Join us for an only-in-San Diego weekend of bar hopping, culinary delights, nude beaches and a variety of other unique experiences.
FRIDAY
It’s 67 degrees and sunny and I’m sitting in a large parking lot (also known as rush hour) on the 805 freeway. The surrounding hillside is blanketed in vivid yellow wildflowers, the fruits of a second year in a row of above average Southern California rainfall. It’s a stunning panorama, but all I can do is gaze listlessly at the grey Infiniti in front of me. That is until I notice that scrawled across its rear windshield in bold, black lettering is the phrase, “I eat ass.” I perk up instantly. Should I follow this vehicle, or at least pull up alongside it and see who the driver is, or continue onward to happy hour at the hotel? Alas, I have only 48 hours of sunny good times ahead of me, so I stick to my schedule and choose the latter.
I love San Diego. I lived here briefly more than 20 years ago and back in those days even locals would derisively refer to the city as Bland Diego. I used to joke that in developing San Diego early settlers got about halfway into building the perfect city and then put their tools down went to the beach instead. But what a difference a couple decades makes. Though hit hard by the pandemic, downtown’s Gaslamp District has been revitalized by new bars, shops, and restaurants and Petco Park has only added to its allure. Meanwhile, Little Italy is sometimes referred to as Top Chef Alley thanks to its numerous buzzy restaurants while North Park (my old ‘hood) has become a craft brewery mecca. This is where I go first.
The coffee kiosk at The Lafaytte Hotel and Club (2223 El Cajon Blvd. Tel. 619-637-3104. LafayetteHotelSD.com) in North Park doubles as the check-in desk and it’s here I am greeted by a cutie whose immaculately trimmed beard and single earring dangling from his right lobe offers clues to his sexual orientation. He points out the hotel features, including basement supper club Lou Lou’s Jungle Room, round-the-clock eatery Beginner’s Diner, Mexican restaurant Quixote, and bowling alley and playroom The Gutter. It’s a lot to take in, and what I need most right now is a cocktail from Lobby Bar.
Bartender Pouring a Sazerac Cocktail (Photo by Maksym Fesenko)
“We’re cooking,” says the bartender as I order a Sazerac, and he’s not joking. Happy hour offers a packed room full of hotel guests and locals rubbing shoulders in anticipation of the weekend ahead and tossing back tipples from Lobby Bar’s enticing drink menu. The Lafayette Hotel is the hottest place in San Diego right now thanks to a $31 million dollar renovation from Consortium Group whose portfolio of popular bars and restaurants around town includes buzzworthy places like chic cocktail den Raised by Wolves, tiki bar False Idol, and Chinese American restaurant Fortunate Son, among others.
Like many Consortium Group projects, The Lafayette Hotel melds together seminal interior design styles from the 20th century like Art Deco and Hollywood Regency and tosses on top of them fringe and floral and outrageous animal prints with reckless abandon. The result is a razzle dazzle kaleidoscope effect. Everywhere I turn the visuals are stunning.
I retreat to the terrace overlooking the junior Olympic swimming pool which was designed by pro swimmer Johnny Weissmuller for its 1946 opening (Bob Hope was the hotel’s first guest and numerous celebs soon followed suit). Unfortunately, the clouds have returned, and cold air now surrounds the place. Poolside, there isn’t much action aside from a gaggle of bachelorettes snapping groupies with their iPhones (each one possess- es the same slender builds as the surrounding palm trees). A tall gay guy approaches me.
“I should’ve gotten what you’re drinking instead of this negroni,” he says peering right inside my glass. “I don’t like the single giant cube because I keep hitting my nose on it.” He emphasizes the point by bobbing his head into the glass like one of those dippy birds used in science class. His smaller, bald partner is likewise unhappy. “A mink in May!” he bellows, drawing my attention to his full-length black fur. He looks like a Bond villain. I am amused by this couple and wonder briefly if they were the ones driving the “I eat ass” car.
Though the Lafayette is the talk of the town right now, it sits just a few blocks away from another lodging I like. The Berkshire Motel (2502 El Cajon Blvd. Tel. 619-297-4681. BerkshireMotorHotel.com) is a clean and comfy revamped motor lodge and a solid option for budget travelers on the move. I’ve stayed at the Berkshire in a pinch many times (though it’s worth making reservations in advance). Both hotels are on the sleepier side of North Park, a neighborhood also famous for craftsman bungalows. These days it’s a bona fide nightlife hangout and longtime home to queer bars like Pecs and the San Diego Eagle.
