We know. You think you know spicy tuna rolls—that raw-fish beginner’s course encompassing ground low-grade tuna, from- a-bottle sriracha and a pat of mayo. This is not that spicy tuna roll—this is the best dish of the entire year. What co-chefs Jimmy Lau and Nick Kim serve under that seemingly familiar moniker is a different species altogether, a firecracker of a hand roll assembled with a lush, melty slab of grilled bluefin belly, flaring Thai red chilis and juice-sopping sushi rice inside shattering, toasted nori. Like that chili gusto, the memory of this bold, beautiful reimagining lingers on your lips long after your plate’s been cleared. Hell, you’ll be dreaming about it well into 2016. $175 as part of kaiseki.
At her vegetable-focused chef’s counter (which she runs with boyfriend José Ramírez-Ruiz), pastry chef Pamela Yung pulls bread out of its opening-act status to the peak of the meal’s crescendo. Midway through the tasting menu, Yung hand-delivers a box filled with her aromatic, alt-grain loaves trundled out with a tangy trickle of house buttermilk and bright-yellow, sea-salted butter from upstate’s Cowbella dairy farm. The gorgeous breads rotate regularly (einkorn-buckwheat, nettle brioche), but one particularly swoonworthy variety is Yung’s porridge sourdough, moist and nutty beneath its hearty, crackling crust. $85 as part of tasting menu.
Tableside pageantry is fast and frequent at Gabriel Kreuther’s solo debut, but it’s most fitting when matched with this regal tartlet, an import from the chef’s lauded 10-year tenure at Alsatian-accented MoMA dining room the Modern. The flaky phyllo cup, piped with a yellow fluff of caviar mousseline over smoked sturgeon and musty sauerkraut and topped with a quenelle of inky black caviar, is hooded in a glass cloche fogged with applewood smoke, the savory plumes of which permeate the tart and release when the server pulls up the lid. It’s at once folky and flamboyant, and it’s Kreuther at his best. $98 as part of four-course prix fixe.
Nope, the year’s most stellar short ribs didn’t come out of a veteran French kitchen or a New American dining room. Instead, they were the product of a K-town barbecue joint helmed by a dude born in—check it—1990. (Yeah, we feel old reading that too.) That young gun, Deuki Hong, tapped into his fine-dining résumé (Momofuku, Jean-Georges) to refine the Korean barbecue experience at this bi-level meat haven, drawing megawatt chefs such as Anthony Bourdain and Danny Bowien with his prime cuts and smart, minimal fussings. Occupying both categories are his boneless short ribs, whisper-brushed with sesame oil, garlic and black pepper to allow the meat’s natural marbleization to do the talking. And with its superbly rich flesh enveloped in char-edged crust, what fine things it has to say. $39.
Even the simplest pleasures aren’t what they appear at Dominique Ansel Kitchen—a croissant imbued with rosemary olive oil moonlights as garlic bread, and tiramisu layers are heady with black tea. Even a humble brownie is leavened with hidden complexities: The deeply chocolaty square, fudgy and cakey at equal turns, is topped with sage leaves, swaddled in cedar paper, tied with twine and torched, arriving warm and filled with campfire smoke and sweet earth. We usually don’t like the idea of screwing with simple perfection, but for this sumptuous update, we’ll easily make an exception. $5.
It tastes like New York in a bowl, a steaming crock of Japanese ramen with the bubbe-warmth of a Jewish-deli sandwich. Chef-owner Joshua Smookler sought out Katz’s as inspiration for his studied flagship bowl, and it’s immediately felt in the moist hunks of house-made corned beef, shredded cabbage and half-sour pickles that entwine his toothsome noodles. In place of traditional pork tonkotsu, Smookler rejiggers his broth, ladling in oxtail and bone marrow stock for a much-welcome extra boost of meatiness. $18.
