The Best Places in the United States

A 125-room hotel rising 18 stories above downtown Fargo, the Jasper leans into the region's Scandinavian roots with Nordic-inflected design and a quiet emphasis on coziness that feels less like a mood board and more like a considered choice. The on-site restaurant, Rosewild, serves Plains-sourced food shaped by Nordic technique, which is either a natural fit or a very good argument that it always should have been. The Michelin Guide includes it among its selected hotels.

The trail network runs right through the property, so you can be on a bike or in hiking boots before the coffee from Entrada Cafe kicks in. LOGE Bend is an adventure-focused hotel on the road to Mt. Bachelor, pitched at the mountain-biker-and-ski-bum crowd but unfussy enough for families. Rooms are stylish without being precious, rentals cover skis and snowshoes, and a fleet of cruiser bikes is free for guests.

Every room has a private balcony overlooking Lake Mangonia, which sets the tone pretty quickly at this British Caribbean-inflected resort about ten minutes from Palm Beach. The spa runs a private saltwater pool and eucalyptus steam rooms alongside something called vibroacoustic relaxation therapy, which sounds made-up until you're lying in it. Guests can also access a Jack Nicklaus-designed golf course, the first new private links in the area in decades.

Bentonville has been quietly having a moment, and this boutique hotel leans into both sides of it. Ozark limestone runs through the public spaces; the rooms go warmer, woodier, and modernist without feeling like a showroom. There's a Tuscan steakhouse and a craft cocktail lounge on site, and a cycling concierge who can outfit you for the hundreds of miles of trails starting practically outside the door.

Eight rooms in Oregon wine country, with platform beds, hardwood floors, and modernist furnishings that feel more boutique hotel than barn conversion. A European-style breakfast arrives at your door before you head out to the vineyards. The bocce court and croquet lawn look out over farmland in every direction, which makes the whole setup feel a little surreal, in the best, quietest possible way.

A six-room B&B in a Colonial-era house that has Ralph Waldo Emerson quotes on the walls, which is either charming or a lot depending on your relationship with transcendentalism. The inn has been around forever and shows it in the best way: pine floors from the original build, original architectural details, and modern bathrooms that know when to stay quiet. Breakfast, a lending library, and an honor bar round out the thoughtful extras.

Handmade tortillas folded around adobada, lengua, buche, or suadero, with no basic chicken option because the menu has standards. This cafeteria-style Tijuana taco counter across from Resorts World runs until 4 a.m. on weekends, which explains the line at 2 a.m. full of people who've just remembered they're hungry. The tacos are petite, so order accordingly. Eater named it among the Strip's 38 essential restaurants.

The New Haven-style pies here are cooked to a serious crunch, with dough pressed thinner than the Connecticut purists would sanction and a tangy, oregano-heavy tomato sauce that makes a decent argument for staying in Brooklyn. Wheated is a Ditmas Park pizzeria with a full bar that also does bagels, so the menu has range. The New York Times put it on their best pizza in New York list, which is the kind of thing that fills a neighborhood spot fast.

The dining room is painted in every color someone could fit on a wall, which turns out to be solid preparation for the menu that follows. This Sinaloan seafood restaurant in Phoenix runs a multi-page spread of aguachiles, whole fried fish, grilled shrimp Micheladas, and molcajetes loaded with carne asada alongside whatever came out of the ocean. A serrano margarita handles the heat. Families book out the patio on weekends, so call ahead if you're bringing a crowd.

The tortas here are the size of a small architectural project, stacked high on soft telera rolls with combinations like fried beef, ham, egg, chorizo, and avocado all grilled together. This casual Mexican sandwich shop in Sunnyslope sprawls through several rooms, and the menu takes real time to navigate. The juice bar deserves equal attention, especially the agua cremosa, a condensed milk and fresh fruit drink that arrives under a paper umbrella, which feels right.

The plain cheese slice is what the co-founder tells you to order, which feels like a trap until you see the crisp undercarriage and the clean, balanced sauce. This is a NY-style slice shop doing the straightforward thing well, in a region where pizzas tend to arrive under a pile of arugula. The cheesecakes come in from Long Island, and the garlic knots have the right chew. The San Francisco Chronicle named it among the best restaurants in San Jose.

