It\u2019s dinnertime. What\u2019s a local to do? We\u2019re lucky in this town to have multiple options on every block. We\u2019re glutted, too, on ways to navigate them: the endless lists and listicles, Michelin Guides, Instagram influencers and anti-influencers, anonymous Substack truth-tellers.<\/p>\n
And here I am, adding to it all. Two-plus years into my tenure as New York\u2019s chief restaurant critic, I\u2019ve revisited old favorites and stuffed myself at new ones to put together the first edition of my personal guide to the best restaurants in New York. Why? Because for all the star-giving and mapmaking of the other lists, most of them leave me pretty cold.<\/p>\n
The best restaurants in New York are not the places that cater to foodie tourists and billionaire gastronomes \u2014 not necessarily and certainly not exclusively. They\u2019re the ones that balance quality, utility, and ambience in a way that makes them places to go once or go often with an acknowledgment that sometimes it\u2019s your anniversary and you need to ball out, and sometimes it\u2019s just another Wednesday. These are places that insist upon culinary excellence, but not at the expense of diminishing the scene. They respect, admire, and exalt the work of the chef without trapping diners in the stultifying thrall of a \u201cvision.\u201d They are restaurants where someone can actually, usually, get in (which is why some otherwise-excellent places, love them as I may, are not present here). These aren\u2019t museums or mausoleums. They have a real attachment to the diner; they\u2019re doing everything for you.<\/p>\n
That\u2019s how I approach my job every day: I may be the restaurant critic, but that\u2019s a bit highfalutin, even for me. Really, I\u2019m the designated diner and I hope this list is, above all else, useful for anyone who references it. This isn\u2019t a list of new restaurants (that would be our Best New Restaurants of 2025<\/a>, assembled with my colleagues), and there are several new places that I think can and will be added here if they\u2019re as good in six months as they are now, once the glow of opening has worn off.<\/p>\n I plan to update this list frequently, so expect places to cycle in and out, just as they do in the real world. I hope you bookmark it and come back to it. I hope you argue about it, with me and with each other (something tells me, having browsed a couple Reddit pages, that you will). And even more than that, I hope you order the special and the wine by the bottle and tip generously. Praise the kitchen and send your plates back clean.<\/p>\n A Manhattan landmark, buffed and polished back to greatness. Lee Hanson and Riad Nasr learned their haute-cuisine chops at Daniel<\/a>, then set the standard for the semi-sauvage brasserie at Balthazar in the nineties, and since striking out on their own \u2014 with their capable third, the natural-wine prophet Jorge Riera \u2014 have had hits at Frenchette<\/a>, Le Rock<\/a>, and the brand-new Wild Cherry<\/a>. But no restaurant showcases their particular balance of finesse and lusty plush like Le Veau d\u2019Or, a rare example of historical homage done absolutely right. Served \u201ctable d\u2019h\u00f4te\u201d style dinner at LVD will set you back $135 these days. Spend it right \u2014 a good rule of thumb is to order anything that would seem more at home in the court of a French king,\u00a0like the best frogs\u2019 legs in town or rosy magret of duck with cherries \u2014 and you\u2019d happily fork over twice the price. Or play hooky and go for lunch, when you\u2019re more likely to find an open seat, and where two courses runs for $85. It all but requires you to blow off the rest of the afternoon. 129 E. 60th St.; lvdnyc.com<\/a><\/p>\n There\u2019s just something about Ann Redding and Matt Danzer\u2019s multicolored, slightly chaotic all-day diner that holds up, even in the midst of an undeniable citywide Thai boom<\/a>. (Soothr<\/a>, Sappe<\/a>, Sukh<\/a>, Bangkok Supper Club<\/a>: any of these could easily have wound up on this list, and may still in the future.) This Nolita spot simply has it: the spice, the flavor, the variety, and a healthy dose of heresy. You can get your lettuce wraps and crab fried rice and som tum and better-than-takeout phat Thai and phat see ew; also Thai disco fries. I\u2019m not proud of it, but that half-sogged platter of French fries, massaman curry, and coconut cream, brightened with pickled green peppercorns, is the one I always lick clean. 