Shrimp may be the king of tempura territory, but Masao Matsui makes a stunning case for scallops at his batter temple. The veteran chef (the Nadaman at Tokyo’s Hotel New Otani) drags supple pillows of mollusk cradled in nori through a mixture of Super Violet flour, mineral water and egg yolk that’s been whisked together until flaxen and featherweight. Matsui lets the scallop dance for a few joyful moments in his secret-recipe blend of cottonseed and sesame oils and plunges his wooden batons in to retrieve it, and suddenly it’s right in front of you: a soft, nearly raw bivalve trussed in a golden-crisp gossamer. It’s impossibly delicate and stupendously satisfying. $200 as part of omakase.
South Korea’s honey butter chips created Beatlemania-level hysteria earlier this year. Convenience stores were perpetually sold out, and the bright-yellow bags even hit the black market. Enter new Korean eatery Oiji. After failed attempts to import the chips to their East Village restaurant, chefs Brian Kim and Tae Kyung Ku took to parodying the snack themselves. Their warm, wickedly rich version—billed as a side but served last, à la dessert—glazes mandolined, fried russet potatoes in high-fat French butter, brown sugar and honey, with cayenne and salt working diligently to check the overt sweetness. A few feverish fistfuls later, you’ll see that chip craze was justified. $5.
Sorry, Chris Pratt, the It dish of the 2015 blogosphere was actually a fried chicken sandwich. The year was inundated with heavyweight options, from Shake Shack’s Brooklyn-only ChickenShack to Chick-fil-A’s Manhattan debut, but one bird ruled the roost: David Chang’s poultry tour de force, with buttermilk-battered, Scotch-bonnet-smoldering meat spilling out from under a pliant Martin’s potato roll. Spare trimmings—a slick of briny butter, a few snappy pickle chips—allow for focus to remain on the bird, and what a mighty bird it is. $8.
Less than a year after opening Red Hook’s Thai-critical darling Kao Soy, co-chef Kanlaya Supachana split—and took the namesake noodle dish with her. Thankfully, though, it wasn’t gone for long. Down the block—174 friggin’ feet down, to be exact—the Chiang Mai native brazenly stirs her turmeric-yellow coconut curry in a pop-up space inside home-goods-store-cum-café Home/Made. A pair of juicy chicken drumsticks lurks amid soft-boiled noodles in the soup’s depths, enlivened with pickled mustard greens, shallots and chili oil, while a cap of fried egg noodles and shreds of banana-blossom fritters add contrasting crunch. 293 Van Brunt St, Brooklyn. $12.
It’s two iconic New York desserts in one: The soft, spongy iced shortbread known as the black-and-white cookie and the Bowery pushcart-born ice cream sandwich. But it’s also the meeting of two beloved local sweet purveyors, small-batch creamery Ample Hills and oversize-cookie maker Baked. A puck of vanilla malted ice cream is fitted Chipwich-style between two thick, fondant-frosted black-and-white cookies with malted fudge and then rolled in malted-chocolate Rice Krispies. Showing off New York pride never tasted so sweet. $7
Gotham is well-versed in international frozen treats—Taiwanese shaved ice, Thailand’s i tim pad roll-ups—but it got its best ambassador for kulfi (Indian’s answer to Popsicles) in Jessi Singh’s time-intensive version. For capital-C creaminess, Singh stirs a cow’s milk base for six hours, suffuses the mixture with flavorful add-ins (say, cardamom, honey and pistachio) and then freezes it for 12 hours in tapered tin molds that he smuggles back from the motherland. Warm the cannister between your palms to release the pop—the payoff is the sweet spot between mochi chewiness and custard richness. $6.
