The Best American Food in the United States

A bright pink entrance fronted by a waterfall does most of the first-impression work here, which is fortunate, because Richard Blais's coastal New American restaurant inside the Hyatt Regency Grand Cypress has a lot to live up to. Warm wood, big windows, and tropical color keep the room unhurried. The menu leans into that mood, mixing seasonal American cooking with tropics-leaning flavors in ways that read as festive without tipping into theme-park territory.

Servers roam the floor with hot coffee and donut holes before you've even ordered, which tells you everything about what kind of diner Lou Mitchell's is. Booths, counter stools, eggs cooked every way imaginable, and an open-faced Reuben on homemade rye that has anchored many a morning near Union Station. An old-school Chicago institution that has never once tried to be anything else.

The dining room at this fine dining restaurant sits inside a landmark Austin estate, all green and gold with windows opening onto a fountain garden that makes you feel like someone's very wealthy aunt has invited you to dinner. The kitchen takes Texas heritage cooking seriously enough to maintain a decades-old bread starter, and the seasonal tasting menu moves between refined and genuinely rooted. The Michelin Guide has it selected.

The brass pineapple door handle is not subtle, but this lakeside American restaurant earns the bit. Inside, plush booths and tufted leather banquettes set a warm, unhurried tone, and the menu leans into local produce without making a fuss about it. Outside, a fire pit sits alongside tables that catch Lake Ivanhoe sunsets at their most cooperative. The neighborhood's old pineapple-farming past explains the name, if you were wondering.

The wood-fired grill anchors an industrial room of concrete and steel that somehow reads as warm rather than cold. Trust is a small-plates American restaurant in Hillcrest where the menu is built for sharing, and the expansive patio fills fast on San Diego's many fair-weather days. The kitchen runs from hush puppies with whipped honey butter to braised oxtail raviolini, and the milk and cookies pie has its own loyal following.

The gumbo arrives with a crab claw jutting out of the bowl like it owns the place, surrounded by fat rounds of okra and a cloud of white rice. This Creole soul food cafe sits down the street from NASA, has signage that will not help you find it, and is on The New York Times Restaurant List. The fried catfish barely fits the plate, and the chef named the whole operation after his grandmothers, which tells you something about the cooking.

A hoagie shop and wine store in the Outer Sunset that lets you drink your bottle purchase on-site for a small corkage fee, which is either a genius loophole or just good hospitality. The outdoor tables face roughly toward the ocean, making a clear evening here feel earned. The sandwiches lean ambitious, the wine list runs deep, and the neighborhood tends to show up in layers, from dog walkers to people who know what they're doing with a natural wine.

Pappy's is a midtown barbecue spot built around pork ribs, dry-rubbed, smoked low and slow over fruitwood, and finished with just a whisper of glaze, no sauce pooling anywhere near them. The classic sides, baked beans, fried corn, applesauce, hold their own beside all that smoke. Lines form early and move steadily, which tells you something about how St. Louis feels about this place.

The paper cocktail napkins tucked under the stemware haven't changed since the '90s, and that's the point. SNOB is an old-school Charleston dining room that made local, seasonal Southern cooking a serious proposition before it was a trend. Day boat fish arrives crispy outside and tender within, cornbread is non-negotiable, and the butterbeans are exactly right. The room carries its era comfortably, and the kitchen cooks like the legacy is watching.

The deviled eggs come six ways, no two alike, which tells you a lot about how this upscale dining saloon in Victory Park operates. Wild game and seasonal Southern cooking are the through lines, from venison tartare to wild boar lasagna, and the Texas wine list runs deeper than you'd expect anywhere, let alone here. The room leans into its saloon bones without winking too hard at them.

The fried chicken arrives in a styrofoam container, still crackling from the fryer, and costs around eight dollars with two sides. This counter-service Lowcountry soul food spot has been an old-school institution on Meeting Street for years, run by the daughters of the woman who started it. The okra stew tastes like it was never meant to be written down in a recipe.

The staff will advise you not to order the hot chicken above mild, and they mean it. Bolton's is a no-frills neighborhood soul food counter that predates the hot chicken craze by a decade, which earns it a certain authority. The fried catfish, ordered mild, makes a strong case for itself as the move here, and mild still has something to prove. A Nashville institution, in the most unpretentious sense possible.