This is the dressier sibling of Esther's Kitchen, an upscale Italian restaurant in Tivoli Village where the focaccia arrives with roasted garlic and a plan to keep you from ordering anything else. The dough carries over to the pizzas, and the meatballs come with a square of crunchy polenta built for chasing sauce. Early evenings at the bar are busy, and patio tables overlook a fountain, which is as close to Rome as Rampart Boulevard gets.

BB's is a casual Cajun and Creole spot on Westheimer that keeps the kitchen going until 3 a.m. most nights and 4 a.m. on weekends, which tells you who its customers are. The menu splits the difference between New Orleans and Texas, with po'boys, fried seafood platters, and a seafood boil that arrives with enough vegetables to feel responsible about it. Daiquiris are the fuel. Wear whatever survived the evening.

Floral murals cover the dining room walls and custom Arab pop art fills the gaps, all by design: the name translates to "Rima's Home," a tribute to the chef's mother, and the room is meant to feel like one. This is a shareable mezze spot in Duboce Triangle, cheap and cheerful, where the table fills up fast with dips, baked halloumi, and chicken shish tawook while the room gets louder around you.

A giant chalkboard covered in Georgian script greets you at this University Avenue restaurant, with a handy illustrated wine chart and a declaration at the bottom that translates to "We love our guests." Khinkali dumplings filled with savory broth and lamb share the menu with khachapuri, the classic cheese and egg bread. It doubles as a low-key primer on a cuisine most tables know nothing about when they sit down.

A compact caviar and seafood bar just off the Caesars Palace casino floor, where Pringles arrive with caviar French onion dip and nobody blinks. The real trick is a life-sized portrait of a sailing captain that swings open onto a purple-and-turquoise room with a stage, hosting yacht rock nights and karaoke. Expect smoked Old Fashioneds, espresso martinis, and strangers committing to "I Will Always Love You."

A converted ice cream truck that traded wheels for a walk-up window on Washington Avenue, this scoop shop keeps a short, rotating roster of flavors that leans well past vanilla, think black sesame, cookie butter, and vegan mango sticky rice. The Dough Boy, a scoop pressed between a warm powdered-sugar doughnut, is the order that ends up in everyone's photos. Call ahead to confirm your flavor is in stock, or risk making choices you weren't prepared for.

The jerk chicken here shares DNA with Back A Yard, the fast-casual chain from the same restaurateur, but Coconuts wraps it in full table service and a proper rum bar. The Caribbean cooking is straightforward and confident: oxtail braised until the meat gives up completely, chicken slathered in allspice-forward seasoning. The room is colorful in the literal sense, which on a gray Peninsula afternoon feels less like a design choice and more like a public service.

This is a casino coffee shop at the South Point, the kind of 24-hour diner where the real menu starts after midnight. The graveyard specials are the draw: a shrimp cocktail for under three dollars, or a small steak with eggs, hash browns, and toast for around seven. Convention badges and rodeo hats share the booths at 2am, and you walk out full and still under fifteen bucks, which in Vegas is practically a clerical error.

The entrance is a walk-in freezer at the back of a Downtown ice cream shop, which is the kind of plot twist a Las Vegas cocktail bar can get away with. On the other side is an Old Hollywood-style hideaway serving movie-themed drinks, some arriving in milk pint glasses. You can also roll a pair of dice and let the bartenders improvise around your fate. Dress for a drink, not a sundae.

An ice cream shop that partners with local breweries and roasters to build flavors you won't find in a freezer aisle, Fat Cat Creamery scoops things like milk chocolate stout made with a local oatmeal stout and a cold brew cream tied to a specific Houston roaster's seasonal batch. One brick-and-mortar location in the city, plus a spot at Hobby Airport, with scoops popping up at bars and coffee shops around town.

Flower & Cream is a modern ice cream shop on West Holcombe where pink is less a color scheme than a commitment, right down to the waffle cones. About fifteen flavors rotate through the case, including a few vegan ones with names like unicorn tracks. Half scoops are allowed, which is how undecided people get two flavors without the guilt of a second full scoop. Expect strollers, sugar, and a lot of photos of cones.

Tucked into the base of a Galleria office building, Hachi is a sushi restaurant that splits its personality between an 18-course omakase and a full à la carte menu, so you decide how much of a commitment the evening becomes. The chef walks each omakase course to the table with its story attached, which sounds precious until it isn't. The nigiri is the thread either way.