186 Mott St.; thaidiner.com<\/a><\/p>\n Accolades pile onto accolades for Semma, and the plaudits are earned. Under chef Vijay Kumar, it is the finest restaurant within the Unapologetic Foods<\/a> empire, a win in a very competitive race. The triangular potato-filled gunpowder dosa (named for the spice-and-lentil mix that gives it its kick) is justly famous, the Goanese oxtail curry zippy with cardamom and cilantro, but the dish that sticks in my mind is a recipe of miniature snails fiery with ginger and tamarind, served with a few fluffy, blinilike dosa. On a night I finally managed to talk my way into a solo seat, Google CEO Sundar Pichai\u2019s security arrived just after me, to pre-screen for the boss\u2019s arrival. 60 Greenwich Ave.; semma.nyc<\/a><\/p>\n I\u2019m not sure if Sandro\u2019s is a great restaurant, as Gael Greene and Mimi Sheraton were proclaiming in the 1980s, but it\u2019s a perfect one: warm, neighborhoody, and ready to offer, unbidden, homemade grissini. The food hasn\u2019t kept up with the times and doesn\u2019t need to: Amatriciana is smoky and admirably al dente, and a costoletta di citello is like a hot, salty veal potato chip, served with a tangle of arugula and, in the Italian style, a fried bone. On a recent night, one of Sandro\u2019s kids was greeting regulars in Italian, but the atmosphere remained relaxed enough that a guy holding court in a Jets jersey was perfectly of the place. 322 E. 86th St.; sandrosrestaurant.com<\/a><\/p>\n The Modern waxes and wanes in food snobs\u2019 fields of vision, though I\u2019ve never seen the dining room or the adjoining barroom less than healthily full. While semi-professional clout diners can be distracted by newer, shinier objects, members of the Modern\u2019s well-heeled clientele make their reservations with unbothered relief. Lucky them. Thomas Allan\u2019s tasting menu is still executing at a high level, and the main dining room still provides unparalleled scenery (it overlooks the MoMA\u2019s Philip Johnson\u2013designed Abby Aldrich Rockefeller Sculpture Garden). This is a worthy special-occasion destination. My discerning mother-in-law cooed over a kind of trompe l\u2019oeil lobster claw \u2014 scallops, draped in thin slices of kohlrabi and dusted with a mix of raspberry powder and espelette pepper. Roasted monkfish served with lemon-thyme sabayon, lobster bisque, and a scattering of perfect pumpkin dumplings gave me flutters. (In the more casual bar, kitschy fried chicken is Instagram bait of the highest order and, at $27, something of a bargain.) 9 W. 53rd St.; themodernnyc.com<\/a><\/p>\n A preferred dim sum banquet hall is a required proof of residence in this city. There are fine options in Manhattan Chinatown and Sunset Park Chinatown (try East Harbor<\/a>), but Asian Jewels in Flushing is my palace of choice. Convention sized with an enormous LED screen beaming over the dining room \u2014 you don\u2019t want to eat shumai beneath an enormous image of a a gull-winged Pagani roadster? \u2014 Asian Jewels hits the dim sum pleasure centers. The place is an established classic enough to be easily navigated in either English or Cantonese, and while the waits can be long at prime times (late mornings on the weekend), I\u2019ve never had to cool my heels too long. Carts maneuver around tight corners, their drivers hawking har gow and chicken feet. Turnip cakes, rice rolls (which can be filled, I learned on my last visit, with fried dough), shimmering little bowls of slippery tripe, classics all. Real durian is used in the durian puffs that end the meal. 133-30 39th Ave., Flushing; asianjewelsny.com<\/a><\/p>\n Chef Maxime Pradi\u00e9 has Gallic blood and a New York heart: He spent summers in the south of France, learning to cook at his grandmother\u2019s stove, then trundled back in the fall to Brooklyn\u2019s Poly Prep. Is that why this 37-seat French spot he runs with co-owner Jenni Guizio feels like the village restaurant you\u2019d stumble into en vacances and brag about at home ever after? Pradi\u00e9 is a kind of country cousin to more urbane French chefs around town, though his foie-gras flecked artichoke soup would be equally at home at the fussiest fine-dining palaces. I\u2019ve called his style \u201cauberge cooking,\u201d<\/a> the cuisine of a country innkeeper, ethereal and rib-sticking at once. Guizio\u2019s wine list (overseen by Cory Holt) goes deep on the often-neglected appellations of the South of France and the Pays d\u2019Oc, and meals have only gotten better since pastry chef Clodagh Manning took over dessert. 