The Best Places in the United States

Secret Pizza is a counter slice shop on the third floor of the Cosmopolitan, reached by a hallway of Rat Pack-era record sleeves that makes the whole thing feel like a bit. The secret got out years ago. Now it's a New York-style slice reheated until it could laminate your fingers, handed over by a quick-moving crew to bleary-eyed clubgoers who eat standing up in a tiny square room or carry it off into the night.

Warm tones, natural wood, and golden lighting make this Inner Sunset bistro feel like someone's very stylish living room, if that living room happened to serve buckwheat crepes and surf-and-turf crudo. The menu runs French but without the rulebook, leaning seasonal and local in a way that keeps things genuinely interesting visit to visit. Sharing plates reward a table of friends, and brunch draws the neighborhood in reliably.

A cash-only slice shop in North Beach that's been around forever, Golden Boy does thick, focaccia-style pan pizza under a neon sign that's become something of a neighborhood landmark. The clam and garlic slice is the one regulars order without looking up. Grab it, find a spot on the sidewalk or walk it over to Washington Square Park, and eat standing up the way San Francisco intended.

Lines form before the doors open at this specialty seafood counter, which tells you most of what you need to know. Faroe Island salmon, live sea urchin, razor clams, and whatever else flew in that morning fill the case alongside premium tinned fish and prepared foods. The shop insists it isn't a restaurant, then sells poke banh mi and sashimi boxes to go. Wednesday's lobster roll has its own cult.

Seafood flown in daily from Tokyo sets the pace at this sleek River Oaks sushi bar, where the menu runs from delicate nigiri to a flaming king crab roll that arrives with some theatrical intent. It's the kind of polished Japanese spot where the fish is the point and the room knows it. Maki, hand rolls, and omakase-style nigiri fill the card alongside a few non-sushi detours for the table purists inevitably dragged along.

You'll spot it by the squat brick house with Christmas lights that never come down and lace curtains that predate everyone's memory. Inside it's a casual red-sauce Italian joint with checkered tablecloths and a brick fireplace, where the portions arrive in casserole dishes and the lasagna comes buried in marinara. Grab any table you like, since nobody's fighting you for it, and expect to leave carrying leftovers.

CrunCheese is a corn dog counter in Chinatown's Shanghai Plaza, where the Korean street-food version comes battered, rolled in crunchy potato cubes, and fried until it looks like it has armor. Sausage, mozzarella, or half of each, then sugar and a sauce lineup that takes the whole thing past reasonable. It's a few dollars and made to be eaten with one hand while you browse the shops, and a second one tends to happen.

Nashville-style hot chicken counter inside the Venetian's Via Via food hall, where the queue alone tells you something is happening. The LA original has a cult following, and the Vegas outpost brings the same obsessive consistency: fiery chicken sandwiches dressed with coleslaw, comeback sauce, and pickles, with heat levels running from no-heat "country" to "Howlin'," which the menu might as well label "your problem now." Grab the banana pudding as a chaser.

A casual Vietnamese noodle shop on Spring Mountain Road that does its best work after the casinos have taken everything you brought. At 3am the room splits between people refusing to end the night and industry workers who just ended theirs. The spicy beef phở comes with a plate of jalapeños and limes, and the steam off the bowl is thick enough to cloud your glasses, which at that hour is a mercy.

A dark wood-paneled steakhouse tucked deep inside Circus Circus, which is a bit like finding a tuxedo in a ball pit. There's a dry-aging closet, oil paintings of cows the size of garage doors, and an open kitchen where you can watch your order get chopped and grilled. Entrees arrive with pretzel bread and black bean soup, and the martinis are essentially cups of gin. Expect resort-casual and a neighbor with a story.

Uchi runs omakase and à la carte Japanese small plates out of a warm, low-lit room on Westheimer that fills up fast enough to make a reservation feel non-negotiable. The chef's background is in Austin, where the original location built a following, and the Houston room carries the same ethos: precise, inventive bites plated like someone actually thought about where to put them. Happy hour runs from four to six for anyone watching the tab.

Bistro Monadnock is a wood-paneled French bistro on a quiet side street near the Art Institute, which makes it a natural place to go after a morning of looking at French things and deciding you'd like to eat some. There's an open kitchen, a bar, and booths that rarely require a plan. Your server may volunteer a tour of the dry-ager or a short lecture on the building, and it's wise to let them.

Getting to this inn requires a ferry, which is either a dealbreaker or the entire point. The island has no cars to speak of, and the inn leans into that with no TVs or phones in the rooms, just vintage furniture, local art, and views. Bikes, tennis, golf, and charter boats fill the days, and the restaurant runs on lobster, mussels, and produce from nearby farms. Selected by the Michelin Guide.

Sitting at the base of Jackson Hole Mountain Resort's aerial tram, this hotel in Teton Village is built around the assumption that you'll be outside most of the day. The 87 rooms keep things purposeful: warm oak, charcoal walls, Navajo-print textiles, and mountain photography that reminds you why you came. Wild Pine handles dinner, Unravel does coffee, and the outdoor pool and hot tub handle whatever the mountain did to your legs. Skiers in winter, hikers and bikers all summer.

The Mission-style archway and stone lobby fireplace survived the restoration of Ojai's oldest hotel, which is the right call. El Roblar is a 50-room boutique hotel spread across a main building, private garden bungalows, and a newer Sycamore House wing, all done in warm earthy tones with locally sourced art on the walls. It sits right on Ojai Avenue, so the valley is essentially your front yard.

Jackson Hole has spent years avoiding the Aspen trap, all luxury condos and designer boutiques, which makes Hotel Terra feel like a small act of rebellion in reverse. It's a stylish, design-forward hotel sitting in the village, and it stands out precisely because the town around it never bothered dressing up. The Michelin Guide selects it, and the surrounding mountain landscape does most of the heavy lifting on atmosphere.

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 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.

Cleaver is a steakhouse just off the Strip where the portraits are Napoleonic-era military figures, except the generals are Queen Latifah and Jack Black. The bar's cocktail menu is sorted by era, starting in the mid-1800s, and the bar team took a Spirited Award in 2024 for Best U.S. Restaurant Bar. Expect big groups, big appetites, and a mac and cheese with pork belly in it.

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.

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.

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.

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.