Ichiza is a second-floor izakaya in Chinatown that opens at 5pm and keeps the kitchen going until 11 the next morning, which makes it dinner, last call, and breakfast under one roof. The menu comes with photos, a kindness to anyone past the point of reading, and the specials are scrawled on paper taped to the walls. Both Eater and The Infatuation have put it on their late-night lists, and the honey toast, a buttered cube with ice cream on top, is why.

Ito is a twelve-seat omakase counter on the 67th floor of the Fontainebleau, tucked inside a private members club, which is about as far from a strip mall sushi bar as geography allows. The eighteen courses run $400 a head, and the chefs play classic hip-hop while they torch and tweezer things into place. Expect a room of people dressed for a night out and quietly guarding their uni bowl.

Chef Manabu "Hori" Horiuchi, a four-time James Beard Award nominee, runs this upscale Japanese restaurant and sushi bar in River Oaks. The menu moves between tradition and Houston without apology: amberjack sashimi arrives with foie gras, and a miso lobster mac and cheese sits a few lines below the daily sashimi specials. The room fills with the kind of regulars who know to check the specials board first and order off it almost exclusively.

Kokoro lives inside Bravery Chef Hall downtown, where the team from Uchi turned a food-hall counter into a sushi and yakitori spot that manages to feel genuinely relaxed without the studied casualness of a place trying to prove a point. Nigiri and maki share the menu with grilled yakitori and chicken fat rice. The crowd eating standing up at the counter is not doing it ironically; the food just moves fast.

The dining room runs quietly enough that you can hear the sommelier think, which is exactly the point at this fine dining institution that has been feeding San Jose's special-occasion crowd forever. European tasting menus anchor the experience, running through seafood and onto things like pheasant or venison, with a shorter prix fixe for the commitment-averse. The staff is warm without being performative about it.

Past a door that makes very little effort to hide, this cave-like cocktail bar sits behind a taco spot in a busy Chinatown plaza. The drinks lean loud: tequila infused with Flamin' Hot Cheetos, mezcal with chamoy, a margarita lightened with a splash of Corona. The kitchen next door keeps the snacks coming, birria ramen included, so nobody has to leave the cave hungry.

The counter at this Museum District omakase spot is made from hinoki cypress, a wood chosen because it's said to sharpen the flavor of fish, which tells you something about how seriously the team takes the details here. Chef Chris Kinjo's sushi restaurant draws a dressed-up crowd willing to surrender the menu entirely, and the kitchen rewards them with plates that read as carefully considered as the room around them.

The pandan-and-chrysanthemum swirl was added hesitantly and sold out immediately, which tells you most of what you need to know about this ice cream shop. Milk + Sugar keeps 16 flavors in rotation, built around a simple premise: take desserts people already love and churn them into scoops. The brown sugar waffle cone is worth the upgrade. Additional locations in the Heights and West University.

Naked City is a pizza kitchen tucked in the back of a bar on Fremont Street, serving thick, rectangular pies from two Buffalo expats who treat the tomato sauce as optional. Toppings pile up until the cheese goes into hiding, half the menu wears a creamy garlic sauce, and the buffalo chicken version arrives with blue cheese dressing, as the founders' hometown would insist. Come in sneakers, order at the bar.

Nicco's is a steakhouse inside Durango Casino Resort, about as far from the Strip as you can get without leaving the valley, and the room seems to know it. The meat and seafood sit on display near the open kitchen, the lighting is low enough to forgive anything, and the bar does a burger for nights when a full steakhouse performance feels like too much. Locals fill the booths, including the people who work the casinos for a living.

Oishii means "delicious" in Japanese, which is either a promise or a spoiler, depending on how you feel about a sushi joint wedged between a dry cleaner and a liquor store in an Upper Kirby strip mall. The family-run room covers the classics: sashimi, tempura, udon, and rolls that don't require a second mortgage. Regulars tend to find it by word of mouth and then act like they invented it.

Sen Of Japan is a sushi spot tucked into a strip mall just east of Summerlin, which is exactly where you'd expect to find a serious six-course omakase priced at a fraction of what the Strip would charge. Families and date-nighters fill the room early. The kitchen stays open until 1:30am most nights, so the late shift belongs to cooks and servers still in their work clothes, hunched over nigiri like it's the first meal of the day.

This is a two-story steakhouse tucked inside a shopping mall, which sounds like a dare until you see the carts of cloche-covered cuts rolling past a glass-walled butcher room. The mall's painted sky keeps it permanently dusk, so nobody checks the time. Expect shellfish towers, a flaming baked Alaska, and the kind of dinner where the bill arrives in a leather folder and nobody flinches.