The red weathervane out front reads "BBQ," which is all the signage a place like this needs. Walk past the giant mesquite smokers on your way in and you'll already be hungry before you hit the counter. This Gilbert BBQ shop does Texas-style brisket with a coarse peppercorn crust, served by the pound on tin trays at wooden picnic tables. Order early; the popular cuts sell out, and nobody drives out near Mesa Gateway Airport to settle for sides.

The fried chicken sandwich here follows a family recipe from the co-owner of Rich Table, which tells you this isn't your average rotisserie counter. Pickled onions, chipotle yogurt, mint, dill, and a honey drizzle all show up in one sandwich, and fermented hot sauce sits on every table for good measure. The fries come dusted with porcini powder. Casual, order-at-the-counter, and close enough to Alamo Square to make a picnic the obvious move.

Fried chicken in five flavors, ranging from OG to Nashville hot, is the organizing principle at this Southern comfort spot tucked into East Providence. The menu reads like a greatest-hits of the genre: pimento mac and cheese, sweet potato tater tots, cornbread with honey butter. The chef earned a James Beard semifinalist nod in 2025, which is not a bad argument for crossing a state line for a thigh, a drumstick, and Texas toast.

The line outside this Houston breakfast and brunch spot is so reliable that they've worked out a whole system: heaters in winter, water in summer, and occasionally a bouncy castle, which is a sentence you don't type about many restaurants. Southern and Creole comfort food is the draw, wings and waffles being the dish everyone mentions first, with catfish and grits not far behind. Show up when the doors open or plan around the wait.

The wood art on the walls is the first thing you notice, then the menu, which shifts with the seasons but keeps a few old faithfuls around. This is a polished contemporary dining room on Galisteo Street, the kind of place where global technique quietly nudges the New Mexican pantry sideways. A James Beard nominee for Best Chef Southwest, and a Michelin Selected spot. Couples on date night and solo diners at the bar seem equally at ease.

This is a small, counter-service Hawaiian spot in LoHi, built around poke bowls and griddled spam musubi, the kind of lunch that fits in one hand while the other holds a phone. Seating is a handful of painted picnic benches inside that fill up quickly, so plenty of people carry their food across to Hirshorn Park. It's a cheap, easy, solo-friendly stop, and the sort of room where nobody asks what you do for work.

The coconut cake, four layers tall and with its own devoted following, tells you a lot about what Cafe Commerce is going for. This is a neighborhood restaurant on the Upper East Side, warm and a little glamorous, where Harold Moore runs a contemporary American menu with French and Italian pulls. Steak Diane shares space with sweet potato tortellini carried over from the beloved original. The kind of place you book for a Tuesday because you deserve a Tuesday like this.

A restored Masonic Lodge in McKinney's historic square is an unusual home for a farm-to-table American restaurant, but the vaulted ceilings and warm multilevel space make the whole thing work. The kitchen sources tightly from local farms and ranchers, and live music fills the room most nights. An American wine list leans toward small producers. The Michelin Guide has it on their radar, as does Eater's list of essential Dallas restaurants.

Sourdough waffles topped with fried chicken is the move at this cheerful Southern brunch spot in Johns Creek, where the farmhouse aesthetic (blue walls, white benches, wood tables) lands on the right side of kitschy. The menu runs breakfast and lunch, covering avocado toast and quiche before pivoting to BLTs and burgers by midday. Portions run generous, so the table tends to share. The Michelin Guide has it listed among their selected Atlanta restaurants.

A waterfront shack that's been around forever, Red's serves its burgers on crusty sourdough with mustard and pickles, which is not the burger you were expecting but absolutely the one the regulars order without looking up. Anthony Bourdain's photo hangs near the register, which tells you something. Grab a table outside on a sunny day and you get the Bay Bridge thrown in, arguably at the lowest price point the Embarcadero has to offer.

The counter stools and cozy booths have the feel of a midcentury diner, which is exactly the point: The Eleanor is a breakfast and brunch spot built as a deliberate antidote to Scottsdale's party-brunch scene. Pancakes, hash, and biscuits and gravy share the menu with avocado toast and Buddha bowls, and the grab-and-go fridge means you can linger over slow coffee or bolt, your call.

An antique-wood overhang adds a warm rustic note to what is otherwise a quietly polished fine dining room in downtown Sacramento. Floor-to-ceiling curtains, thick linens, and a thoughtful wine list signal the intention clearly. The menu runs globally influenced New American, and the bar earns its own visit. Regulars who know the staff by name fill seats alongside people who've clearly just discovered the place and are already making plans to return.

