The Best Places to Eat and Do in the United States

Florence Jones Kemp started this soul food institution in the front room of a two-room apartment, serving hot dogs on, as she put it, "a hot dog and a prayer." Decades later, she and her daughter Victoria are still running the kitchen together, with fried chicken, candied yams, braised oxtail, fresh-baked rolls, cornbread, and pie holding down the menu. The James Beard Foundation gave Florence's an America's Classics award, which about covers it.

Cardamom rolls with maple icing at a bakery in a town of 7,000, seventy miles from Minneapolis, is either a bold bet or a very convincing argument for small-town life. The chef behind the pastry case came up in big-city kitchens, and the breads and laminated doughs show it. Monday nights pivot to pizza, which gives regulars a reason to come back before the week gets away from them. The New York Times named it among the best bakeries in the country.

Flour Your Dreams is a small bakery and cafe out in Hermitage, the sort of place where bread making came first and everything else followed. The sourdough boules come sliced and ready for dinner, with local honey or butter on the shelf to go with them. There are only a few tables, but one usually opens up for a laptop and a chai, which makes it a decent excuse to skip the drive downtown.

Beignets on the menu at a French-inflected steakhouse and cocktail bar inside a hotel co-owned by Nick Saban, which does make Alabama football feel like a lifestyle brand. The chef blends brasserie and steakhouse instincts, the cocktails are serious, and the wine list is curated rather than encyclopedic. Brunch runs just as dressed-up as dinner, so there's no casual way in.

Frankie & Wally's is a Coral Gables sandwich shop where the cold cuts are shaved so thin they nearly vanish, and the shredded lettuce is there to soak up the oil and vinegar before the bread can. A Padrino has more layers of mortadella, salami, and ham than anyone will count. It's a counter-service, no-dress-code lunch, and the line knows this. Miami has plenty of hot pressed sandwiches, so this one's the cold, quiet exception.

Sheepskin-draped chairs, candles everywhere, and vintage travel posters give this French bistro the feel of a Chamonix chalet that somehow materialized in Aspen. The menu plays it straight: foie gras terrine, bubbling cheese fondue, savory crêpes. It's the kind of après-ski stop that quietly becomes dinner, then a second bottle of Bordeaux. Reservations open 60 days out and fill fast, so treat that calendar alert as non-optional.

A National City coffee shop wrapped in mid-century breezeblocks, hanging plants, and jungle mural art, which is a lot of ambience for a place you can also order a latte at. By day it's a room of people with strong opinions about espresso, and some nights an R&B DJ turns up. The popups rotate with the week, the ginger thyme latte stays put, and there's a burger with crispy garlic chili peppers that coffee shops don't usually bother with.

Gold flower fixtures hang from the ceiling of this grand San Leandro banquet hall, where the projectors are always ready for the next big event and the dim sum carts have been replaced by tablets. It's a multigenerational scene, grandparents and kids at the same table, tea steaming alongside turnip cakes. The strawberry taro balls, crunchy outside and custard-oozing within, tend to stop conversations mid-sentence.

A greenhouse-style coffee station sits at the center of an otherwise industrial room, tucked behind heavy wooden doors in a Chinatown strip mall. This Korean coffee shop pulls espresso and pour overs alongside signature drinks and desserts so meticulously arranged they feel almost too pretty to eat. Regulars navigate the nondescript parking lot without a second thought. A second location sits in Henderson.

Galette is a pocket-size bakery in Avondale Estates that keeps Thursday-through-Sunday hours, which sounds like a hobby until you see the weekend line. Saturday and Sunday bring the oversized cinnamon rolls under a generous slick of icing, plus breakfast sandwiches on croissants, and the rolls vanish early. Weekdays are calmer, with apple cider donuts, pistachio croissants, and an apple galette that earns the name.

The Croque Park Avenue, draped in mornay sauce over Black Forest ham and gruyère, is a good argument for eating lunch at a corner cafe more often. Garnett's is the kind of relaxed, homey spot where first dates go well and regulars linger, with French-leaning sandwiches and wine poured without ceremony. The happy hour pricing borders on anachronistic in the best possible way.

