The Best Places to Drink and Stay in the United States

Wood-fired hot tubs on the patio set the tone at this 21-cabin hotel near Island Park, Idaho, where Japanese-influenced minimalism does a lot of quiet work. Efficient kitchens, considered artwork, an on-site sauna, and cold-plunge tubs fill out the amenities. Yellowstone is a half-hour drive, but the Henrys Fork River pulls its own weight, with serious rafting and fishing before you even cross the border.

The Broken Shaker, a cocktail bar with a devoted following, started the whole thing before a hotel ever existed around it. Freehand Miami is a boutique hotel on the quiet edge of South Beach where the rooms stay affordable without making you feel like you're roughing it. The patio pulls a genuinely mixed crowd, and the vibe leans more "interesting strangers on a trip" than resort-guest small talk.

The hotel cuts its lights at ten o'clock so guests can watch the Northern Lights from the dark, which tells you more about this place than any amenity list could. Aurora Villa is a Nordic-minimalist lodge half an hour outside Fairbanks, incongruously sleek among the usual rustic cabins, sitting at roughly the same latitude as Iceland. The surrounding area is quiet enough that when the lights go out, they really go out.

A boutique hotel two blocks from Penn State's campus, Graduate State College takes an old downtown property and rebuilds it as a love letter to the Nittany Lions, with blue-and-white livery and Penn State references tucked into every corner. The Graduate group does this at campuses across the country, selling a collegiate life more charming than the one most students actually lived. Selected by the Michelin Guide.

Private balconies hang over Walloon Lake at this boutique lakeside hotel in northern Michigan, where Hemingway summered as a kid and the water hasn't gotten any less beautiful since. Rooms come with plush robes and bedding you can tailor to your preferences, and the on-site Barrel Back restaurant handles waterfront meals with house-smoked everything. It's the kind of place that earns its postcard setting without leaning too hard on the nostalgia.

A gear demo and rental center doubles as the lobby vibe at this outdoor-adventure hotel near the base of Mt. Shasta, where the Michelin Guide has taken notice. Rooms run from standard doubles to a "whole crew" option, the look is hip without fussing over itself, and nobody raises an eyebrow at muddy boots. Fire pits, a game room, and weekend movie nights handle the evenings after a day on the slopes or trails.

A vintage-inspired inn just off the Tunnel of Trees route near Harbor Springs, Otis sits close enough to town to feel connected but far enough to feel like the point is slowing down. Frette linens and custom furnishings give the rooms a considered feel without trying too hard, and the courtyard runs from pool to bocce court in a way that makes the afternoon disappear. The Fireplace Lounge handles the evenings.

A speakeasy, a rooftop lounge, a steakhouse, a bar and grill, and a café, all inside one hotel in Bakersfield, which is either ambitious or a cry for help, and somehow it works. The Padre is a mid-century-swank boutique hotel that's been around forever but reinvented recently, and standard rooms already come with California king beds and down duvets before the suites get genuinely excessive. The Michelin Guide has it on their Selected Hotels list.

The official list of activities at this Rogue River lodge includes "Do Nothing" at the top, which tells you everything about the vibe. It's a rustic riverside retreat, a few miles from Siskiyou National Forest, with rooms built around cedar beams and river rock fireplaces. Larger houses add hot tubs and wraparound decks. Dinner comes out family-style; kayaks go upriver whenever you're ready.

Glamping, done with a straight face: safari-style tents with real beds and en-suite bathrooms, set in the redrock quiet between Lake Powell's marina and the vast, barely-charted Grand Staircase-Escalante. Under Canvas has built the same formula near national parks across the country, and it works because the surrounding landscape does most of the heavy lifting. A Michelin Selected Hotel, for anyone keeping score.

A European hostel chain's first U.S. foothold landed in a restored Art Deco building on Collins Ave, which is either perfect or on the nose depending on your tolerance for irony. It runs from four-to-six-bed dorm rooms, bunk-style and open-air, to private kings. The design stays spare: numbered bunks, a mirror station, an accent pillow in the privates. Bring your own curtain expectations, or just don't have any.

The bayfront pool is ringed with lemon-yellow chaises where guests in bathrobes drift between a dip and the third-floor spa, moving at the precise pace of people who have nowhere to be. This Miami Beach hotel leans into the hammam, eucalyptus steam room, and garden hammocks with the conviction of a place that knows its guests are here to look serene while being seen. Pack your most performative beach read accordingly.