I rush from drinks at The Lafayette to dinner down the street at Finca (3066 North Park Way. Tel. 619-202-3564. Finca.Wine) where I meet my longtime friends Alan and William. Our server is Victor and he’s adorable. “I’m giving all my attention to you,” he says before spinning a tale of his nomadic upbringing and the circumstances that eventually led him to San Diego. He persuades us to purchase an unnecessarily expensive bottle of wine and leaves us be while we parse through the menu. Finca offers a fresh spin on traditional Spanish tapas with mixed results. We all agree the XL duck confit croquette with a cherry mustard dipping sauce and strawberry tres leches are both big hits, while a sweet-savory cinnamon bun is a clunker. The place is packed.
Afterward we head to Hillcrest, the city’s charming gayborhood, and to a locally loved queer bar overlooked by most visitors called Number One Fifth Ave (3845 Fifth Ave. Tel. 619-299-1911. NumberOneFifth.com). It’s nestled in a charming part of Hillcrest right near the intersection of Fifth and University Aves and it boasts a busy back patio as well as a neon sign that reads: You are number one. I know the bartender because he previously recognized me from my Instagram feed. Tonight he once again proffers a hook up, but I’m sleepy after such a long day so it’s not going to happen (at least not tonight).
SATURDAY
In the morning, I rise, shine, and join the line. Little Italy has emerged in the last 20 years as one of San Diego’s most happening ‘hoods thanks to its ascendant food scene. It also sits right in the flight path for aircraft descending into San Diego International Airport. The persistent rattle reminds me of the first few seconds of “Back in the USSR” from the White Album. The queue I join is for Morning Glory (550 W Date St, 2nd floor. Tel, 619-629-0302. MorningGloryBreakfast.com), a chic upstairs breakfast spot that is wildly popular and another Consortium Group restaurant. When I arrive at 7: 30 A.M. I am 7th in line. Twenty minutes later it’s at least 50 people deep.
I sit at the bar and order a strong cup of Irish coffee. It’s my first time here I tell the bartender who is dressed in seersucker and has the pep of a Disney Mouseketeer. “You and everyone else,” she says handing me a trifold menu that offers a daunting display of breakfast items like a lobster benny and steak and eggs, both of which can be augmented with up-market toppings like smoked trout roe and California sturgeon caviar.
Lobster Benny (Photo by Sheila D Grant)
I settle on Turkish eggs, a poached duo that puddle up on my plate like the aftermath of an eggy downpour and come with Greek yogurt, roasted tomatoes, chili garlic, and toasted Levain bread for dipping. I stuff myself to the point of bursting, but when the dim sum breakfast cart rolls around I some- how manage room for a slice of maple candied bacon with jalapeño (delicious!) and a single dumpling stuffed with sausage and gravy and topped with the same sprinkles that accompany an everything bagel (not delicious!).
Morning Glory is unabashedly pink, making it the perfect restaurant of choice for Barbie. (Weird Barbie would LOVE this place). The color scheme also makes me think the restaurant must be a gay fave, but alas I’m the only homosexual awake at this hour.
I walk off breakfast in Barrio Logan, a Latino-majority neighborhood south of downtown that resides in the shadow of the Coronado Bridge. At the intersection of Cesar Chavez and Logan Parkway is Chicano Park, home to the largest and arguably most exciting outdoor mural project in the country. The concrete pillars hoisting the bridge have been painted and colorfully depict different aspects of Chicano heritage and Mesoamerican mythology, including nods to figures like Frida Kahlo and Pancho Villa. Down the street, the lines for no-frills Mexican joint Las Cuatro Milpas (1857 Logan Ave. Tel. 619-234-4460. las-cuatro-milpas.com), which has served San Diegans since 1933, reaches almost a city block.
Balboa Park (Photo by Iv Olga)
This glorious spring morning continues in Balboa Park, the lungs of San Diego and one of the country’s most enticing urban parks. I park my car in front of a group of yogis twisting themselves into a triangle pose and stretching their hands skyward in perfect unison. Next, I pass a bowling green where the city’s ubiquitous lawn bowlers jostle for first place while dressed in crisp white duds. In the distance, gondolas haul tired visitors from one side of San Diego Zoo to the other. And of course, there are shirtless runners everywhere—a sight that makes me drool like I’m part of some Pavlovian experiment. Everyone is here today.
