It was already 10 in the morning before the coffee began to brew at our AirBnb in the Gaslamp Quarter. All throughout the night, I was reminded that we weren’t alone in San Diego, as the restaurants and bars below us bustled people in and out, taco after taco, as they enjoyed the newfound night community being built downtown. However, I wasn’t mad about it. I felt as though we were a part of something bigger as I looked out those windows and onto the cobblestone path flickering with streetlights and neon signs shouting OPEN at anyone who passed.
“Where should we go for breakfast?”
“I know just the place.”
Rolling into the lot at Point Break, I couldn’t wait to reunite with my hidden gem. The bubbly waitress who gave me all of the inside tips on San Diego my last visit was still here and she was just as I’d remembered her.
“Grab a seat anywhere ya like! I’ll be right ova.”
We slid out onto the patio, joined only by one other group who seemed to be having quite the morning already, as their empty Bloody Mary glasses lined the picnic table. One by one, they stammered off, looking for their Uber drivers, and I said a little prayer in my head for whoever’s car they ended up in.
“What can I get you?”
Seeing as the ultimate battle with breakfast is, and always has been, whether to do sweet or savory, we decided: Why not both?
“We’re gonna split the Denver Omelette, and the Stuffed Strawberry French Toast, aaaaaaaand….a mimosa pitcher.”
“Well alrighty!” our server exclaimed, looking rather impressed, but I wasn’t sure why that was until she brought out the pitcher. Sixty ounces. Sixty ounces! I suppose this is what might have happened to the last batch of picnickers out here. Our food seemed to come out just as quickly. The savory diced potatoes seemed to just melt in my mouth and the omelette was cooked to perfection. The French toast was the icing on the cake (literally and figuratively) as each bite made me feel like it was my birthday.
It wasn’t long before the patio began to fill back up. Two bubbly women on vacation from Seattle and a man they’d met the night before enjoyed their first course of breakfast.
“How’s everything tasting?”
“You forgot the English Muffin, but don’t worry about it because I’m going to order lunch, too.”
I’m not sure how she was planning on fitting lunch in as her breakfast seemed be to taking place at 1:00PM, but I had to respect the hustle.
“Have you been here before? You look familiar,” another local said to me, as I began to fall in love with his pug, Lola.
“I mean, I was here like once four months ago, but I didn’t even have a mimosa last time, so that’s an impressive memory.”
Shelter Island Shoreline Park
Emptying the last contents of our pitcher, we said a bittersweet goodbye to Lola the pug and made our way to the pier. There weren’t any fisherman throwing their massive catches on the dock this time, but I suppose it was a bit late in the day to expect any action other than brunchers and sun tanners. A scoop of pelicans flew overhead, on a similar mission, as they scanned the coastline for fish.
I think what I love most about San Diego is that the people here are all living to live. They don’t seem as stressed about their Instagram captions or their LinkedIn profiles because they’re too focused on enjoying the present: The Sunday brunch on the patio, the pink waves rolling over Sunset Cliffs and the creamy coffee bean ice cream in La Jolla Cove. I think maybe everyone should be more present. I think maybe everyone should be more San Diego.