Frozen-sweet whiz kids Kendrick Lo and Paul Kim are known for their off-the-wall ice cream flavors (bacon, egg and cheese sundae; Vietnamese coffee with doughnut truffles), but this more subtle tea-based concoction will stay with you long after the last lick. A rich cream base is infused for 24 hours with Nilgiri tea leaves, a fragrant black variety native to southern India, and then swirled with an otherworldly salted butter caramel given a citrusy kick from finely ground, oven-charred lemon zest. $4.75
Colorful and cheeky, Jennifer Yee’s throwback dessert tugged New York’s nostalgic, sweets-loving heart. But the pastry chef doesn’t rest on mere reminiscence—Yee’s treat comes to age each June, marbling creamy sorbet with crumbles of fresh-baked French macarons in modern flavors like matcha, birthday cake and the bakery’s signature bergamot. $5.
Don’t want to curb your ice-cream consumption even into the cold-weather months? The ever-inventive Sam Mason has you covered. The scoops wizard introduced this panini-warmed sweet at this fall’s sandwich-shop reboot of OddFellows’ East Village location. Like a dessert-world Hot Pocket, a brioche bun is pressed around a core of the parlor’s rich ice cream in flavors that include corn bread with cornflake crunch and blueberry compote, brown-butter sage with spicy almond and honey, and an unabashedly crowd-pleasing bacon variety with candied pecans and spiced maple syrup. It’s the indulgent intersection of savory and sweet, toasted and melty. $8
It might not be your birthday when you enjoy one of pastry chef Heather Bertinetti’s tricolored cakes, but it’ll make you feel so good you’ll swear it’s your big day. Each pristine cake at the Italian-American counter is built with three layers of smooth, house-made gelato—peanut butter, raspberry and banana for an Elvis-themed number, say—interspersed with fresh whipped cream and Carvelesque chocolate crumbles. Your move, Fudgie the Whale. $58.
Anticipation was already sky-high when word hit that Sarah Sanneh and Carolyn Bane’s Williamsburg comfort-food counter was crossing the river to the Lower East Side. And then news of a debuting doughnut flavor rocketed that buzz to the stratosphere. Sanneh’s round begins with a natural yeast-rye starter that’s left to ferment for three days before the dough’s rolled, proofed, fried and then shellacked in a sweet, crunchy glaze that balances out the savory funk of the starring sourdough. It’s everything you love about a warm loaf of fresh-out-the-oven sourdough, tucked inside the soft, sweet airiness of a raised doughnut. $3.
Move aside, Cold Stone. The a la minute ice cream of the year was the Thai-style i tim pad roll-ups at this Chinatown parlor. Liquid crème anglaise is poured onto a thermoelectric cold plate and scraped into finger-sized rolls as it congeals in real time, resulting in a light, airy consistency that has kept sweet-toothed lines forming around the block. To change up the flavor, mix-ins like banana, Nutella and graham crackers can be smashed and folded directly into the base as it hardens, ensuring those enhancers are evenly distributed, while the rolled shape allows each cup to be piled high with sugary accoutrements. $7
The Whitney restaurant’s ambitious readjustments of dowdy museum eats extend all the way down to the humble cookie. Pastry chef Miro Uskokovic folds brown butter with organic white and light-brown sugars and Thomas Keller’s Cup4Cup gluten-free flour, resulting in a round that’s equal parts crunch and chew. Fudgy pockets of chocolate dot the batter—three Guittard varieties comprise the gooey core—and Amagansett sea salt speckles the hull. You can get the cookie à la carte for half the price upstairs at Studio Cafe, but then you’d miss out on the accompanying bottle of milk: sweet Five Acre Farms dairy splashed with Madagascan bourbon vanilla. $8.
