Mexico City has some of the best food in the world, which is exactly why you can’t afford to get it wrong. The city is vast, the choices are constant, and even experienced diners can find themselves making compromises. Add Zona Maco week, when time is limited and reservations are scarce, and deciding where to eat becomes its own kind of logistical problem.

Rather than leaving those calls to chance, we asked the chefs who know the city best—Lucho Martínez of Ultramarinos Demar and the Michelin-starred Em; Elena Reygadas of Rosetta, named the World’s Best Female Chef in 2023; Gabriela Cámara of Bib Gourmand-awarded Contramar; and Tyler Henry of the Thai-influenced Choza—to share how they actually navigate it. Whatever you’re looking for, at any hour of the day, they’ve already figured it out—from breakfast chilaquiles and reliable solo dining to late-night bites and hangover cures.

Best Breakfast 

Lucho Martínez: “El Cardenal in downtown Mexico City. Don’t miss the conchas con nata.”
Tyler Henry: “Expendio de Maíz. I encourage a slow breakfast, but most days I come here and grab a few tortillas con sal en ruta to my own kitchen. Divine heirloom masa with a hit of whatever salsa, mole, or guisado they’ve got cooking that day.”
Elena Reygadas: “Gia. Italian-American breakfast with a diverse menu that should please everyone. Focaccia, egg dishes, fresh-pressed juices.“
Gabriela Cámara: “Fonda Margarita. Pure Mexico City breakfast energy. Generous, comforting, and not trendy, just delicious.”

Best Chilaquiles 

Martínez: “Lalo!. Ask for the chilaquiles verdes and add eggs.”
Henry: “La Tonina. OG northern-style home cooking that’s been around since the 1940s and makes obscenely good flour tortillas. The chilaquiles tamaulipecos come with salsa verde, pork, and rajas de poblano. Add a fried egg. Order a gordita de nata fresh off the comal for dessert.”
Reygadas: “La Esquina del Chilaquil. Tortas de chilaquiles served in bolillo in Condesa.”
Cámara: “Castacán. Get the chilaquiles with cochinita pibil. It’s exactly what you’d want on a slow Sunday morning.”

Best Bakery 

Martínez: “Odette. Go for the kouign-amann, baguette jamón y queso, and the double chocolate cookie.”
Henry: “Patisserie Dominique. Dominique is a maestra French baker who bakes the best cakes I’ve tried in my entire life and the best croissants in the city. If you’re lucky, you might find a piece of Galician-style tuna pie in the window.”
Reygadas: “Saint Panadería. Well-fermented, sturdy hogazas baked daily.”
Cámara: “Patisserie Dominique. A favorite for those of us who appreciate traditional French bread and pastries.”

Best Quick Bite 

Martínez: “Gorditas de chicharrón from a 40-year-old spot located on the opposite corner of Café Tormenta. I order it con quesillo, solo lechuga, no nopales, both salsas!”
Henry: “Lonchería Mely. A little fonda serving comida corrida overflowing with love and flavor.”
Reygadas: “Tacos de birria next to Panadería Rosetta.“
Cámara: “Tacos de canasta on Calle Tamaulipas.”

Best al Pastor 

Martínez: “A big tie between Taquería Selene and Tacos El Vilsito. Go for the tacos and order five. Don’t eat more or less.”
Henry: “Tacos El Vilsito. Between 11 p.m. and midnight is when the flavor is best.”
Reygadas: “Taquería Revolución. Proper char and fat, with well-balanced salsas.”
Cámara: “Taquería Selene. Don’t skip the salsas!”

Best Tacos 

Martínez: “Tacos El Paisa in Doctores. Go after hours.”
Henry: “Tacos El Paisa. Four suadero, two campechano, and if you’re still hungry, stroll a few blocks over to Tacos El Betín for pastor, tripa, and lengua.”
Reygadas: “Tacos de canasta at metrobus Álvaro Obregón.”
Cámara: “Tacos de guisado are my favorite. Try Tacos Hola El Güero in Condesa for the best next thing to home cooking.”