This is a sit-down Tex-Mex restaurant in an old adobe building on Main Street, the original of Houston's three Spanish Flowers. The bar is covered in river rocks and the courtyard is lined with concrete pillars, so it feels like a Mexico City from a few decades back. Shrimp fajitas with Gulf shrimp and fresh tortillas are the draw, and enchiladas arrive under melty cheese and a dark, spicy gravy. Casual, no dress code required.

Starboard Tack is a diner-meets-tiki-bar a short drive off the Strip, where patterned booth fabric your grandmother would approve of sits beneath a stained-glass underwater scene. The rum list is one of the bigger ones in town, the menu leans Filipino and Korean, and an indie or punk show may be winding down while you finish your kimchi fried rice. Eater and The Infatuation both list it among Vegas's best late-night spots.

Sushi Hiro is a neighborhood sushi spot in Henderson, the kind where the nigiri night out comes without a dress code or a reservation-anxiety spiral. Families with loud children are close to guaranteed, so treat it as ambient sound. You can order a la carte, but the omakase runs around $100 and ends with dessert from Suzuya Patisserie. Chopped toro on crispy rice with wasabi honey mustard does the rest of the persuading.

Texas Chili Parlor is a dark, cheap dive bar that happens to serve chili, with a Tex-Mex menu stapled to the side. Enchiladas arrive buried under a scoop of Texas-style chili, which is its own kind of confidence. The Mad Dog margarita is as strong as the name suggests, and a few barstool regulars look like they came with the building. Downtown workers pop in at lunch, then go back to their desks, mostly.

A sports bar inside the Durango that never closes, which means the kitchen keeps its dinner and breakfast menus running side by side once the clock passes eleven. Grab a stool near the sportsbook or take the plant-filled patio, then order coffee and a beer in whichever sequence your night demands. Pancakes and Philly cheesesteak egg rolls share a table here without anyone raising an eyebrow, and brussels sprouts at 2am are a real option.

The Underground is a Prohibition-themed speakeasy tucked beneath the Mob Museum, and yes, there's a daily password, which the museum's website will hand over to anyone who asks nicely. The brick walls double as a 1920s exhibit hall, with flapper outfits and a cocktail kit hidden in a briefcase. It also runs its own working moonshine distillery, so the bootlegging is technically legal, which is the one disappointing part.

Tiny's is an ice cream shack with a seaside look that somehow got built in the middle of Houston, nowhere near any sea. The line runs long and heavy with strollers until about 4:30, when everyone leaves for dinner. The metal benches outside turn into griddles in summer, so plan to walk with your cone. The namesake flavor comes with freshly baked cookies blended in, and the pistachio neapolitan covers three flavors at once.

Tío Trompo is a counter-service taco joint near Buffalo Bayou Park, where the main entertainment is watching pork get shaved off a spinning trompo while you wait. The floral tablecloths add a note of grandmother's dining room to an otherwise no-frills operation. Order at the counter, go for the three-taco platter, and know that the breakfast tacos keep going all day, so nobody has to rush.

Tokyo Boys is a sushi restaurant in Henderson wearing the stainless-steel shell of a 1950s diner, which makes the omakase-grade fish inside feel like a plot twist. The old diner counter now serves as the sushi bar, and it's the seat to take. The chef came up through Nobu, so a famous yellowtail jalapeño turns up here at a fraction of Strip pricing. Come in a T-shirt and don't expect a velvet rope.

Wax Rabbit is a speakeasy tucked behind a tequila cellar at the Durango resort, and getting in means finding the right miniature rabbit among the many on display and pulling it like a lever. Past the door, everything is red, a DJ spins vinyl from blues to 2000s throwbacks, and the guava-and-strega Hidden Passion arrives in a pineapple-shaped glass. Eater and The Infatuation both keep it on their hidden-bar lists.

The bungalows come with their own infinity pool, direct beach access, and a dedicated host, which sets the tone for what this Ritz-Carlton resort is going for. It sits on Oahu's North Shore, far enough from Waikiki to feel like a different island entirely. The activity menu runs to around 70 options, from ukulele workshops to after-dark snorkeling, so the outdoorsy guests will never run out of things to sign up for.