Summer endures at this High Line Hotel courtyard eatery, taking cues from the Italian Riviera’s aperitif tradition. Joe Campanale’s complementary cocktail program follows suit, zeroing in on bitters and vermouths for quaffs like this exceedingly likeable frozen Negroni. Soliciting help from Brooklyn slushy master Kelvin Slush, Campanale churns Kelvin’s citrus slush with Greenhook gin, sharp Campari, red vermouth and freshly squeezed orange juice in a Taylor slush maker without any additional ice for a creamy, not icy, consistency. When sipping this under paper lanterns, shady trees and string lights in the alfresco patio, you’ll feel like you’re in southern Italy, not south Chelsea. $15
At his first solo venture, Pegu Club veteran Kenta Goto salutes his Japanese heritage—and years spent poring over the Western drinks canon—with this subtle sake-crossed martini that sharply rebuts the hyperbolic sake-tinis of yore. A dry, cedar-casketed junmai variety of that fermented rice spirit bolsters gin and maraschino cherry liqueur, while the olive is nixed in favor of a salted sakura cherry blossom, whose dainty petals gently unfurl when dropped in the lucid glass. Lovely. $15
Drenched in the year’s saccharine tiki tidal wave, New York City’s boozers grappled for one of those kitschy throwback quaffs that would spare them the sugar-induced head rush. At this breezy, unpretentious Boerum Hill oyster-cocktail bar, mixologist Damon Boelte occasionally offers a refreshing respite with a neon-green elixir fortifying tart pineapple juice, sweet cane syrup and allspice dram (a Jamaican berry liqueur), with stiff Navy-strength rum and heady blue curaçao sneaking in at the finish. $13
You’re able to pick your poison (jalapeño tequila, rum or gin) when you order Jim Kearns’s adventurously boozy riff on Brooklyn’s Cel-Ray soda, which goes far beyond the usual lime, mint and cuke usually schlepped along in drinks starring the pop. That choice spirit gets shaken with a base of bitter gentian Suze and splashes of delicately sweet celery juice, grassy rhum agricole and cane syrup, with Kearns smartly bringing out the vegetable’s flavor with a celery-powdered rim and a stalk garnish. $12
Since its haphazard invention in a 1972 Long Island bartender competition, the much maligned five-spirit potion has been relegated to the undignified realms of lowbrow restaurant chains and highbrow frat parties. At this reincarnated bar recognized by its Christmas lights and idiosyncratic brand of divey elegance, bartender Danny Neff sprays a well-balanced soda-gun rendition that layers the vodka with a welcome infusion of Supreme Breakfast tea from nearby Physical Graffitea and swaps out the usual one-note triple sec for a swirl of more intensely flavored from-scratch oleo saccharum—a sweet syrup with citrusy overtones from lemon, orange and grapefruit peels. $6.
Venue says An iconic cocktail lounge/bar located in the heart of the East Village, Manhattan NYC.
It was far from home—in the volcanic town of Antigua, Guatemala, to be exact—that bar queen Ivy Mix found her shaker-cup calling and met a free-spirited local woman who’d later inspire the name of this Latin-skewed mai tai riff. (Tia mia means “my aunt” in Spanish.) At her Carroll Gardens cocktail bar, Mix stirs equal parts briny mescal and oak-aged rum—tempered by nutty orgeat syrup and dry orange curaçao—which slowly diffuse once slurped through a mound of melting crushed ice crowned by mint sprigs and a single orchid. $13
The namesake coupe at barman Nico de Soto’s studio-size watering hole won’t leave your eyes burning but it will leave your lips tingling. Bitter Aperol and Norway’s herbaceous aquavit are fortified with splashes of beet juice, orange-citric acid and Thai coconut syrup to smooth out the vegetal profiles with some neutralizing sweetness. Two perfume squirts of the house Mace tincture rounds things out with a nutmeglike spiced thrum. $13