Cactus Music curates the listening experience here, which tells you something about the clientele Hotel Saint Augustine is after. This hotel lounge sits across from the Menil campus and spills across three rooms of haute-design chairs and low couches, feeling more like someone's very tasteful living room than a hotel bar. The cocktail list is concise, the kitchen runs through the Bludorn team, and Montrose neighbors have adopted it accordingly.

Each cocktail on the menu is credited to the specific bartender who created it, which is either a charming act of transparency or a very public performance review. This neighborhood cocktail bar and casual kitchen in the Heights has a wraparound patio that fills with locals who treat it like a living room. The team behind Anvil runs the place, so the drinks are taken seriously even when the vibe stays loose.

Taxidermy, graffitied walls, mannequins, shelves of old shoes, and a trippy dome with bean bag chairs on the second floor: Notsuoh is less a dive bar and more a three-story cabinet of curiosities that also happens to serve drinks. The art is strange, the vibe is stranger, and the whole place reads like a dare Houston issues to anyone who thinks Austin has a monopoly on weird. An old-school Main Street institution that earns every square foot.

Every book on the shelves, and even pressed under the glass bar top, is about wine. The Library is a wine bar tucked into Spring Branch, where the staff knows their Jura from their Savoie and a "Head Librarian's Preferred Drinking List" exists for anyone who needs a nudge toward a bottle. The selection leans toward esoteric and cult producers, so this is less "Cabernet for the table" and more a place where the menu rewards curiosity.

A giant neon sign reading "Death is coming. Eat trash, be free." sets the tone at this raccoon-themed cocktail bar in Houston. The murals and paintings lean fully into the bit, and the drinks follow suit, running to things like a pho-inspired martini built on rye with Thai chile and star anise. The kitchen stays open until 2am, which is exactly when you need churros and birria ramen the most.

A Japantown hotel where the lobby's 19-foot Douglas fir ceilings and open pipe shelving make the place feel more like a very well-curated living room than a hotel. The design splits the difference between Japanese and Scandinavian, which sounds like a thesis project but works. Rooms get dark gray walls hung with calligraphy and modern Japanese art, a clear step up from the obligatory Alcatraz watercolor. Cozy without being precious about it.

Brass lighting and graphic fabric break up the white walls at this design-forward Mid-Market hotel, which is doing its best impression of a nearby SFMOMA annex. The 236 rooms lean minimalist, softened by wood surfaces and deep soaking tubs, with double-paned windows keeping the neighborhood's noise at bay. Higher floors pull in proper skyline views, and the minibar runs on local snacks rather than the usual sad peanuts.

The Elizabeth Taylor portrait in the lobby sets the tone: this is a hotel that takes its vintage glamour seriously without quite winking at you. A mid-century beachfront resort on Collins Avenue, Eden Roc draws on Morris Lapidus's sweeping architecture for rooms with oceanfront views, a sprawling spa, and poolside daybeds where frozen cocktails arrive at a civilized pace. The vibe skews polished rather than party-forward, which on South Beach counts as a genuine position.

A small "Cocktails" neon sign is the only clue visible through the net-curtained windows of this Williamsburg cocktail bar, which occupies a former auto-parts store near McCarren Park. Inside, ornamental plates crowd the walls, tasseled fittings hang overhead, and ceramic tiles fool the eye into reading as rugs. It feels like a great-aunt's drawing room, if your great-aunt had excellent taste and kept unusual hours.

One of the few surviving pre-earthquake Queen Anne mansions in the city, this 12-room boutique hotel is more cabinet of curiosities than traditional lodging. Stained glass, intricate woodwork, Italian marble, and original Louis Icart paintings fill the common areas, and no two guest rooms are alike, some charmingly, some quirkily so. Condé Nast Traveler named it among San Francisco's best hotels.

The last unmarked door at the end of a long basement corridor, no bell, no sign, just turn the handle. This is a cocktail bar tucked beneath a Nordic restaurant on Great Jones Street, sharing a kitchen with the dining room upstairs. The room reads as intentionally low-key, the kind of place where knowing how to find it is half the point, and the other half is that you actually got in.

Marble bar, leather chairs, thick linens, and windows looking straight down Fifth Avenue: Ai Fiori is a formal Italian restaurant on the second floor of the Langham Hotel that telegraphs expense account before you've ordered drinks. The kitchen leans Italian with enough invention to keep it interesting, and the room is polished enough that nobody's rushing you. Gracious service throughout lunch and dinner.

Five tiers of spirits line the back bar at Beaker and Grey, a cocktail bar in Wynwood-adjacent Midtown that pulls a crowd comfortable in nice sneakers. Uplighting catches the brickwork and warm bulbs keep everything buzzy without tipping into lounge-bar gloom. The small lounge beyond the bar has floor-to-ceiling windows that feel a touch showroom, but nobody seems to mind once drinks arrive.

