the best guy to ask, anyway; he knows every inch of Mister A’s. “Before ‘Google it,’ there was ‘Call Ruben,’” Thorsen says.
Martinez started out in hospitality at 17 with his father at Hotel Del. “I thought it would be easy working with my dad,” he says. “But early on, he caught me fooling around with the boys and told me, ‘We’re here to make money for the company. If you’re not willing to work, get out of here.’” That set him straight and set the foundation for Martinez’s lifelong dependability.
He moved to Mister A’s a couple years later, and after over five decades, he’s now the indispensable purchasing manager who worked with Alessio, Betrand Hug, and now Thorsen. Later this year, he’s planning on retiring—though he’s already offered to keep showing up a couple days a week and help out with Thorsen’s new project at Liberty Station.
Thorsen knows this man is a gem. “I don’t think we fully grasp what it will feel like without him,” he says. Last year, he threw Martinez a surprise birthday party in Mister A’s Blue Room, inviting Martinez’s family and a whole cast of coworkers going back to Alessio days. Martinez says he had to leave the room to hide his tears.
There’s an hour most people never see, when a restaurant’s technically awake but not yet accountable, and that’s where Patrick Mattoon lives. He’s been the foundation of Ironside’s prep team for the past five years, quietly guiding the day toward success. He and his team are the first in, and they turn on ovens, check deliveries, catch mistakes before they become problems, and fix everything without ceremony so the chefs and line cooks walk into a day that already works.
Mattoon organizes, but more importantly, he owns. There’s no job too small, no detail beneath notice. In a kitchen, bad prep’s the one thing you can’t fix later, no matter how talented of a chef is at the helm.
Five years in, Mattoon still approaches each day with the same care and intensity that he had on day one. He takes every task seriously and sees it through completely—the kind of consistent work that doesn’t draw attention but makes everything else possible. When the restaurant got a soft serve machine, a notorious maintenance nightmare, he taught himself how to clean and run it just to make sure it never broke, not for credit but because that’s just how he’s wired.
“He is a silent leader who has the respect of the entire team due to leading by example,” says Ironside chef Jason McLeod.
Through 23 years, three executive chefs, and a recent kitchen remodel, lead line cook Arturo Celestino is a constant at A.R. Valentien. He’s there at 6:30 a.m. five days a week—sometimes six—for the Lodge’s breakfast service. That means he’s up early prepping potatoes, slicing mushrooms, whisking pancake batter, and stirring sauces “always with a smile,” says Owen Beatty, the restaurant’s new chef de cuisine. “He’s a good leader.”
Celestino shows the younger guys how to make the eggs fluffy, so the omelettes are always perfect (don’t stop twirling the spatula!). He keeps his line in line when their spirits start to naturally droop during the morning shift home stretch when his crew just wants to get out of there. As the lead, he’s also the one chefs turn to when newbies need motivation.
His secret sauce: “mucho talking!” It keeps people happy, and it also helps the chefs retain talent in the kitchen.
Celestino learned to cook out of “necesidad,” he says. He cut his teeth on fine dining at Pacifica Del Mar at the Hyatt and moved to A.R. Valentien in 2003, just a few months after it opened in 2002.
“I’ve had good jefes,” Celestino says of the three executive chefs he’s known at A.R. Valentien: Jeff Jackson, Kelli Crosson, and now Michelin-starred Eric Sakai. Under Jackson—who’s known for pioneering farm-to-table dining in San Diego—Arturo learned to appreciate local ingredients.
“My favorite is basil,” he says, “added to tomato sauce with garlic, it’s mmm.” Fresh basil plays the supporting role in A.R. Valentien’s signature brunch plate, which is also Celestino’s top choice on the menu (to make and to eat), via the Bull’s Eyes: slow-roasted eggplant with sunny-side-up eggs, tomato sauce, and La Quercia prosciutto.
“I love my job,” Celestino says as he flashes that smile. “It’s not just a plate of food. It’s an experience.”
If you’ve been to The Marine Room, you’ve probably met bartender Tony Suarez. With his charming Cuban accent and dapper vest and tie, he makes it his business to regale guests coming and going—even while he’s pouring, mixing, shaking, polishing glasses, and taking orders.
“Over 90 percent of our guests are celebrating a special occasion,” he says. “So I keep up the celebration throughout their whole visit.” He’ll make you a sparkling toast and a customized cocktail, and on your way out, he’ll wish you a happy birthday (again) and invite you back for drinks on him.
“My goal is always to delight the guest,” he says. “I like to discover how you feel and lead you to what you would like to drink.” That spirit of experimentation has led to new signature cocktails, such as the Gerald—crafted for a neighbor who’s a regular—featuring housemade pomegranate puree and bourbon, or the I Drink of You with local Bebemos tequila, Gran Marnier, and Green Chartreuse. You won’t find this anywhere else.
“[Suarez] has mastered the art of the personalized guest experience,” says Marine Room’s Executive Chef Ananda Bareño. “He remembers the small details and favorite orders that make our regulars feel like family.”