Innovations don’t end at the kitchen line at Danny Bowien’s hyper-modern Chinese banquet hall. At the downstairs bar, Sam Anderson stirs weird but worthy cocktails like this tom kha gai–inspired slurry, cheekily served in a Chinese soup bowl. The lightly creamy gin-based sip upholds those Thai flavors, redolent with coconut milk, zesty ginger and makrut lime, and finished with sesame oil and two crinkled, fried chilis on top. $13
This isn’t just any old tiki drink. At the East Village tiki counter, coral-haired barkeep Jane Danger whips a trumped-up tropical riff as colorfully spirited as her ’do. A former baker, Danger deploys sugar evenly in this rich, cashew-milk glug jazzed with woodyreposado tequila and smoky mescal. A froth of white-capped foam comes courtesy of shaken pineapple juice, neutralizing the boozy elements in a conch-shell glass crowned elegantly with a bright pink orchid. $15
Originally brewed in collaboration with Park Slope beer bar Mission Dolores this spring, the hops-forward pale ale will make a grand return this fall due to popular demand. And it’s not hard to see why boozers are clamoring for the limited-supply release: The cloudy, orange-tinted sud balances traces of tropical fruits (papaya, mango) with a backbone of slightly nutty, pervasively bready malt. 12oz draft $5, pint $6
At this East Side sibling of the blog-heralded Montreal-meets-Manhattan bagelry, head baker Dianna Daoheung turns out the same hand-rolled, honey-boiled rounds that garnered praise at the Soho flagship. Exclusive to this location, however, are newfangled sandwiches including this creamy schmear of salmon salad—lush with red peppers, tomatoes and cucumbers in a garlic-lemon aioli—set against the crispness of pickled fennel and peppery arugula. Now that’s what we call a breakfast sandwich. $11
Hailing from the Motor City, Eli and Max Sussman have become somewhat like standard bearers for Detroit specialties, so it wasn’t a shock when the chef brothers took on that city’s celebrated Coney dog. Though their version is modeled after the frankfurters served in Michigan’s Greek-American diners, the usual bucket-chili topping is shunted for tender smoked brisket and ground beef, but still featuring the essential chopped onions and mustard. $7.50
For bar-food fiends, Stephen Tanner’s formidable fried-chicken sandwich at the Commodore is damn near legendary, with hot sauce famously cooked right into its crackly crust. And at his Tex-Mex tiki follow-up with Commodore cohort Chris Young, you can wolf down a quartet of craggy white-meat sliders speared on an oversize toothpick with shredded romaine, zippy pickles and mayonnaise. It is, hands down, one of the best drunk eats of the year. $11
NYC’s pastrami-sandwich pantheon is filled with iconic stuff—the jaw-testing classic at Katz’s, the smoked-meat revision at Mile End—but Will Horowitz’s beaut is a worthy new entry to that venerable group. You’ll get a taste of luscious deckle before your sandwich is even assembled—midcarve, the deli man ushers a slip of fat-marbled, peppercorn-rubbed beef in butcher paper over the counter. It’s a soft, smoky, sinful preview of what’s to come. To combat the heft of those thick-cut slices, the sandwich is rigged with buttermilk-fermented cucumber kraut, fronds of fresh dill and a salty smear of anchovy mustard on a Pain d’Avignon club roll, a pillowy upgrade from traditional rye. $17.50
Now there’s a downtown outpost of the Upper East Side burger stalwart. Even the most staunch of patty purist will be pleased to find that the uptown venue’s main attraction—the half-pound puck served open-faced on no-frills white buns with red onion and crinkle-cut pickle chips—hasn’t lost any of its juicy thrills at the new location. It’s dished out with snacky cottage fries on the trademark green-checkered tablecloths. $11.50
The Mexican-ish Lower East Side canteen has undergone numerous culinary transformations since opening in 2013—from the apropos (dollar tacos) to the head scratching (Vietnamese breakfast pho). But this year, Mission Cantina’s freewheeling chef Danny Bowien focused its concept on crowd-pleasing burritos. The look is Chipotle but Bowien-esque tweaks still abound: One newfangled creation is built withmapotofu, that fiery Sichuan staple, prepared with minced pork, aged beef fat anddoubanjiang(spicy fermented bean paste) at the restaurant’s sibling Mission Chinese Food. A heap of salt-cod fried rice, studded with sweet Chinese sausage and shreds of fried egg, temper the mouth-tingling chili-pepper oomph. $12