72 Bedford St.; zimmisnyc.com<\/a><\/p>\n The machers go to Daniel Rose\u2019s expense-account-required Le Coucou<\/a> for quenelles de brochet and c\u00f4tes de veau; I\u202fprefer his wife Marie-Aude Rose\u2019s La Mercerie nearby. Housed in the high-end Roman & Williams Guild<\/a> store \u2014 gorgeously appointed, atmospherically dreamy, and fully shoppable, it\u2019s like an American Girl Doll Caf\u00e9 for renovation-minded adults \u2014 La Mercerie could easily have gone long on ambience and forgotten the food. It doesn\u2019t. Chef Helo\u00efse Fischbach is now in the kitchen, but Rose remains involved as well, even as original developer Stephen Starr recently announced he was parting ways with the restaurant. Here\u2019s hoping it stays exactly as-is. The pastry is fully up to Parisian standards, the all-French wine list interesting and not punishing. I\u202fdefy anyone to find a better bouillabaisse in a sofa shop. 53 Howard St.; lamercerieny.com<\/a><\/p>\n Many excellent new Indian spots focus on the country\u2019s south. Angel \u2014 which opened in 2019 in a takeout shop and moved to a bigger space this year \u2014 heads north to Punjab where chef Amrit Pal Singh was born. Saag paneer is soft crumbling clouds of fresh cheese in rich brown gravy strewn with actual greens, not a puree. Vegetarian dum biryani steams under its spiced dome of stretchy, crunchy bread. I loved an appetizer of tender lamb chops spackled with ginger paste, but I could have easily done without them: Much of the menu is vegetarian (and all halal), a rare one where meat wouldn\u2019t be missed. 75-18 37th Ave., Jackson Heights; angelindianrestaurant.com <\/a><\/p>\n The space that once hosted Ko should, by all rights, be haunted: a dark, down-an-alleyway pocket dinged by the diminution of the Momofuku brand. It\u2019s a credit to chef Paul Carmichael that Kabawa is both indispensable and joyful. Actually two restaurants in one \u2014 Bar Kabawa<\/a>, next door, is a full-service spot with its own menu of flaky patties and small plates \u2014 the Kabawa dyad is turning out wonderful Pan-Caribbean cuisine with a smile on its face. \u201cLove yuh self. Eat yuh guts full,\u201d the menu instructs. The road to self-actualization is paved with frilled, Puerto Rican\u2013style chuletas can can, cassava dumplings, plantains, and jerk sausage. I\u2019m a believer. 8 Extra Pl.; kabawa.com<\/a><\/p>\n Andrew Tarlow helped to codify what we call Brooklyn cuisine at spots such as Diner<\/a> and Marlow & Daughters<\/a>. Surprise: His best restaurant is in Manhattan. Selling out is the cardinal Gen-X sin, but it\u2019s impossible to find fault here. The dining rooms glow, the din is south of deafening, the tables are spaced far apart, and the food? The ever-evolving menu cherry-picks from various Italian regions and foodways (Milanese vitello tonnato, Roman puntarelle), with gooey, cheese-pulling focaccia and wood-fired mains like fennel sausage with lentils that have become mainstays. If you see glazed sweetbreads, order them. Likewise whatever bottle wine director Lee Campbell recommends. 124 E. 27th St.; borgonyc.com<\/a><\/p>\n 4H, as it\u2019s known, set the template for wine bars with serious cooking, and even as it became hugely popular, it never deviated from its modest mission. The wine list remains excellent and esoteric, even after the death of its founding guru, Justin Chearno, and chef Nick Curtola\u2019s small plates with Spanish, Italian, Asian influences still have the power to surprise more than ten years on. Wagyu tartare with fermented peppercorns that pop when you bite into them, like capers, silky with egg yolk, with crunchy fried beef tendon on top. A perfect square of fried Spanish mackerel with aioli and ponzu, a perfect complement to an unfortified Spanish palomino by the glass. 295 Grand St., Williamsburg; fourhorsemenbk.com<\/a><\/p>\n The wait can be an hour long even on a rainy, random Monday: proof that the locals haven\u2019t abandoned this Astoria original. Sure, an East Village location has come and gone (Bayside remains), but the Greeks I know agree. This is as close an approximation of an island taverna as you\u2019re likely to find in the boroughs. Whole fish, grilled to sooty blackness and tender oil-soaked richness as they are at any chora, is as good as you\u2019ll find at the five-star Greek Republican fat-cat restaurants of Manhattan, and the lemon potatoes are as bright as Yiayia\u2019s. 36-01 Ditmars Blvd., Astoria; tavernakyclades.com<\/a><\/p>\n Though farmers\u2019-market fetishism gets old fast \u2014 it\u2019s so\u2026 California \u2014 I\u2019ll endure a leaf-by-leaf exegesis at Cafe Mado. Head chef Daniel Martignon follows the paths suggested by his growers and foragers with the monomaniacal devotion of a bloodhound. Even the mixed salad, a throwaway anywhere else, is a kind of fabulous potpourri that\u2019s always changing with the microseasons. To the kitchen\u2019s credit, they dig in when they\u2019ve got a winner. Pork ribs with fermented honey that delighted me when I visited last year are still on the menu, even if their accouterments have changed with the season. They now come with currants and something called shagbark. Don\u2019t ask me. I just market here. 791 Washington Ave., Prospect Heights; cafemadonyc.com<\/a><\/p>\n This group\u2019s various restaurants \u2014 