Best Place to Make a Good Impression 

Martínez: “Taco omakase at Pujol, always.”
Henry: “Gaba. It’s where I take family and close friends who are visiting. Refined and absolutely fucking delicious.”
Reygadas: “Bar Nino. The starters and seafood dishes stand out, and the tres leches has become a staple.“
Cámara: “Cana is refined and classy without feeling stiff.”

Best Splurge 

Martínez: “Máximo Bistrot. Let Chef Lalo take care of you. Start with bubbles, then order a white, and end with a heavy red.”

Henry: “Nicos. When I think of a splurge it’s less about fine dining and more about hours spent around a table with people you care about with classy service, delicious food, and conversation that never seems to end.”

Reygadas: “Máximo Bistrot has had a long-standing presence in the city’s dining scene. Go for the classics.”

Cámara: “Em Restaurant. You come for the sophistication of technique and ideas, but it retains its intimacy and warmth.”

Best Place to See and Be Seen

Martínez: “Café Tormenta. Grab a media luna and a lechero, don’t rush. Melt into the vibes, meet people, listen to the music, and then start your day.”

Henry: “Mercado el 100‘s Sunday farmers market has some of the best organic produce in the city and some great bites, but it’s also (sometimes painfully) quite the scene.”

Cámara: “Cantina Covadonga is where long meals and good conversations naturally overlap. It’s great for big groups.”

Best Place to Not Be Seen 

Martínez: “Ticuchi. Cave vibes.”

Henry: “Bar el Bosque–get the fish. Also, Patrick Miller, specifically in the dance circle around 1:30 a.m. on a Friday night.”

Reygadas: “Sushi Tatsugoro. Low-lit, private tables, and views over the Diana Cazadora.”

Cámara: “Any good “doriloco” stall, as those things include all the junk food which is a guilty pleasure of mine (and many Mexicans!).”

Best Solo Dining Spot

Martínez: “Fugu Sushi. Do the omakase and don’t miss the crab springroll.”

Henry: “Vacaciones. There is nowhere I’d rather be in the city dining alone (or with a loved one) than a bar seat at Vacaciones eating rustic, nonna-style Italian food. I eat here as much as possible, and I swear every meal is somehow better than the last.”

Reygadas: “Fugu Sushi is small and quiet with a counter-focused experience. Walk-in only.”

Cámara: “El Minutito. It’s easy to linger here alone and get a delicious bite at any time of the day.”

Best Dive Bar 

Martínez: “Bar Mauro, great non-alcoholic options too and people from Veracruz (my hometown) behind the bar!”

Henry: “Dive bars aren’t really a thing here, but Cafe Tacobar is easily the best example and is one where, over the years, I’ve spent many nights bullshitting with Khristian till the early hours of the morning.”

Reygadas: “Ticuchi. Literally a cave. Once you’re inside, it’s easy to lose track of time.”

Cámara: “El Ayer. Unpretentious in the best way.”

Best Wine List 

Martínez: “Pujol.”

Henry: “Fugaz or Cicatriz. Or skip wine altogether and go to Bósforo for mezcal. One of my favorite places to drink, listen, and just be in the world.”

Reygadas: “Cana. A concise, confident wine list.”

Cámara: “Hugo el Wine Bar.”

Best Late-Night Bite 

Martínez: “Any of the tacos mentioned above, plus Borrego Viudo.”

Henry: “Caldos de Gallina ‘Luis.’ A 24-hour chicken soup with warm tortillas, salsa, and a handful of garnishes.”

Reygadas: “Páramo; food that holds up at the end of the night.”

Cámara: “Los Cocuyos. The kind of spot that actually takes care of you 24/7. Order the suadero and the tongue.”

Best Hangover Cure 

Martínez: “Pozolería Teoixtla. Order the pozole blanco.”