In a city where burgers have been beefed up with Michael Bay–level patty pyrotechnics (crowned with caviar, gorged with glazed doughnuts, lodged between ramen-noodle “buns”), Andrew Feinberg’s rendering at his Prospect Heights pub with wife Franny Stephens is subversively simple. There’s no braggadocio meat blend at play here—just a juice-dripping puck of quality beef sealed with a funky char inside a buttered-and-toasted sesame-seed bun. And we really mean no frills: You’ll even have to ask for ketchup. $14
Yes, it’s $29 for deli meat, but hear us out: This is one masterfully balanced sandwich. A tribute to the sedimentary New Jersey sloppy joes at South Orange’s Town Hall Delicatessen, the crustless, thick-as-a-phonebook configuration bookends your choice of two meats—house turkey, house roast beef, Hebrew National salami and Schaller and Weber ham—with crunchy, mayo-free cole slaw and creamy Russian dressing on Melissa Weller’s soft, house-baked caraway rye. It’s comforting, not showy, and best of all, you won’t have to brave the New Jersey Transit to get your mits on it. $29
Dispatched from a walk-up sausage bar connected to legendary uptown wurst maker Schaller & Weber, this monster brat doubles down on bacon and cheese; the stuff is folded into the meat itself, and then topped with even more gooey American and crisp curls of smoked swine on a sliced Balthazar bun. But that’s not all. The hearty link is further festooned with snappy pickles, diced onion and tomato, and a slather of Thousand Island–esque Stube sauce. Your cardiologist definitely won’t be pleased with you, but your taste buds sure will. $10
The street-circuit favorite took home the grand prix Vendy Cup this year, in part for its addictive, maple–steeped grilled cheese sandwiches. Buttered slices of Shewolf Bakery sourdough flank oozing squares of sharp white cheddar, and while optional adornments range from Flying Pig’s smoked ham to strawberry chutney, drizzles of hot house-made maple gussy up every sammie. It’s chewy and crunchy, salty and sweet. Hell, they don’t call it “famous” for nothing. $7
You can find plenty of unusual Middle Eastern wrap-ups at Tarik Fallous’s West Village sandwich shop—one crammed with crispy fries, another with tender cow tongue—but the standout comes with a more traditional filling: Lebanese sojuk sausage. The hearty spiced links, aromatic with sumac, cumin and red pepper, get an extra jolt of garlic from creamy ribbons of aioli-like toum and some pickled pep from brined vegetables, all wrapped in the shop’s soft, grill-warmed bread. $8
A few English curios pepper the menu at the New York Edition Hotel’s dining room (lemony Dover sole, a Lancashire hot pot), but Jason Atherton’s finest ode to his home country is this polished reworking of the chip-shop standard, offered only at lunch. The Michelin-starred Brit sets a juicy, generous hunk of white Icelandic cod, all salt-flecked crust and beer-battered tang, atop a vibrant mound of mushed peas humming with malt vinegar. Thick-cut, thrice-cooked fries are primed to drag up every last morsel. $23
Of all the booze-sopping grub shuffled across bars this year, Tadashi Ono’s grilled squid at this sake-fueled yakitori operation was the most head-turning. The eight-ounce cephalopod is slathered in ginger-soy marinade before hitting the grill whole, making the body rings supple without a whisper of rubber and the tentacles and head into charred, crispy vehicles for a mayo dipping sauce zested with seven-spice shichimi. $14
Even more surprising than a Clinton Hill specialty-goods grocer having a quality craft-beer bar ensconced in the back is the fact that it serves some of Gotham’s finest under-the-radar pub grub. In the small plates section, half a dozen Washington State bivalves come topped with a bright dollop of orange compound butter spiced with roasted garlic, lemon zest, briny anchovies and southeast Asia’s chili-powered sambal. Fired for 10 minutes in a 500-degree oven, the plump bivalves arrive swimming in melted butter with a slightly charred cap on top to round out the flavor of the sumptuous one-biter. $13