Hart\u2019s<\/a>, the Fly<\/a>, Eel Bar<\/a> \u2014 have their own time and place, but Cervo\u2019s remains my overall favorite. Inspired by the coastal cuisines of Portugal and Spain (\u201cCervo\u2019s Is a Seafood Restaurant,\u201d as its merch has it), but not beholden to them, it has the feel of a glamorous seafaring vessel: Its narrow, wood-paneled galley always makes me feel like a stowaway on Katherine Anne Porter\u2019s Ship of Fools. Mussels escabeche, whenever they appear, are a must; seabream grilled a la plancha\u2019s a safe bet too. The gamy Hart\u2019s lamb burger is a mainstay here (I prefer mine without the add-on anchovies), and the restaurant\u2019s Spanish insistence on the universal applicability of vermouth is to be commended. 43 Canal St.; cervosnyc.com<\/a><\/p>\n It\u2019s an article of faith with me that New York must have 24-hour spots. Julian Medina\u2019s Pan-Latin diner is a true all-nighter. There\u2019s breakfast all day (and all night), booze-sopping mains (fried chicken, ropa vieja), along with empanadas and hot sandwiches. I prefer the classic empanadas to the oxtail, and the lesser-known Medianoche sandwich (roast pork, ham, Swiss, pickles and garlic mojo on brioche) to the canonical Cubano, but in the vicinity of dawn, there are no bad choices. 207 W. 14th St.; ilovecoppelia.com<\/a><\/p>\n If you\u2019re going to leave your corporate job and dedicate yourself to wontons, they better be damn good wontons. Maxi Lau\u2019s are. Filled to nearly bursting with big meaty hunks of tender shrimp and just enough pork to keep things interesting (a 90-10 mix, Lau says), they\u2019re among the best bargains in New York \u2014 something the city\u2019s many purveyors of $30 shrimp cocktail might like to keep in mind. Hong Kong-style noodle soup is the thing here, with broth so lip-smackingly rich with pork bones that it\u2019ll smooth your lips. With an optional thatch of duck-egg noodles on top, a meal comes in at under $20, including a very generous tip. Multiple locations; maxisnoodle.com<\/a><\/p>\n Jungsik Yim\u2019s white-tablecloth ode to the cooking of his homeland has big shoes to fill \u2014 the space once belonged to David and Karen Waltuck\u2019s legendary Chanterelle \u2014 but it struts them just fine. Opened in 2011, Jungsik\u2019s been nudged from the spotlight a bit by hungry young competitors, most notably JP and Ellia Park\u2019s Atomix<\/a>. No disrespect to that acclaimed spot, but it\u2019s become such a headache to book that it makes Jungsik (where JP once worked<\/a>) seem like a revelation. I\u202fespecially like that, in addition to the $325-a-head tasting menu, Yim offers \u00e0 la carte at the bar. A spread of banchan is a must (on a recent visit, pudding-soft tofu, a jet-black rice ball with shrimp and squid, a foie-and-Asian-pear-g\u00eal\u00e9e tart), and I enjoyed a delicate black cod quietly inflamed by a bed of minced shishitos. 2 Harrison St.; jungsik.com<\/a><\/p>\n Twenty-six years on (and counting), Donna Lennard\u2019s Il Buco has spawned satellites, but none quite compare to the original. The inspiration is Umbria, and while the menu often incorporates touches from other European cuisines, the d\u00e9cor is all Italian farmhouse and the better for it. Farm tables, hanging copper pans, menacing mezzalune: Makes sense that Lennard was formerly a filmmaker. Her former partner, Alberto Avalle, has moved back to Italy, and it\u2019s possible a touch of the authentic Italian excellence has gone with him, but the vibes, my God, the vibes. At night, it\u2019s dark enough to fuck in here, and hey, you never know. 47 Bond St.; ilbuco.com <\/a><\/p>\n All the classics, mezedes to pitas, are good at this growing chainlet from the same people who run Ayat<\/a> in Bay Ridge, but the family-size six-layer fattats of roast chicken, rice, chickpeas, yogurt, pita, garlic, and almond are out of this world \u2014 and joyfully enormous. I\u2019ve taken my leftovers home\u00a0and eaten for days, happily. Multiple locations; albadawinyc.com<\/a><\/p>\n Rich Torrisi\u2019s love letter to the city has undeniably become a parody of itself: The crush of customers feels like a Disney World version of Manhattan\u2019s most popular restaurant. To its credit, the restaurant remains incontrovertibly excellent, with all the service but less of the staginess of Carbone<\/a>. Neat trick! Greaseless zeppole with pineapple mostarda and Kentucky ham: Hawaiian pizza in its final form. Octopus Nha Trang, with sweet, spicy fish-sauce-and-soy and Tropea onion is fabulous. Among the pastas, the most boring, tortellini pomodoro, is also the most excellent: soft, desserty sheep\u2019s milk ricotta and basil-kissed cherry tomato sauce that tastes not just of tomato but of cherry tomato. A new addition, medium-rare slices of skirt marinated in soy with housemade oyster sauce and Chinese broccoli: Takeout doesn\u2019t compare. Duck Mulberry, two-week aged, scattered with orange zest, was a lily gilded with sticky mulberry mostarda. Even the affogato is as good as everyone says: espresso shaved ice, vanilla ice cream, mascarpone, fudge. The coffee\u2019s decaf so it won\u2019t keep you up. They think of everything. 