An Argentinian steakhouse in Pittsburgh's Cultural District where the wood-fired grill does the talking and the line outside does the bragging. Proteins come off the fire with a serious char, and the chimichurri and sides hold their own beside them. The Parrillada Mixta platter is the move for the undecided, though regulars tend to land on the flap steak and stop second-guessing themselves.

A giant dragon mural looms over a small room built around sashimi, handrolls, and an unusually serious gin list, sorted by style so you actually learn something. The kitchen pairs fatty toro with yuzu salt and tucks pomegranate jam into a hamachi roll without it feeling like a stunt. The bar seats more people than the tables do, which tells you something about the vibe. Better for two than for six.

Gluten Free Goose is a dedicated gluten-free bakery in Lenox Village that opens just three days a week for six hours a day, so the Thursday-morning line comes with the territory. The case runs to cupcakes with tall dollops of frosting, oatmeal cream pies sized for a fist, and a brown sugar pop tart with ambitions. There's one lonely table inside, so most people eat in the car.

The pho broth here is light and fragrant with onion and ginger, and the soy-protein brisket has enough chew to make you question your assumptions. This all-vegan Asian restaurant, connected to the Loving Hut network, runs through a long menu of pad Thai, wonton soup, and claypot rice without any of it feeling like a consolation prize. It's a Civic Center lunch spot with real intentions and very reasonable prices.

This is an airport coffee counter in PDX that happens to be run by an independent Portland roaster, which means La Marzocco machines and a sleek, minimalist setup instead of the usual chain with a rotating cast of regrets. The seasonal lattes lean toward pairings like pear and bergamot, a lot of thought for someone clutching a boarding pass. It made The Infatuation's list of Portland's 25 best coffee shops, airport and all.

A coffee shop painted entirely black, because of course it is, parked next to a music venue in case the aesthetic wasn't clear enough. The drinks go the other direction: colorful, Southeast Asian-inspired lattes built around pandan, black sesame, and ube soft serve, which makes the whole thing a cheerful contradiction. Worth arriving in the morning before the night crowd reclaims the block.

A French bistro in Richmond where the steak frites is the answer whether the question is date night or Tuesday. The wine list is short, approachably priced, and chosen with genuine taste, which pairs well with a charcuterie spread that doubles as a reasonable case for skipping an entree. The chef behind it also runs a wine shop and a bakery nearby, so clearly one project was never going to be enough.

Guanatos is a tiny, unfussy Mexican grill in National City where lunch means a tostada piled with ceviche or octopus, then something heftier like a torta or a mound of fries buried under carne asada and marlin. The service is friendly in a way that suggests nobody here is in a hurry. On weekends there's fish soup, which the regulars treat as medicine, and the Eater lunch list has noticed.

Guilder is a roastery-run coffee shop tucked inside Powell's City of Books, which means your latte comes with a view of other people's reading lists. The drip gets proper respect here, though the seasonal drinks, like a cardamom rose cold brew under floral foam, are the ones to ask about. There's toast and even cocktails, and the clientele is mostly people holding one book and eyeing three more.

A smoothie shop and casual Ethiopian eatery sharing the same strip-mall storefront in Fremont, which sounds like a contradiction until you're sitting under the art with a flavored latte and a plate of lamb tibs on injera. Breakfast runs to spiced fava beans and jalapeño-flecked scrambles, and the apricot smoothie does real work against the heat. The San Francisco Chronicle named it among the Bay Area's best Ethiopian spots.

This pizzeria occupies an old movie theater in downtown Jackson, with the marquee and ticket booth still out front. The film is now the pizza makers feeding wood-fired ovens, which is better lit than most blockbusters. The menu runs to Star Wars puns and a thin-crusted margherita, and the two floors leave room for big family tables where kids get dough to play with. The Infatuation counts it among Jackson Hole's best.

The walls are covered in graffiti from happily drunken guests, and over a thousand bottles of Iberian, Italian, and French wine climb to the ceiling of this West Miami tapas bar. It channels the chaotic warmth of a Sevillian taverna: string lights, live music every night, cold cuts, garlic gambas, and a Saturday-only paella that regulars plan their weekends around. The New York Times named it one of Miami's 25 best restaurants right now.