A whitewashed South Austin bungalow with just a handful of tables and a few bar seats, Lenoir is a small, romantic restaurant where the menu rotates every six weeks or so around a different global theme, French Cajun one visit, something else entirely the next. You can go à la carte or commit to a multicourse tasting served family style. The Michelin Guide has taken notice, and a reservation here books up accordingly.

The horseshoe counters at Poole's have been around forever, and the regulars at them look like they have too. It's a Southern dinner spot in a space that's part classic diner, part reclaimed warehouse next door, and the menu leans into the region without making a fuss about it. The tomato pie and the mac and cheese are the things people can't stop talking about, and the slow shrimp suggests the kitchen is in no hurry, which is a compliment.

Fresh rosemary on wooden tables and a bottle of house-made hot sauce waiting when you sit down sets the tone at this counter-service cafe. The farmhouse-chic room has soft bistro lights, chalkboard menus, and a walk-up window that made takeout brunch a neighborhood ritual. The line down the block on weekends is the real menu recommendation. Phoenix New Times named it best breakfast in 2024.

The collard green melt on toasted rye with Russian dressing and pickled cherry peppers is the sandwich this kitschy Nashville counter built its reputation on, and that reputation has held. It's a casual, cash-friendly sandwich spot where nothing is light and the salad is buried under fried garlic and crispy pig ears. The Michelin Guide gave it a Bib Gourmand, which tracks for a place where the portions are architectural and the flavors are loud.

White tablecloths in an Uptown cottage near a bend in the river, which tells you something about how New Orleans operates. Brigtsen's is a Cajun-Creole restaurant where the chef spent years under Paul Prudhomme absorbing the bayou side of Louisiana cooking, then brought it back to the city and blended the two traditions into something that belongs entirely to this place. The room is unhurried, the menu is not trying to be fashionable, and that combination tends to fill tables with regulars.

The mochiko fried chicken, made exclusively from dark meat, is a reasonable place to start understanding what this Hawaiian plate lunch spot in Highwood is about. The chef went from feeding co-workers at a carwash to a brick-and-mortar in what feels like about fifteen minutes. Loco moco, huli huli chicken, and grilled pork belly land on your tray with the kind of confidence that got the place onto the New York Times list of top Chicago restaurants.

A humble neighborhood grocery store in Wailuku where the real draw is through the back, at the seafood counter. Poke here skips the trendy bowl format entirely: just impeccably fresh ahi, hamachi, and tako dressed in traditional Hawaiian seasonings, tasting clean and briny the way poke is supposed to. The pohole fern salad alongside is worth picking up too. Locals fill the counter fast, and they rarely need to look at anything twice.

The draft beer comes in a frosty goblet roughly the size of a young pumpkin, which tells you exactly what kind of place this is. Liuzza's by the Track is a barroom with a menu, the menu heavy on po' boys and Creole and Cajun stews that rotate as daily specials. The gumbo is a brothy shrimp version seasoned carefully enough that you probably won't reach for the hot sauce, though you will reach for that goblet.

A pastry case you have to walk past before you even reach the counter is a clever design choice for a breakfast spot. Vovomeena runs a casual line-order setup near downtown Phoenix with a genuinely neighborhood feel, leaning on local suppliers for eggs, sausage, and coffee. The Pain Perdu swaps bread for banana bread pudding, and the chile-corn Johnnycakes remind you this is the Southwest.

A hot chicken shop that started as a popup and grew into an East Bay institution with a '90s aesthetic that nobody asked them to drop. The bone-in and the sandwiches are the move, and the heat scale is honest, meaning medium is a real warning and anything above it is a commitment. Complimentary comeback sauce arrives ready to talk you off the ledge. Nashville-style fried chicken done without ceremony.

A small Annapolis dining room built around pickling and fermentation, which sounds like a thesis until the food arrives. The roast chicken is beautifully bronzed, the steak-frites comes with kimchi-beef jus, and the crab salad on hash browns is the kind of thing that makes you forgive everyone their restaurant concepts. The bar earns equal attention. A Washingtonian top-100 pick.