I follow the masses strolling El Prado, the pedestrian-friendly road that crosses the Cabrillo Bridge and into the park where more than a dozen museums, better known for their Spanish Colonial facades than their actual collections, await. The iconic Botanical Building (1550 El Prado. Tel. 619-239-0512. BalboaPark.org) is closed for renovations, but even when shrouded by scaffolding it’s a sight to behold. When I lived in San Diego I would visit often and be lulled by the perfumed scent of tropical flora. The San Diego Natural History Museum (1788 El Prado. Tel: 619-232-3821. BalboaPark.org), meanwhile, delivers a journey through a prehistoric Southern California complete with dinosaur replicas and ancient fossil bones; at MoPA, the Museum of Photographic Arts at The San Diego Museum of Art (1649 El Prado. Tel: 619-238-7559. mopa.org), I enjoy the stunning portraits from Chemehuevi tribe photographer Cara Romero (cararomero.com); and after crossing over Park Blvd, I enjoy the Inez Grant Parker Memorial Rose Garden in all its stunning spring glory.
Fountain and San Diego Natural History Museum (Photo by Andrew Zarivny)
I tuck my picnic blanket, red bikini swimsuit and SPF 50 sunscreen back into my “Big Daddy” wicker beach bag and beeline it back to Los Angeles. It was a perfect weekend. And that’s my favorite thing about San Diego—almost all of them are.
Afterward, I decide to beat the heat with a trip to Normal Heights, one of the city’s many charming neighborhoods, where I park in front of a Dolly Parton mural (always a good sign) and head to An’s Dry Cleaning—a former cleaners turned ice cream shop—(3017 Adams Ave. Tel. 619-450-6166. ADCgelato.com) for a sweet treat, where I am greeted by cute worker Marco who talks me through each offering. “Whisper Satin is like a bougie cereal at Kris Jenner’s house,” he explains. Other flavors include Vicana Wool (goat cheese, apricot and saffron) and Canvas (olive oil and rosemary). I hover over an ironing board and enjoy my scoops.
One power nap later and I’m strolling the San Diego waterfront en route to an early dinner. San Diego is easy on the eyes, and its vista-filled embarcadero offers clues to why visitors like me find the city so irresistible. Along my route I stroll past the monstrous USS Midway Museum (910 N Harbor Dr. Tel. 619-544-9600. Midway.org), a historic naval ship housing aircraft built in Southern California. I also see assorted kiosks peddling everything from coffee to henna tattoos to knockoff Panamanian hats, and a downtown outpost of Carnitas Snack Shack (1004 N Harbor Dr. Tel. 619-696-7675. CarnitasSnackShack.com), a tasty fast casual restaurant whose Triple Threat Sandwich (schnitzel, pulled pork, and bacon) is the best reason to risk a cardiac event. Annoying everyone within earshot is a proselytizing religious nut bellowing “If you want to see what sin is like, drive 2.5 hours north to Los Angeles!” Two and half hours…yeah, maybe on a good day.
I have to pull strings to get a reservation at Animae (969 Pacific Hwy. Tel. 619-432-1225), and by pull strings I mean beg my San Diego Instagram crush whose friend works there to nab me a seat at the bar. Over the course of two hours his bartender friend steers me in the direction of the best dining experiences I’ve had in a long time, starting with an opulent interior fit for a queen—any queen. The ceilings are high, the muted drapery thick and well hung, and the olive banquettes plush and inviting. Art Deco touches abound. Servers, meanwhile, wear black and white collard aprons and look like chic clergy.
Taiwanese Fried Chicken (Photo by Maksym Fesenko)
The entire bar staff are women, and over the course of two hours deliver one outstanding course after another. “This is the best fried chicken I’ve ever tasted and I’m from Georgia,” says one bartender handing me the perfectly plated Taiwanese chicken. She’s not wrong. This is easily the best thing I’ve put in my mouth all year (and I just got back from Puerto Vallarta!). There are also crispy pig ears, cold cucumbers in a sauce that’s downright drinkable, and a coal-roasted cabbage in a brown butter miso that no joke makes my heart skip a beat. A chocolate cremeux offers a fitting end to the best meal I’ve had in a while.