Suarez’s tenure at the Marine Room started with a walk on the beach and a knock on the door. He was impressed by the beautiful location, and he asked if they were hiring. He immediately started as a server assistant—right before Valentine’s Day. The bartender took Suarez under his wing, and he took to the books to learn all about spirits.
He’s taken on the bartender role with wisdom and grace, offering a sympathetic ear, a pick-me-up, and a “human to human connection,” he says. Ten years into his career, the surroundings still inspire him as much as they did on day one.
“The Marine Room, the windows onto the ocean, [all] have a healing effect,” he says.
Leorah Gavidor won her first essay contest at age 5. She writes features, news, and non-fiction in San Diego.
After 20 years and thousands of meals as a food critic, San Diego Mag Content Chief Troy Johnson picks the city's top standouts
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.
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.
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 annual event honors middle market companies creating jobs, scaling up, and investing in the region
San Diego is known for its startup culture and innovation economy, but what happens when the company moves beyond its early-stage years? The San Diego Business Impact Awards aim to answer that question, spotlighting the middle market businesses helping drive the region’s economy.
Hosted by San Diego Regional Economic Development Corporation (EDC) and JPMorganChase, the second annual awards celebration takes place on Thursday, July 23, from 4:30 to 7:00 p.m. at Scripps Research Auditorium. More than 200 executives, entrepreneurs, and business leaders are expected to attend the networking and cocktail event honoring some of San Diego County’s fastest-growing companies.
Businesses headquartered in San Diego County that have operated for at least two years are encouraged to submit their nomination by Thursday, June 18 at 4 p.m. Companies across industries—from technology and life sciences to tourism and consumer products, as well as pre-revenue startups—are eligible for recognition.
For EDC President and CEO Mark Cafferty, the event is as much about building connections as celebrating success. “We’ve had a longtime partnership with JPMorganChase; their work aligns with our efforts to support underserved communities and drive talent development,” says Cafferty. “And the networking was invaluable last year. I’m still in touch with people I met at last year’s awards.”
EDC is an independently-funded nonprofit that works directly with San Diego companies to help them grow the local economy, make the region as a whole more competitive, and attract and retain top-tier talent with quality jobs. Through EDC, companies can get help starting or expanding their business with support for things like site selection, permit navigation, and regulatory guidance, plus connections to local resources and potential business collaborators.
The San Diego Business Impact Awards began as an idea with one of EDC’s longtime strategic partners, JPMorganChase. The two organizations share a commitment to San Diego and are dedicated to bolstering middle market businesses.
“We’re blessed with a robust innovation economy and startup community,” says Aaron Ryan, San Diego Region Manager for JPMorgan’s Commercial and Investment Bank and vice chair of the firm’s’ San Diego Market Leadership Team. “But one of the segments of the business community we felt was overlooked was emerging middle market companies—the businesses that are no longer small but not yet large.”
Ryan says supporting those companies is critical as they scale and decide where to invest, hire, and grow.
San Diego’s high cost of living remains one of the region’s biggest business challenges, making talent recruitment and retention increasingly competitive. But local leaders point to the region’s quality of life, climate, and collaborative business community as advantages that continue to attract employers and workers.
“In order to support thriving households, there has to be enough high-quality jobs for people to be able to afford to live here,” Cafferty says. “Once a company grows and excels past that middle market point in their growth cycle, they become much more likely to pay higher wages and compete globally.”
Both Cafferty and Ryan proudly tout the unique collaboration that exists among San Diego County businesses. Bringing together top universities producing high-quality talent, cutting-edge research institutions, a robust military and defense presence, leading ocean science and environmental organizations, and a binational, cross-border identity creates a distinct business ecosystem that defines and strengthens the San Diego region.
Last year’s San Diego Business Impact Awards celebrated nearly 60 honorees from 49 industries, representing a total of 8,232 jobs across eight sectors, including: software and technology, healthcare and life sciences, consumer goods, professional services, finance, construction and manufacturing, defense, and hospitality and tourism. On average, honoree companies doubled their revenues over the previous year, employed more than 145 San Diegans each, and offered an average annual compensation of $192,415.
Top honorees included defense contractor Innoflight, environmental consulting firm Bancroft Construction Services, life sciences startup Element Biosciences, defense technology contractor GALT Aerospace, organic grocery store chain Jimbo’s, and biopharmaceutical company LENZ Therapeutics. During the event, Innoflight Founder and CEO Jeff Janicik held a fireside chat offering his insights on investing in the community and embracing San Diego culture.
This year, organizers hope to continue highlighting the middle market players driving economic impact across the region. Nominations are now open through June 18 at 4 p.m. Get your tickets to the San Diego Business Impact Awards celebration to enjoy drinks by Snake Oil Cocktail Co., light bites, live music, and networking.