A flaming red domed oven anchors the warehouse-sized dining room, which also has a copper bar, tulip pendant lights, and booths that seem to float slightly above the floor. This is a buzzy Italian restaurant in the Arts District where the crowd's energy and the kitchen's output seem to feed each other. The blistered pizzas and rich pastas are the reason the room is always full, and desserts from the pastry side hold their own.

The carved oak mantle behind the bar holds more bottles than most people have seen in one place, which tells you what kind of bar Blackbird is before anyone says a word. It's a long, narrow neighborhood drinking spot in the Castro, with wood-planked walls, blood-red banquettes, local art for sale overhead, and a pool table tucked behind wrought iron at the far end. Serious spirits list, no pretense.

You reach Caña by walking through a parking garage in the base of a historic Petroleum Building until a podium appears, which is the kind entrance policy that filters out the uncommitted. Inside, a corridor lined with rum bottles leads to a wood-panelled room with leather banquettes and a ribbed concrete ceiling. It's a rum cocktail bar that takes the spirit seriously, and the dim lamplight makes everyone look like they have good taste.

Redwood paneling climbs to a vaulted ceiling lit by stained glass skylights, and a sign on the wall politely warns guests to watch their language. Huber's is a bar that has been around forever, and it shows in the best possible way, with tableside Flaming Spanish Coffees set ablaze by bartenders who have clearly done this before. Old Portland money and curious newcomers share the room, and nobody seems to check their phone.

You book by text, and they text back; no app, no OpenTable, just your name and a party size to a Seattle number you'd better save correctly. Knee High is a tiny, reservation-only speakeasy-style cocktail bar tucked away on Olive Way, the kind of place where finding the door is already part of the evening. Late-night slots open up if you're bold enough to text after ten.

Corrugated iron ceiling, pressed tin bar front, mustard walls: Little Branch looks like a speakeasy that forgot to close. This Greenwich Village cocktail bar carries the DNA of Milk & Honey, the late Sasha Petraske's legendary first act, which means classically made drinks taken seriously and a room that rewards staying a while. It's discreet enough to feel like a find, but open to anyone who can find the door.

A former antique shop on 33rd Street that now deals in classically built cocktails, organized on the menu by category the way a serious bar should be. This is a two-floor cocktail bar from the late Sasha Petraske's lineage, sibling to Little Branch, with communal high tables downstairs where live jazz pulls in the neighbors, and a looser, loungier room upstairs when you need to actually hear yourself think.

A basement cocktail bar on Rivington, reached by a utilitarian staircase and lit just enough to read the menu, which is worth reading because it's full of jokes. Booth seating, exposed brick, and a short row of spirits on the back bar keep things grounded for a room connected to Death & Co. The drinks are serious; the room refuses to be.

A French spirits lounge on Melrose where the cocktail menu is divided into categories named Parfum and Potion, which tells you immediately what kind of evening they have in mind. The team also runs La Descarga and Harvard & Stone, so the theatrics are deliberate. Low lighting, a Parisian lounge sensibility, and a crowd that dressed for it. The menu leans heavily on calvados, armagnac, and eau de vie, which is either your thing or a prompt to try something new.

The cocktail bar up front does brisk business before anyone looks at a menu, which tells you something about Prospect's priorities. This is a polished New American restaurant on the ground floor of a Financial District high-rise, with high ceilings, roomy tables, and a room full of people who expensed lunch and stayed for dinner. The cooking is straightforward and well-executed, leaning on good ingredients and restraint over anything flashy.

The ceiling is woven from the staves of 300 bourbon barrels, which tells you everything about where Rickhouse's priorities lie. This whiskey bar in the Financial District is styled as an old-school saloon, with floor-to-ceiling shelves of bottles behind the counter and a library ladder to reach the top shelf. A back room holds a second bar and a hayloft gallery for looking down, literally, on everyone else.

The cocktail menu runs 32 pages and opens with a table of contents, which tells you everything about how seriously this hotel bar takes its work. Originals are sorted by style; classics are filed by decade. The room holds up in daylight just as well as it does after dark, which isn't something most hotel bars can say without lying. Bring someone who likes to read before they order.

A New Orleans cocktail bar where the inside has been dressed up to look like an outdoor street scene, the way a film studio backlot would imagine the French Quarter. Barrel-aged cocktails are the house move, and the 1920s theme is committed enough that someone looked up the etymology of sassafras before naming the place. The crowd tends toward people who wanted something more atmospheric than a standard Hollywood dive.