Bagels arrive stacked on wooden dowels here, which tells you most of what you need to know about the vibe. This is Major Food Group's theatrical, not-quite-kosher take on a Jewish appetizing shop in Soho, where seed-crusted bagels anchor spreads of lox, sable, and sturgeon, and there's a full caviar section for when a schmear feels insufficiently dramatic. Budget accordingly; this crowd did not come to save money.

Ali's is a counter-service roti shop on Fulton where the menu runs from conch to liver to curry goat, all folded into dhalpuri, the soft split-pea flatbread that does the heavy lifting. It closed for a renovation with almost no warning, which rattled the regulars, and it came back with picture windows full of pepper sauce and bush tea. Halal, cash only, so stop at the ATM before you start deliberating over kingfish.

The pressed-tin ceiling and apothecary cases are original to the old drugstore this soda fountain has been around forever inside. It's the kind of Carroll Gardens spot that puts potato chips on a sundae and makes it feel obvious in retrospect. Ice cream floats run on housemade soda, and the sundaes come loaded with toppings, most made in-house. Order at the counter and find a stool; nobody here is in a hurry.

This is a Thai street food counter in the Arts District, run out of a kitchen roughly the size of a walk-in closet, which explains why most people take it to go. The pad see ew runs about fifteen dollars and arrives with thick, chewy noodles, broccoli, and shredded chicken. The neighbors have bigger dining rooms and louder reputations, and this place seems fine with that. Order the Thai iced tea, then decide how disciplined you feel about the mango sticky rice.

Kumoya is a stylish LoHi sushi bar where the fish list runs to monkfish liver, toro dry-aged for more than a month, and species most of us only meet on a menu, with an optional wasabi flight for anyone who wants to compare. The kitchen also fries a pork sando on milk bread, which 5280 put on its Denver sandwich list, and the bar pours Japanese whisky and rice spirits. Expect to dress a notch above a Tuesday.

Market Street Cafe is a big, cheap Hawaiian-leaning diner tucked inside the California Hotel, which makes it the logical landing spot for any group whose Vegas plans collapsed by noon. The menu runs on a clock: prime rib specials show up in the late afternoon, and the oxtail soup waits until after 11pm, a schedule that suits people with nowhere else to be. Wear whatever you slept in.

A few blocks from Ocean Beach, this old-school Northern Chinese restaurant in the Outer Sunset has been feeding the neighborhood forever. The cumin-spiced lamb is the reason regulars make the drive, though the beef pancakes, flaky and properly oily, make a strong argument for staying longer. Big bowls of thick noodles fill out the tables, and the date-stuffed mochi arrives warm and sugar-dusted. Fog outside, comfort inside.

Perilla is a Korean steakhouse tucked into a downtown Chicago hotel, where the staff cook the cuts on a grill at your table so you can supervise without technically lifting a finger. Wagyu and marinated short rib are the draw, but the Caesar with milk bread croutons and the Korean fried chicken keep the non-beef contingent fed. Since it's a hotel restaurant, steak and eggs start at 7 a.m. Eater lists it among Chicago's steakhouses.

Pizza Dada is a New York-style slice counter tucked inside the Sterling Food Hall, which makes it the Loop's answer to the question "what if lunch weren't a sandwich." The slices are big enough that two could pass for a meal, with a charred crust and a zippy sauce. Whole pies are available too, and sharing remains strictly optional. Expect office badges, lanyards, and people eating over paper plates.

This is a counter-seat oyster bar inside a Palace Station casino that never closes, which means a pan roast at 4am is a reasonable thing to want. The cooks work a maze of steam and running water a few feet from your stool, performing the whole thing for people who are mostly just hungry. Order the oysters first, then stir rice into the tomato broth, a move the regulars figured out long before you did.

The dining room completes a full rotation every 80 minutes or so, which means your view of the Strip shifts whether you ordered the short ribs or not. This is a fine-dining restaurant perched 800 feet up the Stratosphere tower, so the occasion practically dresses itself. The seasonal menu leans international, the sommelier is on hand, and the cocktail program takes itself seriously. The floor does the work either way.

Toukei is a Japanese izakaya off Bellaire where the kitchen keeps going until 1am and the menu covers sushi, yakitori, and ramen without ever settling on a lane. One wall is a floor-to-ceiling liquor cabinet, with a second stash stacked behind the bar for backup. It's a good fit for a pregame or an after-party, and ordering only water will make you the most conspicuous person in the building.