275 Mulberry St.; torrisinyc.com<\/a><\/p>\n Karina Garcia and Eduardo Rodriguez previously ran a supper club from their apartment. Their Hamilton Heights restaurant features an upright piano in one corner, walls painted cheer-up-your-rental yellow, and books scattered around. But Garcia\u2019s cooking, based in part on recipes from Rodriguez\u2019s grandmother, are not potluck stuff. Red jalape\u00f1o peppers stuffed with tuna stewed with tomato and onion. Duck confit blanketed in rich chocolate mole, almost too smoky. How many chefs out there can make branzino a revelation? Garcia can: a thin plank of fish shimmering on a pile of plantain pur\u00e9e and a sweet-tart-spicy sauce of haba\u00f1ero and preserved lemon. 130 Hamilton Pl.; cocinaconsuelonyc.com<\/a><\/p>\n Neither undersubscribed nor unknown, I Sodi nevertheless lives in the shadow of Via Carota<\/a>. The recent move to bigger digs dinged the Tuscan-garret charm of Rita Sodi\u2019s original slightly (and hasn\u2019t made the fight for a table that much easier), but the food remains bulletproof. Tagliatelle with a cucina povera sauce of caramelized onion and Parmesan is sweet, bitter, and barny, arriving steaming and glossy as so few pastas do. The lasagna triumphs over anyone else\u2019s. 31 Bleecker St.; isodinyc.com<\/a><\/p>\n Ali Saboor cooked at Sofreh<\/a> before decamping to a lonely stretch of Bushwick, where deli-meat trucks park in a chain-link lot across the street. It\u2019s worth the trip, and it makes you wonder why there isn\u2019t a Persian restaurant on every third corner. A briochelike round of komaj, flavored with cumin, fought and barely won the contest for \u201cfavorite bread\u201d against the stretchier, crustier oval-shaped barbari with sesame and nigella seeds. Brochette kebabs of beef are richly gamy but not overwhelmingly so, and tahdig \u2014 topped with hash-brown-style potato shreds in a hoisinish salted plum sauce \u2014 is predictably (and necessarily) excellent. After a certain point, my notebook just becomes a list of hits with check marks beside them. \u201cSea bass with frizzled onions and tamarind.\u201d \u201cNeed to come back for lamb ribs and dates.\u201d \u201cYes.\u201d 25 Bogart St., Bushwick; eyvalnyc.com<\/a><\/p>\n Le French Diner boasts the shortest perceived distance between customer and stove that I\u2019ve seen in my years of dining out. Wear a too-heavy sweater and you\u2019ll sauna yourself. The tiny alcove is nominally on Orchard Street (there\u2019s an Equinox next door), but once you\u2019re inside, it\u2019s Marais as far as the eye can see. One cook runs the entire station, about the size of an airplane bathroom, turning out classics like rounds of escargots, grilled octopus with a\u00efoli, and no-nonsense hanger steak. If the wine is a little too warm or a little too cold, it\u2019s nevertheless glugged out to the rim of each glass. Can the service be a little gruff? Can the quarters be a little tight? Is the mustardy steak tartare chopped coarser than you\u2019ll find elsewhere and served in a cereal bowl? Oui, oui, and oui, but if Le French Diner were \u201cbetter,\u201d it\u2019d be worse. The proof is every other chef in town loves it here. 188 Orchard St.; instagram.com\/lefrenchdiner<\/a><\/p>\n This city\u2019s reputation as a Mexican-food desert has passed, thanks in part to Taqueria Ram\u00edrez where the usual cuts are supplanted by Mexican favorites, like suadero, an underused muscle near the rib, slow-cooked and then butchered into a creamy, mild mince by a cook wielding a curved cleaver. There are beef intestines \u2014 almost too yielding, sopping up plenty of fat before being torched with a butane canister \u2014 and a single vegetarian option, nopales, though strict meat-avoiders may want to give Ramirez a pass. \u201cAll may contain lard,\u201d the menu warns, and the option of adding chicharr\u00f3nes to the nopal taco in particular seems like a good move. I especially like the barky, fatty, crispy (pork) pastor, which revolves on the largest trompo I\u2019ve ever seen, like an oblong planet, waiting to be slashed off and piled taco high. On Tuesdays, the restaurant offers a special born in Mexico but with an eye to U.S. fans: gringa al pastor, shards of pastor pork and melty cheese sandwiched between two tortillas, quesadilla-style. 