We asked, you voted, and food critic Troy Johnson chose his favorites—these are the top food and drink people and places in the city
Some keep lists of favorite books, of quotes, of enemies whose time shall come. At SDM we keep vast, nuanced, hotly debated lists of the best food and drink in the city. Menus are our smut novels. From Michelin stars to mom and pops, our list constantly evolves over hundreds of new bites tried every year. Here’s the 2026 list from food critic Troy Johnson and 129,000-plus votes from our readers, who really, really know their food.
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.
SDM owner and food critic Troy Johnson identifies some standout stars in SD's food scene
I spent time in a hot dog stand on the edge of San Diego Bay, looking out a window that mattered. Mattered to a kid whose mom taught him to fish on this pier. They’d turn on a little transistor radio, find a signal through the static, stare at the water, and talk life and his dad. Dennis Borlek’s dad was out there, somewhere, commanding a naval submarine through god knows what. When his dad would dock in Point Loma weeks or months later, Borlek biked down the street along Shelter Island to see him and steal back stolen moments.
Later, Borlek helped midwife the craft beer scene, managing seminal spots like Small Bar and Liar’s Club. Wondering what to do with the rest of his life, he went back to that pier and saw a for-lease sign on the bait and tackle shop. He tore through the public library and spent the whole night learning how to write a business plan (he had no clue). A couple days later he found himself at the intimidating end of a massive conference table, pitching his dream to the very official Port of San Diego executives.
They gave it to the San Diego kid. Not sure if they ever imagined Fathom Bistro—the tiniest, mightiest craft beer and hot dog stand, filled with spear guns, ocean monster figures, and seafaring oddities—would still be there 13 years later, let alone be a local’s favorite. It’s the most San Diego place in the world. Borlek taught himself to make kimchi and puts it on his Explodo Dog. His friend Kevin, who played with him in a punk band, dresses as a pirate and works the door on weekends. Has done so for years.
And when Borlek stares out the window, he can see the sub base and the memories of his dad.
Later, a few beach towns over, I sat in an employee break area—a shaded back-alley alcove with grape vines that serves as an escape garden for the crew. The place used to be a taco shop. Owner Crystal White points to a window of a single bedroom behind the dough-mixing part of the kitchen. She lived there when she started, often finding herself on the roof at midnight, staring at a broken compressor, trying to will it into working.
A blue-collar kid who fell in love with bread, she moved to San Diego with a business plan and zero cash. Banks don’t loan money to bread dreamers. Fate, kismet, and door-knocking found her enough investors. In the weeks leading up to opening that dream—perfect croissants, kouign-amanns, sandwiches, pizzas, baguettes fermented with wild La Jolla yeasts—she was outside hammering and painting. Locals would pause to ask what she was putting into the spot. “A bakery!” she’d reply.
“Oh, we don’t need one of those,” they’d say. Eight years later, White has moved out of the bedroom, and Wayfarer Bread is one of the best bakeries in the land. I ask if she’ll ever open another location. “I grew up dirt poor,” she says. “This has surpassed even my wildest dreams. This is enough. Please make sure you mention Emma Koehler, K-O-E-H-L-E-R, my kitchen manager. She deserves the credit now.”
These are the people and the stories behind “Best Restaurants.” This issue is dedicated to them, the culture they’ve gritted into being. On the surface, the annual tradition—naming a list of “winners,” my favorite places and my honest answers to “who has the best taco/pizza/Thai…”—is a good-natured competition among friends. But the deeper point is that it’s a way to highlight hundreds of places that have risked it all to build a little magic across the city. Sure, some owners were born in the stars and used that dust to make more stars. But many or most restaurants started with a scrappy go-getter or two. And now those places are filled with dozens or hundreds of people who love the work, show up day in and day out, for years. People like Koehler and the ones we feature in our story, “Behind the Line”.
So please use this list as a beachhead. Try these places, email me ([email protected]) to say “thanks” or “you truly messed up.” Eat, drink, commune, say hello, get to know the stories of the people making your favorite food. Make your own list, and share it with us.
(Note: Fathom didn’t win anything, probably because there’s no category for “Best Hot Dog Craft Beer Stand on a Pier with a Pirate,” which is a shortcoming on our part. So I put him here because he should be a part of any conversation about best San Diego things.)
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.
Scripps study shows that some patients may be able to taper their dose and maintain results
While glucagon-like peptide-1 (GLP-1) receptor agents have been used to treat Type 2 diabetes for more than 20 years, their recent emergence as weight-loss wonder drugs marked a new frontier in medicine. But their effectiveness has left some patients wondering what to do once they’ve reached their goal. Stopping the medication could mean regaining some, if not all, of the weight. A Scripps Clinic internal medicine physician recently conducted a small study of whether GLP-1 patients who had reached their goal weight could maintain that weight by taking their regularly prescribed injection every other week instead of weekly. Spoiler alert: 30 of 34 patients did. Read more about the study here and what that may mean as pharmaceutical companies roll out oral GLP-1s.
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