My bar night begins in North Park where I find a parking spot right in front of Mabel’s Gone Fishing (3770 30th St. Tel, 619-228-9851. MabelsGoneFishing.com), a bodega and neighborhood eatery specializing in seafood that I dined at during a 2023 visit and would gladly do so again. Though I’m not sure Mabel would approve of where I’m heading tonight.
At the San Diego Eagle (3040 North Park Way. Tel. 619-295-8072. SanDiegoEagle.com) half the room has already stripped down to their underwear. “You’re gonna get me drunk,” I say to the bartender as empties the last few drops from a bottle of Absolut into my pint glass. He grins. I have a feeling that’s the plan.
I quickly make friends with several guys who I refer to in conversation by their choice of undies. For example, there’s a neuroscientist from Seattle I’ve dubbed Calvin Klein, a software engineer from Orange County I call Pride jock, and a social worker who lives in the gayborhood who I refer to as Cell Block. “What does TOF stand for,” asks Calvin as he traces his finger along the waistband of my stringless thong.
My eyes, however, are on a tall and lanky otter wearing a lace-up jockstrap who sees me looking his way and effortlessly strikes up a conversation. “Normally I like a little bush,” he says pulling his waistband down in front to show me how buzzed he is down there, “but I just feel so much sexier when it’s trim.” The host of the midnight underwear contest, meanwhile, tries to tempt me into joining the pageant. I offer him a no thank you knowing full well that it would be fun to win the $100 cash first prize.
I have a “Sophie’s Choice” moment in deciding between where to go next. Pecs Bar (2046 University Ave. Tel. 619-296-0889. PecsBar.com) and Flicks (1017 University Ave. Tel, 619-297-2056. SDFlicks.com) both offer casual places to have a drink with your crew, but I’m vibeing harder on the saloon-like atmosphere at Pecs, so that’s where I end up. Pecs boasts stiff drinks, a pool table, and a back patio where it seems like everyone is competing to puff the biggest cloud of smoke. But by the time of my arrival folks have mostly disappeared into the night so it ends up a short visit.
SUNDAY
My bags are packed, but my stomach is empty. Bica (3569 Adams Ave. Tel. 619-750-0121. Bica-SD.com), which means “little café” in Portuguese, hands Normal Heights yet another neighborhood gem. The counter service restaurant with outdoor-patio only seating abounds in Cal-fresh seasonal fare like ricotta toast with a homemade fruit compote and poached eggs with pickled shallots and chile oil. It’s a beach day for me so I keep it light, but there’s no doubt the kitchen at this little community café is cranking out winners.
Tucked away below the sprawling University of California San Diego campus and near the Torrey Pines Glider Port is Blacks Beach. Often referred to as the most famous nude beach in the world, Blacks is chopped up into three parts. including a gay nude section, a straight nude section, and a clothed section boasting an oft-missed attraction: an abandoned “mushroom home” nestled in the cliffs and accessible only via a defunct funicular. On a gorgeous day like this one, the gay section boasts hundreds of queer cuties.
Mushroom House on Black’s Beach (Photo by Sean Pavone)
Blacks is a slice of Southern California paradise (though the hike from the parking lot to the beach should not be attempted without sturdy shoes and good knees) and I always get to the beach early because I love watching the day unfold. Solo trekkers and some couples, for example, often arrive before noon to soak up the rays in solace while groups of gays mosey down in the early afternoon bringing with them noise levels at odds with the gentle sound of lapping ocean waves. Most people go nude eventually, though it takes some a few drinks to muster up enough liquid courage, and these days folks only tiptoe into the water thanks to the ubiquitous presence of sting rays (I’ve been stung twice). By around 4 P.M., zombie herds of naked gay men make a beeline for the cruising area to dust up their knees. Few stay past 6 P.M., but make no mistake the magic hour at Blacks is a sublime event.
As for me, I tuck my picnic blanket, towel, red bikini swimsuit and SPF 50 sunscreen back into my “Big Daddy” wicker beach bag and beeline it back to Los Angeles. It was a perfect weekend. And that’s my favorite thing about San Diego—almost all of them are.