94 Franklin St., Greenpoint; taqueriaramirezbk.com<\/a><\/p>\n Chef Cosme Aguilar\u2019s entr\u00e9e into Manhattan (after his successful Casa Enrique<\/a> in Long Island City) reminds me of a place Samantha Jones would\u2019ve loved: The drinks are strong and various (the house Cosmo, made with mezcal, is very Sexo y la Ciudad), the small menu\u2019s aguachiles and ceviches aphrodisiacally suggestive, and the space sleek, chic, and crowded. A crab tostada is a deconstructed crabcake, the stuffing removed. Unexpected soy adds umami depth to aguachile of shrimp with cucumber. And do try the mar y tierra, surf \u2018n\u2019 turf: one perfect scallop, seared hard but still tender, on a creamy bed of loosely crumble chorizo and a scattering of cashews. 27 Bedford St.; quiquecrudonyc.com<\/a><\/p>\n Four Twenty Five is deal-closing dining for a new age: glassy, ultra-modern, and born from a real-estate-development deal. (Its name nods at the address of the Lord Norman Foster\u2013designed office tower it shares with the investment firms upstairs.) While Jean-Georges Vongerichten has stocked the menu with a few nods to his greatest hits, it\u2019s trusty lieutenant and secret-weapon-in-the-kitchen Jonathan Benno who keeps everything in balance. With a menu this various \u2014 raw bar, pastas, surf, turf, a tasting menu \u2014 not to mention breakfast, lunch, and bar snacks, that\u2019s no easy feat. 425 Park Ave.; 425parkrestaurant.com<\/a><\/p>\n Even as its fustily impeccable midtown contemporaries have started to go a bit stale, Le Bernardin remains the gold standard for people with the means to pay. Much of the menu is made of timeworn classics, and dishes like Eric Ripert\u2019s thin-pounded yellowfin draped over a hidden tile of foie gras remind you why. Aldo Sohm is one of America\u2019s great sommeliers \u2014 he and his team steward their 15,000-bottle collection with all the grace one might expect from a wine staff that still wears tastevins\u2014 and Maguy Le Coze\u2019s front of house staff are as solicitous as yachties and twice as steady. To live like a CEO, even for just a few hours, Le Bernardin remains essential. 155 W. 51st St.; le-bernardin.com<\/a><\/p>\n The 2017 revival of The Four Seasons remains annoying to get into and painful to pay for, but the room, the room. It\u2019s as powerful as ever, and the food is better now than it was during the last years of the Niccolini administration. The Grill goes big on theatrics \u2014 a duck press can be wheeled out on demand \u2014 but I come for the beef. A steakhouse, like a sucker, is born every minute in these parts, but I haven\u2019t found one I\u2019ve really loved in quite some time, and certainly none that has dissuaded me from the prime-rib cart here, which displays its blood-red bounty with all due aplomb. Daniel Boulud\u2019s new T\u00eate d\u2019Or<\/a> in Flatiron comes close, both for the excellent prime rib and the palatial digs, but David Rockwell\u2019s gilded majesty can\u2019t yet compete with the midcentury greats \u2014 I\u2019ll check back in another 50 years. 99 E. 52nd St.; thegrillnewyork.com<\/a><\/p>\n When Sailor opened in 2023, the drawback was size, just 20 seats in the dining room and 18 in the bar. A recent expansion upped the capacity at this neighborhood restaurant worth traveling for. I love April Bloomfield\u2019s Britishisms (smoked haddock chowder, dense ginger cake for dessert), and while some early favorites, like mussel toast, rotate on and off the menu, their replacements tend to effortlessly ease the pain. I am a little worried about Bloomfield\u2019s new role as executive chef of MML Hospitality<\/a>, which owns some two dozen restaurants in Texas, but partner Gabriel Stulman confirms she\u2019s staying on at Sailor as well. Here\u2019s hoping for easy sea routes between Brooklyn and Austin. 228 DeKalb Ave., Fort Greene; sailor.nyc<\/a><\/p>\n I maintain a theory that a diner can judge the seriousness of a restaurant\u2019s wine program based on the number of decanters sitting in the dining room. One evening this fall, nearly every table at Chambers let their bottle selection breathe. Pascaline Lepeltier, a founding partner here, is one of the world\u2019s most highly decorated sommeliers, a frequent spokesperson for wine\u2019s virtues, and the author of the textbook-heavy recent One Thousand Vines. And somehow, tirelessly, she\u2019s been on the floor of the restaurant every time I\u2019ve been, rifling through her 90-page list, recalling her hundreds of producers by name, proselytizing for the wines she believes in, whether they\u2019re popular or expensive or not. Under the stewardship of chef Jonathan Karis, the kitchen keeps up: There are sweetbreads for the gourmands, but I\u2019m just as happy with a Heritage pork chop and the market-loving menu\u2019s banquet of spinach, honeynut squash, shelling beans, and butterball potatoes. 