A pastrami-forward deli on Folsom where the menu reads like a roster of characters named by someone's uncle in Canarsie. The Menschkowitz throws cherry peppers into the mix; the BK goes full diner breakfast between two slices of bread. Everything arrives with thick pickles on the side, which is the correct move. Sandwiches aren't cheap, and it's takeout only, so plan accordingly.

Etc. is a stylish Southern restaurant in the Loop, a neighborhood not known for fluorescent pillars or an R&B soundtrack that makes you forget you're a few blocks from a Willis Tower gift shop. Couples split smoked turkey rice and fried okra, friends pass lamb chops, and the oxtail comes under gravy, next to purple grits. The chef is a James Beard Best Chef: Great Lakes semifinalist, if you like your comfort food credentialed.

The two-story dining room pulls off a plausible New Orleans impression without leaving Baltimore, which is the whole point. This Cajun and Creole restaurant runs on the late Paul Prudhomme's influence, and the kitchen leans into Maryland pantry staples to keep the gumbo and jambalaya from feeling like a costume. The Sazerac, New Orleans' official cocktail, is on the menu, and ordering one is the correct move.

A walk-up burger stand on Navigation that grew out of years of pop-ups, Boo's is the kind of place where the menu fits on a napkin and that's the whole point. The smashburger comes on a challah bun from Cake & Bacon, topped with shredded lettuce, tomato, shaved onion, and a smoky house sauce that regulars already treat as non-negotiable. Crispy fries, bottled sodas, and a colorful roadside aesthetic round it out.

State of Grace is a polished American seafood restaurant on Westheimer, plated for the River Oaks lunch-and-dinner set. A bright side room puts the raw bar front and center, so you can watch someone shuck oysters while deciding how many dozen is socially acceptable. The chef grew up across the street at the high school, which makes this one of the few homecomings that comes with a wine list. Dress like you meant it.

The name nods to NoDa's old textile-mill past, and the denim-covered banquettes keep the joke going without overdoing it. This is a Southern comfort restaurant with exposed beams, a lively counter, and a menu that leans into fried chicken, deviled eggs, and banana pudding served in a Mason jar. Weekend brunch draws a crowd, the draft beer list is long, and the tater tots are not something to wave away.

A mother-and-son Cajun and soul food restaurant where the menu shifts with the day of the week: catfish on Fridays, wings on Wednesdays, Sharon's soul food the first Sunday of the month. Their Louisiana and Mississippi roots show in a shrimp étouffée that's lighter and brighter than you'd expect, and a beef debris over grits that rewards patience. Hong Kong-style praline French toast with cardamom and fennel is either the strangest thing on the menu or the most logical.

The mochiko fried chicken, made with dark meat only, has apparently non-negotiable opinions about itself. This Hawaiian plate lunch spot grew from pandemic-era pop-up dinners to a downtown Chicago address, serving huli huli chicken, loco moco, and grilled pork belly to a city where 60 degrees is not, in fact, considered freezing. The New York Times named it one of Chicago's 25 best restaurants right now.

A smashburger shop built into a shipping container alongside Two Pitchers Brewing Co., Lovely's has a menu that reads like a love letter to drive-through nostalgia. Picnic tables and string lights fill the dog-friendly outdoor space. The fried onion burger, a riff on the Oklahoma classic George Motz made famous, cooks the patty right into thinly sliced onions so the beef fat goes everywhere it should.

Pinball machines and white walls set the scene at this Potrero Hill sandwich shop, where the menu runs on East Coast bodega logic: Kaiser rolls, poppy seeds, and a bacon-egg-and-cheese that doesn't apologize for itself. Pastrami swaps in for the pork if that's your move. Ask for the lacto-fermented hot sauces, which bring enough acid and heat to make everything sharper. Casual, low-key, and named among the Bay Area's better sandwich spots by the Chronicle.

Every sandwich at this sandwich shop contains pork, which tells you almost everything you need to know. The signature is porkstrami, a brined and smoked pork butt that earns its place alongside coppa, salami, and mortadella in the loaded Salvatore, served hot on a Dutch crunch roll. Turkey and roast beef exist if you insist. Old-timey novelty sodas handle cleanup duty. Bring your appetite and leave your dietary restrictions at the door.

The Brulee Burger, with its torched sugar crust on the bun, explains the whole ethos of this Scottsdale burger shop in one order. The chef here treats fast-casual comfort food as an excuse to get weird in the best way, battering and frying patties, folding blueberry-habanero compote into guacamole, stacking corn-muffin fritters between the buns. Guy Fieri has been by, and the memorabilia is on the wall to prove it. Napkins: take several.

