The Best Restaurants in the United States

Tucked into a San Jose strip mall between a clothing store and a tattoo shop, Kategna is a spacious Ethiopian restaurant that leans into the communal spirit of the cuisine, with traditional Messob basket tables for eating together the way the food was meant to be eaten. The San Francisco Chronicle named it among the Bay Area's finest Ethiopian spots. Cold Ethiopian beer or a pot of warm tea keeps the spice in check.

Panuchos and salbutes, those fried corn tortillas piled with slow-roasted cochinita pibil, are the reason to come to this Yucatecan spot on NE 82nd. The dining room is modest and unassuming, the kind of place that would never brag about itself, which somehow makes the food feel even more surprising. Order broadly and share: the menu rewards the curious, and the soups, when they appear, are not to be passed over.

A fish market display near the entrance sets the tone: this is a Greek seafood restaurant where the day's catch gets filleted tableside if you want the show. The menu leans Mediterranean coastal, with braised short ribs in cinnamon tomato and squid ink linguini alongside whatever came off the boat. It sits in a shopping center, but the room doesn't feel like it. A good place to arrive hungry and in no particular hurry.

Pork belly rolled tight with lemongrass and garlic, skin so crisp a fork won't crack it on the first try: that's the draw at this fast-casual Filipino counter in a Rockville strip mall. The lechon belly comes in sandwiches with atchara, over rice, or paired with other meats from the chef's rotation. Save room for desserts from the pastry shop run by his sister next door. The New York Times put it on its D.C. restaurant list, which tracks.

A red velvet curtain meets you at the door of this Duboce Triangle bistro, fully separating the street from a dim, burgundy-and-dark-wood room that could pass for a family hotel in Dijon. Coq au vin, duck confit, and house-made pâtés hold down the menu, and the île flottante is the kind of dessert that makes you briefly forget you're in San Francisco. Stepping back through that curtain afterward feels like returning from somewhere farther away.

A Spanish tapas bar in downtown Santa Fe where the kitchen runs New Mexico ingredients through Iberian technique, landing somewhere that feels less like fusion and less like either place than it probably should. Small plates anchor the menu, and the wine list leans Mediterranean and South American. James Campbell Caruso has been at this long enough that the weekend crowd skews toward people who knew him before you did, so book ahead.

A torta shop on the Peninsula with over 20 variations stacked into crusty telera bread, grilled until the crust is crosshatched and the inside is a soft collapse of queso fresco, refried beans, caramelized onion, avocado, and chipotle. The Cubana piles on breaded steak, ham, pork leg, chorizo, and turkey sausage, which is either excess or the point, depending on your appetite. Seating is sparse, so most people take theirs to go.

A Mexican grocery and taqueria that has been making its own tortillas and masa since forever, La Tapatia is the kind of place where the carnitas come out of trays in the front and into your burrito in the back. The chile relleno burrito, built around a melty cheese-stuffed poblano, is the move. Everything is made in-house, it's takeout only, and the San Francisco Chronicle has called it one of the Bay Area's finest.

The Pink Lady, as La Jolla calls its landmark hotel, serves lunch in a pink-walled Mediterranean Room, on a terrace over the Pacific, or poolside, and the menu barely changes between them. Wagyu burgers and ahi poke nachos sit beside steak frites, so you can dress as casually as the ocean view allows. It's a resort lunch priced like one, and the palm trees are part of the cover charge.

La Viña is a Cuban restaurant in Hialeah that looks like a grandparent's den, with wood paneling and sunwashed family photos watching you eat. Bring cash, because the card reader is a rumor. Bring an appetite too, since portions are built for leftovers, and the big bottle of vinegar and peppers on the table is meant for pouring on everything. The Infatuation ranks it among Miami's top restaurants.

Persian cooking is rare in San Francisco, and Lavash has been one of the city's few serious addresses for it. The kebab plates arrive piled over rice on wide sheets of flatbread, which is both a practical move and a slightly theatrical one. The tahdig, all crackle and crust, is the thing regulars come back for. Tables spill into a roofed parklet when the Sunset fog cooperates, which is optimistic but charming.