94 Chambers St.; chambers.nyc<\/a><\/p>\n With all due respect to Staten Island\u2019s Lakruwana<\/a>, the best Sri Lankan food I had this year was at Lungi in an uninspiring space \u2014 two parallel chambers, long and deep \u2014 on an uninspiring Upper East Side stretch. The location may be standard issue, but the food is not. Lungi\u2019s hoppers, bowl-shaped rice-flour and coconut milk pancakes, were solid, and the curries (chicken, good; goat, better) and sambols are superior still. Dream parotas: lacy, crispy, shredding into themselves. \u201cThis is like if you flattened a croissant,\u201d I once heard a customer remark. \u201cDude, this is what the croissant is inspired by,\u201d his friend replied. 1136 First Ave.; lungirestaurant.com<\/a><\/p>\n Though they rose to fame with Claud<\/a>, a Paris-style wine-bar-with-food whose hulking chocolate cake made a believer out of even this chocolate cake skeptic, I believe Chase Sinzer and Joshua Pinsky reached their highest form with Penny, their seafood counter and raw bar directly upstairs. Light where Claud is darkly atmospheric, cool where Claud is warm, Penny opened in the seafood-mad days of 2024, when fish and mollusk supplanted Berkshire pork belly as the proteins du jour. Even in a crowded field, Penny stands out. \u201cIce box\u201d platters are stocked with unusual fruits de mer \u2014 such as razor clams and live scallops \u2014 while cooked dishes are as good as the raw. Chef Forrest Florsheim\u2019s tuna-stuffed squid made me a cephalopod believer, and his butter-bomb bowl of lobster was an indulgence I\u202fwent back to for my birthday meal. 90 E. 10th St.; penny-nyc.com<\/a><\/p>\n A surfeit of polish can be a cause for concern. A sign on the wall glows a little garishly, and the furnishings feel mix-and-match: \u201cThis really heightens the authenticity,\u201d an Indian friend I\u2019d brought said. \u201cI feel like I\u2019m in India now.\u201d Kanyakumari\u2019s food ranges up the Southwest Indian coast. My favorites are crab sukka from Tamil Nadu to be attacked with gloved hands, and Malabar beef rich with coconut and onion. 20 E. 17th St.; kanyakumarinyc.com<\/a><\/p>\n Does anyone need a $450 dinner? This city\u2019s highest-end tasting menus, omakases, and kaisekis can be transportive, but they\u2019re so expensive and exclusive that they may as well not even exist as restaurants. All that said, if there is one sushi splurge to do, for my money, it\u2019s Sho. Keiji Nakazawa is a grand master, practicing the edo-mae style of sushi that\u2019s like the fish version of constitutional originalism. In a world where many sushi places, even high-end ones, offer the same rotating selection of toro and shrimp, Sho brings in not only the best, but much of the rarest of Japan. From a list of \u00e0 la carte add-ons, I selected kawahagi, thread-sail filefish I\u2019d never seen on a sashimi menu before; and noduguro, creamy black-throat sea perch. No photos are allowed, so all I have are my memories of taste. It will be a long time before I have a celebration worthy of going again, but if you have the right one, New York doesn\u2019t offer many more special capstones. 3 E. 41st St.; instagram.com\/sushishonyc<\/a><\/p>\n More important than having a go-to omakase heaven is maintaining a great Wednesday-night option, something decently priced and uncommonly good. That place is Mitsuru. Fish is in the hands of Mitsuru Tamura, who for years plied his trade at Sushi Yasuda, one of the best of the midtown power-lunch sushiyas. The selection is familiar and well handled: toro hand rolls with pickled daikon, hamachi and scallion, freshwater eel, Nobu-style miso black cod, very good tempura-fried sea bass. For a medium-big night, Tamura\u2019s omakase counter awaits you for a comparatively reasonable $175, but any given weeknight, I\u2019ve been very happy at a table, drinking up the atmosphere with a five-piece selection of \u201cMitsuru\u2019s choice\u201d sushi, a seaweed salad, and a few pops of chicken kara-age. 149 W. 4th St.; mitsurunyc.com<\/a><\/p>\n When lower Second Avenue was still Jewish Broadway \u2014 the Yiddish theater walk of fame is still visible outside the old Second Avenue Deli on 10th Stree \u2014 B&H was there. \u201cSecond Avenue had everything,\u201d Abe Bergson (the B in B&H) recorded in his journal, not only the theaters but burlesque, movie houses, tuxedo shops, and restaurants. Ratner\u2019s, Rappaport\u2019s, Moskowitz & Lupowitz: Of them all, B&H alone is still here, and it\u2019s still a well-patinated, not especially comfortable gangplank of counter and a few tables. There\u2019s nowhere I\u2019d rather have a tuna melt on thick-cut house-baked challah with a side of knish mit gravy and a can of Dr. Brown\u2019s Diet Black Cherry. Customers can still kibitz with the countermen, even if they seem a little less Jewish than their predecessors. 