The beignets come out warm, filled with ricotta, and draped with Benton's ham, and the question of how many is too many has no clean answer. This is Aaron Bludorn's easygoing neighborhood bar and dining room, wrapped in dark wood with a gleaming open kitchen visible from most seats. The menu runs from pasta to half chicken to devil's food cake, all built for sharing. A Michelin Guide selection, and the kind of place that makes a Tuesday feel like a reasonable excuse.

A Gulf Coast fish-and-chicken restaurant in Independence Heights from a pitmaster who clearly didn't want to choose between the smoker and the fryer. Catfish and chicken share the spotlight, with shrimp po'boys, chargrilled oysters, and a pork belly BLT on Texas toast for people who read the whole menu. Gumbo comes with a Brussels sprouts salad, which counts as balance. Lunch is a casual Tuesday-through-Saturday affair.

The buffalo wings here have a two-day head start on you: brined overnight, chilled, then fried and sauced to order with Frank's and butter. This is the food operation inside the U Street bar Sport & Social, run by Scott Drewno, the chef behind Anju. The wings earned a spot on the Washingtonian's favorite dishes of the year, and after one order you'll understand the fuss, even if ordering anything else feels beside the point.

The honey cardamom toast alone sends a signal about where the Noortwyck's head is at. This West Village neighborhood restaurant comes from Eleven Madison Park alums, and the menu moves between oysters and cinnamon rolls without blinking. The New York Times gave it two stars. Service has that unhurried quality that makes you feel less like a table and more like a regular, even on your first visit.

Redwood beams and curved leather booths fill a converted 1920s warehouse in Little Italy, and the room feels like it's been here forever without trying to look like it has. This is a lively California restaurant where the kitchen folds Latin and Asian flavors into SoCal ingredients without making a fuss about it. The menu reads casually, the execution is anything but, and a Michelin Selected nod backs that up quietly.

Every dish arrives in a metal pie tin, which sets the tone: this is a casual, communal American restaurant in RiNo where the whole point is ordering too much and arguing over the last of the mac and cheese. The menu runs from cornbread muffins to whole fried fish built for pulling apart into tacos, and the cocktails are tangy and strong enough to make everyone agreeable about sharing. Come with people you like, or you'll be negotiating with strangers.

Saguaro Corners is a casual Southwestern restaurant and bar that's been around forever, parked at the edge of the Rincon Mountains where the saguaros outnumber the strip malls. Wood-beamed ceilings, big windows, and a misted patio with live music make it feel like old Tucson rather than a theme park version of it. Comfort food with a Southwestern lean, roadrunners possibly watching you eat, and the kind of room that pulls in families and date-nighters alike.

The Arcadia Burger, topped with grilled onions, guacamole, and the house sauce, is the one to order at this drive-thru-only burger shoppe with no indoor seating whatsoever. The double-stacked patties are properly juicy, the fries are the obvious companion, and the milkshakes invite mixing flavors in combinations you'll immediately claim were your idea. Phoenix New Times put it in the top ten burger joints in town, and the neighborhood regulars roll through like they know something.

Palate is a sit-down restaurant where velvet chairs and chandeliers the size of small cars make the dining room look like a fantasy ballroom. The menu runs on Southern comfort food that wanders off in several directions, and the cocktails arrive with props, including one served beside steel wool that gets set on fire. Swan Dive is upstairs, so dinner here doubles as a warm-up act.

Caribbean spices do the work that Texas smoke usually handles at this Coconut Grove barbecue spot, where the brisket runs 14 to 16 hours and the spare ribs come jerk-seasoned. The team also runs the fine-dining restaurants Kyu and Shiso, and the patience shows in the supporting cast too: collards, baked beans, cornbread made from fresh-shucked corn. The open courtyard under the hammocks makes a strong argument for ordering an old-fashioned alongside.

Smoked beef brisket on rye with mustard is the calling card at this Montreal Jewish deli in Boerum Hill, where the portions operate on a scale that suggests the kitchen has never heard the word "restraint." Poutine comes finished several ways, the latkes and knishes are not an afterthought, and a sidewalk takeout window handles overflow when the counter and communal tables fill up, which they do.