Le Central's neon sign above Bush Street has been announcing the cassoulet day count for what feels like forever, and the number is well into the five figures. This is an old-school French bistro, white tablecloths against exposed brick, curved booths, faux stained glass overhead. The cassoulet, duck and sausage and beans in a sauce that folds in a bit of the previous day's batch, is the reason regulars never open the menu.

Bruno Chemel ran one of the Peninsula's more ambitious tasting-menu restaurants for years; this is not that. Le Parc Bistrobar, tucked into a hotel near Union Square, is a French bistro and cocktail bar that leans classic, with oxtails braised in red wine until the meat nearly dissolves into the sauce. Christie Chemel's cocktail list runs deep on Chartreuse and Pineau des Charentes, which is either a selling point or a warning depending on your relationship with French liqueurs.

A live tank of crabs and fish greets you at the door of this spacious Cupertino dim sum hall, which hits peak chaos on weekends when families fill the room and steamer crates stack up fast. The taro puff shaped like a swan, stuffed with scallop-flavored taro, is the kind of thing that makes the table go quiet for a second. The San Francisco Chronicle named it among the Bay Area's best for dim sum.

The Linebacker Lounge, known to everyone as "the Backer," is a South Bend college bar near campus where students and football fans dance to classic rock and pop hits and pay prices that feel like a clerical error. The kitchen is better than it needs to be, turning out barbecue burgers, a crispy chicken sandwich, and wings in sauces ranging from Caribbean jerk to vindaloo. Go for a postgame meal, or stay and see how late it gets.

Little Liberia is a Liberian sit-down restaurant on Detroit's east side, where the grill does most of the talking and the table fills up faster than anyone planned. Expect smoky shrimp, collards with bits of beef, a whole fried snapper, and cocktails that lean on tamarind and ginger. The room is quiet and gallery-like, with real art on the walls, so it suits a date for people who'd rather talk than watch a steak arrive.

Local is a steakhouse-leaning American restaurant on Cache Street where the napkins are white linen, a small act of rebellion in a town that mostly hands you paper. Local artists' paintings hang on the walls, and the kitchen sources from as close by as it can. The burger is a blend of three steak cuts, which feels right for Jackson, and the bar will happily serve you fries. The Infatuation put it on its list of the 15 best restaurants in Jackson Hole.

A former Marine and a former basketball player walked into an empty storefront in the historic Greenwood District, and the result is a wing shop where the attorney co-owner still keeps his day job. The Oklahoma Dry Rub and the Mack, a recipe nobody's sharing, are the regulars' picks. Kimberly usually runs the counter herself, which gives the whole operation a family-kitchen feel that's hard to fake.

Madi is a bright, casual daytime spot on Grand Avenue that treats lunch as a bonus round and shuts the kitchen at 2 p.m. The menu runs on playful California cooking, which here means a half-pound patty melt on grilled sourdough and a chipotle chicken melt with pickled jalapeños. Expect counter-service prices, no dress code, and a brunch crowd lingering over the last of their coffee.

Atlanta takes its lemon pepper wings seriously, and Magic City, the city's most famous strip club, has been quietly central to that argument for decades. The wings are small, seasoned deep into the bone, and come with a blue cheese dressing good enough to make you mourn the missing celery. The crowd runs from music executives to athletes to travelers killing time before a flight. Wings are available to go, for the bashful or the principled.

Magissa is a bright, easygoing Greek taverna in East Bayside, a neighborhood with more breweries than seems strictly necessary. Dinner runs on meze like htipiti and skordalia, scooped up with warm pita, plus grilled lamb and an ouzo cake for dessert. The drinks list leans into mastiha, sumac lemonade, and a local bitters people in Portland talk about like a sports team. Eater has it on its list of the city's best.