You’d be hard-pressed to find a prettier primer on poke this far from the Big Island. (Poke, by the way, is Hawaii’s chopped raw-fish salad—oh, and it rhymes with okay.) Chef de cuisine and Honolulu native Chung Chow stays faithful to the dish’s traditional flavors—firm cubes of sushi-grade bigeye tuna loin are slicked with soy sauce and sesame oil and studded with red onion, scallion and toasted macadamia nuts for crunch—but deftly updates them with Japanese notes, including briny tangles of tosaka and oga seaweeds and the lip-tingling chili smack of Japan’s tobanjan paste. $17
There are plenty of 1970s throwbacks at play at Joe Carroll’s reimagined McCarren Hotel fern bar (faux Tiffany lamps, cloying Grasshopper cocktails), but our favorite is chef Kevin Chojnowski’s gentle tweaking of the dated Crab Louie. Born on the West Coast around the turn of the 20th century, the salad tosses king crabmeat with sweet gem lettuce and heirloom cherry tomatoes. Chojnowski wisely bucks tradition by swapping out mayo for a buttermilk-poppyseed dressing and an asparagus vinaigrette infused with Thai chilis and minced shallots. Crab Louie enters the 21st century. $16
Word of Rockaway Taco’s imminent closure this spring set fear in the hearts of many a New York taco lover. After all, that ramshackle stand was home to the city’s most exemplary fish taco: a clean, thoughtfully constructed fold-up filled with flaky beer-battered tilapia, vinegary cabbage slaw, crisp radish rounds and, if you were smart and ordered the deluxe, a healthy mound of excellent guacamole. Luckily for us, that taco made the move with chef Andrew Field to his new seasonal taqueria operation at Rockaway Beach Surf Club this summer. The bad news? The lines are still lengthy. The better news? That taco is as reliably delicious as ever. $3.50
This one’s like a space-age fritto misto. Draped in sheer, lightweight golden shells made with masa-enhanced potato flour, pops of bright yellow (that would be preserved lemon) and pale green (sliced scallions) are fried right alongside tender curls of squid for this otherworldly calamari at Jeremiah Stone and Fabian von Hauske’s Lower East Side wine bar. The accompanying sauce looks and tastes similarly out-there: A smooth, garlic-charged aioli stained the color of charcoal, courtesy of the mollusk’s ink, gives the dish a double-dose of squid-y brackishness. $15
Opened in 2012, the two-star Michelin mainstay has seen a chef come and go from the hallowed halls of its tasting-menu kitchen, but current toque Ronny Emborg has breathed new life into the arduous 18 courses this year. One of the most memorable employs fine Elysian Fields lamb saddles aged for three weeks, allowing their umami flavor to fully develop. Those tender cuts are then swaddled in white bread smeared with leek ash and chicken mousseline, and cooked in their own fat before hitting the plate with a smoky burnt-onion jus and a finishing coat of more rendered fat. Saddle up is right. $235 as part of tasting menu
Think of this as pampered poultry. In their colossal riff on the taqueria staple traditionally made with pork shoulder, Mexican megachef Enrique Olvera and chef de cuisine Daniela Soto-Innes heavily salt and hang heritage Rohan ducks for three days, then braise them overnight in duck fat and a sweet, tenderizing mixture that includes orange slices, evaporated and condensed milks and, yes, even Mexican Coke. Finished in the oven and crisped in the broiler, the sizzling, golden-skinned bird comes crowned with flash-pickled onions, brightening lime juice and warm heirloom-corn tortillas for the most elegant do-it-yourself tacos in New York. $59