Heart Roasters espresso anchors the coffee program at this compact Inman Park shop, which spent years as a cart before finally settling into a brick-and-mortar on Elizabeth Street. Colette Bread pastries show up on weekdays, while weekend pop-ups with local bakers keep the regulars guessing. The after-hours events have made it something of a neighborhood living room for people who like their coffee shop to do a little more than just open at seven.

The menu at this Israeli fine dining room lists a dish as "Horrible Hammer smashing herbs and flowers on meat," which tells you everything you need to know about the energy here. Chef Eyal Shani's Las Vegas outpost pulls from Tel Aviv by way of Japanese and French technique, but the real point is that dinner turns into a dance party, and the tile-and-warm-wood room is built to look lived in just enough to make table-dancing feel earned.

Nine seats at a counter in Saratoga, quiet enough that you'll learn exactly how someone accidentally ended up with too many cars. This is a kaiseki tasting menu, eleven courses, served to everyone simultaneously like a dinner party. The chef mists soup bowls to simulate dew and trims grapes so they stand upright instead of rolling. Between courses he silently practices piano on the countertop. Small details, unhurried pace, kimono-clad service guiding you through all of it.

Hayworth is a Jewish steakhouse in Henderson, which means challah knots where the dinner rolls would be and whipped chicken schmaltz where the butter usually goes. It's dressed-up date-night territory, with plush booths, icy martinis, and well-dressed neighbors airing grievances about their cooling bills over latkes crowned with roe. The pastrami is finished with bone marrow jus, and the babka comes home with you.

Nine feet of coffee shop is apparently all you need. Headquarters is a tiny, eclectic cafe on Charlotte Avenue pulling espresso drinks from local roaster Osa, with a sorghum and cinnamon latte that earns its place on the chalkboard. Baked goods rotate in from several Nashville bakeries. It sits directly across from the Richland Park Farmers Market, which makes Saturday mornings feel suspiciously well planned.

A weekend Turkish breakfast served in a Mission lifestyle café is a good thing to keep quiet about. Healthyish Republic pitches itself at the keto-and-paleo crowd, but on Fridays through Sundays it sets out a spread of cheeses, vegetables, and dips across a dozen small dishes, portioned for two. The kaymak, clotted cream pooled in honey and dusted with pistachio, sits somewhere between yogurt and cream cheese and goes on warm pita.

Heart is a Scandinavian-minimalist coffee shop on Burnside, and it's one of the places that helped put Portland on the third-wave map. The espresso leans light-roast, the pour-overs come with tasting notes like honeysuckle and cantaloupe, and there's no wifi, so nobody is camped out with a laptop and a single cortado. You drink the coffee, you look at the clean lines, and you leave. The Infatuation lists it among Portland's best coffee shops.

This Inman Park bakeshop is entirely gluten-free and enthusiastic enough about it to put the exclamation point right in the name. The case runs from Funfetti donuts to blueberry cheesecake pop tarts, plus savory empanadas that take well to a dab of hot sauce. It's a grab-and-go counter with nowhere to sit, so plan on eating in the car or on a nearby curb. The Infatuation lists it among Atlanta's best bakeries.

This is an old-school bakery and deli where the display cases do most of the talking, stocked with muffins, rugelach, shortbread, and gingerbread men that apparently never go out of season. It's also a sandwich counter, so a juicy french dip is on the table, with plenty of seating so the au jus stays out of your car. The petit fours, topped with tiny icing leaves, are the sort of thing you mean to share. The Infatuation lists it among the best bakeries in Atlanta.

A taco trailer parked at a Shell station in Rockville, where the chef mills his own masa on-site and builds the whole menu around it. Tacos, tostadas, and triangular tetelas stuffed with refried beans come out of an operation this small with a focus you'd expect from somewhere twice the size. The chef trained in Oaxaca, grew up in Montgomery County, and clearly has something to prove about corn.

Perched at the water's edge in Emeryville with a full view of the San Francisco skyline, this dim sum restaurant leans hard into old-school banquet hall grandeur, crystal chandeliers, guardian lion statues, and furniture that screams wedding reception. The classics anchor the menu, barbecue buns, siu mai, lotus leaf sticky rice, and the salt and pepper calamari that nobody expects but everyone orders twice. Dim sum runs into the evening, which is rarer than you'd think.