127 Second Ave.; bandhdairykosher.com <\/a><\/p>\n It\u2019s been a great year for Vietnamese cooking in New York, provided you don\u2019t mind a crowd. By now, any regular restaurantgoer knows that Ha\u2019s Snack Bar<\/a> is excellent. Its popularity and small space mean seats remain scarce. Lines formed at B\u00e1nh Anh Em the day it opened, too, and they haven\u2019t died down, though with faster turnover, a larger room, and the option of takeout, things move more quickly here. No matter the queue, the rewards at the end are great: little puff-pastry hot pockets stuffed with pork and p\u00e2t\u00e9, phos, fry-your-own catfish. It\u2019s the b\u00e1nh m\u00ecs I dream of, unimpeachable combinations of pork belly, cold cuts, mustard greens, chiles, and yet more p\u00e2t\u00e9 on homemade rolls, crowned if you\u2019re lucky with pork floss. 99 Third Ave.; bananhem.com<\/a><\/p>\n There are two types of people: Those who know Yong-Chuan and love it, and those who have never heard of it.\u00a0The Sichuan-Ningbonese restaurant sits right off the on ramp to the Williamsburg Bridge, though it maintains a quiet serenity. Sichuan dishes are superlative examples of longtime favorites; the Ningbonese specialties, from China\u2019s eastern coast, where seafood is the star, are rare to find on these shores. Smoked fish is served cold in sweet and sour sauce. Braised bass with green sprigs of rattan peppercorns. And on my last visit I was jealous of the whole croaker \u2014 golden skinned and served with thumb-size rice cakes in curry-colored broth \u2014 being served to a couple next to me. 90 Clinton St.; yongchuannyc.com <\/a><\/p>\n Dinner at this tasting counter starts with a sermon: \u201cWe\u2019re a fermentation restaurant,\u201d chef Hooni Kim announces. \u201cYou will be ingesting lots of probiotics tonight.\u201d His aim at Meju is to exploit the stomach-soothing possibilities of Korea\u2019s fermentation-centric cuisine, starting from its (essentially) mother sauces: doenjiang (fermented soybean paste), gochujang (fermented chile paste), gamjiang (fermented soy sauce). Tending to one\u2019s own gut flora may be tediously fashionable, but Kim is a convincing proselytizer. The meal builds a slow delicious case \u2014 gochujang dotted on top of raw sea perch, pork belly with 15-month kimchee \u2014 until Kim dabs everyone\u2019s hand with a precious taste of 130-year-old soy sauce. It\u2019s rich and viscous, with a figgy sweetness and the mouthfeel of aged Amarone. 5-28 49th Ave., Long Island city; mejunyc.com<\/a><\/p>\n Frank Falcinelli and Frank Castronovo were two decades into their restaurant partnership before they opened a pizzeria next to their Frankie\u2019s Spuntino<\/a> flagship. They nailed it. Pies hit a kind of best-of-both-worlds middle ground between artisanal Neapolitan (blistered with thin-skinned charred bubbles and topped with Bianco tomatoes) and New York City\u2019s own floppy folding-slice terroir. F&F 1.0 proved so popular that the Franks retrofitted a next-door restaurant into an eat-in F&F restaurant, but for reasons unclear, the pizzas there are never quite as good as what you order at the counter or the pies they\u2019ll dispatch to your door. The Partanna (with red onions and honey) gets a lot of love, and there\u2019s a time and a place for sausage and broccoli rabe, but for my delivery dollar, the way to go is half-plain-half-pep, with a lavish but not overwhelming scattering of blistered little pepperoni cups. Their clam pie, with mozzarella, parm, bread crumbs, and parsley, isn\u2019t Pepe\u2019s<\/a> New Haven classic, but it justifies its price if you\u2019ve got $50 to spare, and arrives at your door with its own little cup of lemon wedges. 459 Court St., Carroll Gardens; fnfpizzeria.com<\/a><\/p>\n On the edge of Queens\u2019s Little Egypt, food tourists jostle with locals to see what\u2019s been brought back fresh from the Hunts Point fish market in the earliest hours of the morning. Wild bass, striped bass, red snapper, little whiting, and dorade plus calamari, and big shrimp that you\u2019ll order from the counter before being given one simple choice: \u201cFried or grilled?\u201d Big tendrils of octopus are fabulous, and my whole black bass arrived soldered to its sizzle platter in a sticky, smoky sauce \u2014 smoked pepper? Harissa? \u2014 stuffed with a paste of olives, herbs, maybe some tomato. What is it? A secret recipe. There\u2019s no website, and the phone is answered, simply, \u201cSeafood?\u201d I wouldn\u2019t trade any of it. 24-19 Steinway St., Astoria; 718-274-3474<\/p>\n Thank you for subscribing and supporting our journalism. Want more stories like this one? Subscribe now<\/a>
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