This year saw many novel mutations of the stuffy bistro classic—Wildair’s pungent smoked-cheddar update, the Clocktower’s marrow-fortified, mustard-punched version—but the dry-aged funk of Nick Curtola’s rugged tartare stood out from the rest. Happy Valley–sourced sirloin is roused with crunchy pickled cabbage, darkly fiery sambal chili and pools of buttermilk. And forget forks: The thin sesame-cracker shards on top are the only utensil you’ll need. $15
“One paratha taco equals two regular tacos,” declares the menu on the wall at the Lower East Side brick-and-mortar venue of the Smorgasburg staple. And it’s right: Buttery, flaky paratha bread, a gastronomic import from the Indian trading port of Goa, packs twice as much as its Latin cousin. Chef-owner Duvaldi Marneweck folds the flatbread around spectacularly tender Colorado lamb shoulder—slow-roasted for five hours in a from-scratch recado rojo (red achiote paste made from annatto seeds)—with zesty salsa-fied eggplant and a cooling Greek tsatsiki. Postmidnight lines curl around the door regularly and it’s not hard to see why: This meaty roll-up soaks up way more booze than your average-Joe taco. $8.27
The Hudson Square restaurant takes its name from the Norwegian word husmanskost (or “everyday food”) and with that quotidian ethos in mind chefs Ned Baldwin and Adam Baumgart tender this unpretentious, Portuguese-style sausage-and-clams plate. The salty bite of meaty link, constructed with house-ground Royalton Farm pork shoulder seasoned with paprika and chili de arbol, offsets the sweetness of the accompanying sofrito-filled steamed littlenecks, all in a pool of Neuseke’s bacon-smoked whitefish fumet. $25
In the food-world lexicon, the name Jonathan Waxman is practically synonymous with “roasted chicken.” The California-cuisine icon introduced his famed fowl to New York with his 1980s farm-to-table pioneer Jams and wisely reinstated the dish at the restaurant’s Upper West Side revival this year. A Bell & Evans bird is fired in a charcoal-fueled oven and basted frequently in a tarragon-charged jus, ensuring that there’s moist flesh beneath crisp, burnished skin. Waxman seasons the chicken simply with salt and pepper because nothing more is needed with a dish this good. $25
Set a knife in the vicinity of chef Paras Shah’s handsomely lacquered lamb for two and it practically wilts in its presence. The meat—darkly caramelized and lustily fatty—sighs off the bone, falling to the plate to join a hash of farro and roasted vegetables, plump wedges of fig and crispy cubes of smoked lamb belly. $34
New York’s fried-chicken lust endures, and it’s no shock given such knockout contenders as executive chef Angela Dimayuga’s version at the MCF reboot. A refined play on southern Chinese specialty Hainanese chicken rice, Dimayuga’s fowl is marinated with ginger, scallion, garlic and aged, umami-rich koji (fermented cooked rice) and then air-dried for three days before frying to ensure a delicately caramelized crunch without the heft of additional starch. Any residual richness is gracefully cut with salted cucumber salad and a hot sauce thrumming with preserved chilis and lemon. $28
It’s almost silly that Tim Cushman offers dessert to cap his 18-course omakase, because this stunner nails it in the sweets department. Atop a cylinder of warm, nori-wrapped rice, a quivering tile of seared Hudson Valley foie gras is daubed in balsamic-chocolate kabayaki (eel sauce)
and bedecked with raisin-cocoa pulp and a caramel-smooth chaser of eight-year-aged sake picked by wife-sommelier Nancy. Even with a belly full of nearly two dozen pieces, not savoring every shamelessly indulgent bite is functionally impossible. $185 as part of omakase
No bun, no fries, no condiments? No problem. Aside from a few knobs of roasted garlic and one lone, fragrant sprig of rosemary, there’s little to distract from the beefy, elemental beauty of Rita Sodi and Jody Williams’s raggedy, rough-chopped steak. Like a caveman’s tartare, the coarse, half-pound puck of aged New York strip is seasoned minimally with salt and pepper and flash-seared in a cast-iron pan. The result is achingly tender and rosy on the inside, encased in a deep, smoky char glistening with green olive oil. This is pure meat porn, people. $21