A takeout window on Hyde with over two dozen sauce options for chicken wings, which is either a gift or a crisis depending on your decisiveness. The Korean buldak runs genuinely hot, and the lemon pepper wet fans of "Atlanta" will recognize the reference. Cheeky aphorisms and house rules cover the windows, so there's something to read while you decide. Cash in hand, no seat required.

This is a La Jolla coffee shop that has dressed itself as an Italian villa, complete with trellised vines over a little alley and a table carved from a four-inch-thick door. The lattes arrive topped with a real flower bud, and prices run a few dollars above the usual, which is the cost of the scenery. Dog-walkers gossip outside while readers from the nearby bookstore claim the quieter nooks.

The tandoor oven is the move at this Indian restaurant on Cerrillos, where the chicken wings come out broiled over mesquite and finished with yogurt, garlic, and ginger. The dining room runs large and the service is unhurried and polished. If you like heat, say so; the kitchen will happily adjust. A weekday lunch buffet draws a steady crowd. The chef came up through Los Angeles, New York, and the Caribbean before landing in Santa Fe, and the cooking shows the mileage.

The lunch buffet has been a Tulsa institution for decades, with the owner still at the door to greet you himself, which sets a tone. This is a sit-down Indian restaurant where you pile your plate with naan, pakoras, and a rotating spread of curries, biryanis, and kormas. Most people overlook the dessert corner, but the kheer and mango custard are worth doubling back for before someone else clears the tray.

Hanging ivies, bamboo lanterns, and a menu that opens with raw blue crab tucked into an Isaan papaya salad, which is either the dish that converts you or sends you to the safer side of the menu. This Thai restaurant in San Carlos leans hard into northeastern Thailand, where the food runs funky, sour, and intensely aromatic. The grilled pork jowl with its house fish sauce dip is the kind of thing regulars order before they sit down.

Isla Detroit is a fast-casual Filipino spot in Sterling Heights, with rice bowls, noodle bowls, and entrees drawn from the cooking of Iloilo. You order at the counter, so no one will ask how your evening is going. The pastry chef co-owns the place, which explains the ube cakes in that unapologetic purple, and the Buko Halo-Halo for dining in, a tower of crushed ice, milk, and jellies. Eater has listed it among metro Detroit's top restaurant desserts.

The menu calls itself "mukokuseki," a Japanese word for stateless, which is one way to describe a Scotch egg that riffs on Hawaiian loco moco with a side of mac salad. This International District izakaya keeps the menu rotating, but the throughline is confident genre collision: fried pork katsu sando tucked into garlic shokupan with spaghetti marinara and mozzarella. The New York Times named it among Seattle's best, and the shochu highball list gives you something to do while you figure out what just happened.

An izakaya tucked into a Concord strip mall, with the emphasis firmly on kobachi, the small bites meant to be eaten slowly alongside sake or shochu. The menu front-loads little plates that pair well with drinks, while heartier bento sets and grilled meats occupy the back half for anyone who came hungry. When you order a shochu sour, the proprietor walks over and squeezes the citrus at your table, which sets the tone immediately.

The handwritten daily specials sheet is the first thing to read at this intimate Honolulu izakaya, where the fish changes with the season and the kitchen takes both seriously. Foie gras over braised daikon and egg yolk rice with uni and truffle butter signal the general direction: indulgent, a little theatrical, no apologies. The baby sardine chips do the work of a bar snack, but with more personality than a bar snack has any right to expect.

Jackson Drug is a restored soda fountain, the kind with swivel stools, Art Deco ceiling tiles, and tilework underfoot that looks cleaner than most of the town's good intentions. It's a casual, cheap-ish diner dinner, with a burger from local beef, tater tots, and milkshakes sized for a small ranch. Families and sunburned hikers fill the stools, and The Infatuation lists it among Jackson Hole's best restaurants.

A rosemary-honey cortado tells you everything about what kind of coffee shop this is. Jadu is a Jamaica Plain cafe pulling Counter Culture espresso alongside masala chai sourced from Boston's own Madhrasi Chai, with seasonal drinks that lean into unexpected flavor combinations. Pastries come from a nearby nut-free bakery, and there's a breakfast and lunch menu to keep you longer than you planned.