Manny's is a downtown South Bend sports bar where the televisions outnumber the available sightlines, so you will never be forced to miss a game. The menu plays with bar food, including a burger piled with fried jalapeño strips and avocado, and a Girl Dinner of fries and salad in an oversized Martini glass. A food truck parked out front sends out empanadas. Eater lists it among South Bend's best restaurants.

Marrow is a sit-down restaurant and deli in a former poultry processing plant in Eastern Market, which means the building has gone from plucking chickens to serving whole-animal butchery with a cocktail list. Two moody bars fill with shoppers still holding their grocery haul and locals who dress up a little for a Tuesday. Brunch is where the whipped bone marrow gets spread on pancakes, because restraint was never the point.

Medusa is a sit-down Italian restaurant that skips the red-sauce script and cooks Sicilian instead, so the baked ziti and the yelling about gabagool stay home. Expect chickpea fritters, a sardine pasta that stands its ground, and a dessert cart that gets wheeled to your table like a small, painted parade float. When the weather cooperates, the patio does a respectable impression of a Mediterranean vacation. It's a place for a proper night out.

Tuna kitfo is the order that sets this Ethiopian bistro apart, raw minced fish in place of the usual beef, melting in a way that earns the detour to Uptown Oakland. The vegetarian platter covers the classics well, and if you make it to dessert, the teff chocolate cake is a quietly clever use of injera's starring grain. The San Francisco Chronicle named it among the Bay Area's best Ethiopian spots, which tracks.

The fried oyster mushrooms arrive tempura-crisp and somehow juicy underneath, which is the kind of thing that makes you stop mid-sentence. Millennium is a full-service vegan restaurant in Oakland's Rockridge neighborhood, been around forever, and still the kind of place where the menu takes real technique seriously rather than just swapping out the meat. A la carte most nights, prix fixe on weekends.

Fried chicken ordered to order is the move at this Pakistani-American fast-casual mini-chain, a longtime staple for the halal community in the East Bay. The bird comes out of the fryer with a bumpy, spiced coating and buttermilk-tender meat underneath. The menu wanders cheerfully into chicken tikka pizza and Desi-style burgers, and the Chronicle named it among the Bay Area's top fried chicken spots.

Gravel crunches under your tires before you've even opened the car door, which sets the tone for this family-run Creole-Italian roadhouse across the river from New Orleans. The menu is short but the portions are not, and the table fills fast with baked oysters, housemade sausage, and crab salad. The house rule, learned the hard way by everyone, is to order more than you think you need and split everything.

Fewer than twenty seats, one chef, seven courses, and a kitchen so quiet you can hear the thinking. Nasime is an intimate Japanese tasting room in Old Town Alexandria where the Ginza-trained team runs a set menu that moves through seasons rather than trends. The pacing is unhurried, the combinations are precise, and the sashimi course arrives with a buzz-button flower that earns its spot on the plate.

A Peruvian restaurant tucked among the taco stands on Oklahoma City's south side, which is either perfect camouflage or a happy accident. The ceviche comes in several varieties and makes a sensible starting point, while the lomo saltado and rotisserie chicken fill out the table nicely. Wash it all down with chicha morada or an Inca Kola straight from the gold can, which is exactly how it should arrive.

Meat on a stick is the organizing principle here, and the sticks arrive loaded, ten pieces high, with lamb cubes, duck tongues, and frog legs all in the rotation. This Jilin-style BBQ spot in the Inner Sunset is the kind of place that makes vegetarianism feel like a personal attack, though the potato discs and tofu skins are quietly essential. The San Francisco Chronicle named it among the Bay Area's best Chinese restaurants.

Every weekend, a sprawling outdoor food market assembles near the Oakland Flea Market, and the density of good options is almost unfair. A towering al pastor trompo gets shaved to order, while a stand called Las Cazuelas works through a rotation of clay-pot guisados that taste like someone's grandmother is running the operation. Carnitas, chicharron by the pound, stuffed gorditas. Bring cash, bring an appetite, and resist the urge to commit to a plan.