Henry: “In a perfect hungover world, I’d lazily make my way to Post Café with a joint in hand, have a cappuccino, then get on my bike and cruise to La Tonina to snag a booth for a slow breakfast.”

Reygadas: “Campobaja. Baja-style seafood.”

Cámara: “For immediate recovery, go to Taller de Ostiones for cold beers and ultra-fresh oysters.”

Best Roma Norte Spot 

Martínez: “Contramar. The fish is good, but don’t miss the fish meatballs, seafood soup, or the esmedregal al pastor tacos. For dessert, try the fig tart and coconut cake.”

Henry: “C.O.M.E. A family-run Japanese fonda that’s been rocking for over 15 years with a cult following. It’s unreasonably affordable and feels like being part of a small club of in-the-know, food-loving neighbors. Shu-mai wasabi, edamame asado, wakame algae salad, kabayaki-don, and iced green tea.”

Reygadas: “Fugaz. A laid-back neighborhood restaurant with a vegetable-forward point of view.”

Best Polanco Spot 

Martínez: “Kleins. A 60-plus-year-old place.”

Henry: “I’m rarely in Polanco, but Ron Shu Xia for unpretentious Chinese grub—the soups are massive and hit hard. Ticuchi for a sexier, elevated bar experience with well-executed Oaxacan bites.”

Reygadas: “Pujol. A long-form tasting experience that rewards time and attention.”

Cámara: “Goya Taller.”

Best Chocolate

Martínez: “La Rifa.”

Henry: “Chocolatería La Rifa.”

Reygadas: “Casa Bosques.”

Cámara: “Chocolates Curryer.”

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On a blustery Tuesday evening in January, a group of 85 people braved slush piles and 10 degree breezes for an evening of Filipino treats and reading at TIWA Select, an art gallery floating five stories above Walker Street in Tribeca. The event—part reading, part dinner party, part fundraiser—attracted a cavalcade of the kind of people who taught New York how to eat including Martha Stewart, Andrew Tarlow and Kate Huling of Borgo, Missy Robbins, Annie Shi of King, and Alison Roman.

The night’s events, dubbed “Stories to Savor,” were hosted in honor of 826NYC, a Park Slope-based nonprofit that hosts writing workshops for 3,600 students at New York City public schools and after-school programs throughout the year. The concept was simple: Each of the night’s participants—a procession of esteemed chefs, writers, artists, and hosts—would read from a selection of food-themed essays, short stories, and poems, written by former 826NYC students.

“It’s about nourishment,” said Rebecca Darugar, executive director of 826NYC, “nourishment of imagination, of voice, of culture, of community.”

And, of course, there was the food. Chef Woldy Reyes prepared a feast of Filipino-inspired delights, presented on a long communal table where he scooped out ladlefuls of lugaw, a warm rice porridge topped with fried garlic and cilantro, all night. Guests—including fashion designer Ulla Johnson, Valentina Akerman of Galerie Sardine, and artist Simone Bodmer-Turner—scooped up creamy whipped tofu with rounds of purple daikon radish and enormous leaves of chicory. A platter teemed with white pineberries next to a matching plate of bibingka, a coconut rice cake.

“Food’s always been an important part of the gallery,” said Alex Tieghi-Walker, the creative mind behind TIWA Select. “The first thing I did when I got the space was put the kitchen in.” The gallery also moonlights as his apartment; the clawfoot bathtub sits next to the kitchen sink, and Tieghi-Walker’s black dog nonchalantly roamed the room all night. Of course, not every apartment is accompanied by amber and seaweed-toned pieces from glass artist Dana Arbib, who’s showing at TIWA until the end of January.

The night’s main events were emceed by New Yorker writer and cultural critic Naomi Fry who chatted it up with event co-host Kristen Naiman of The RealReal. “These things that we all do and see and encounter in the world, like food, can tell us so much about where we are today in each part of our lives if we just take the time to feel them and observe them,” said Kristen.

The stories read ranged from classically New York, like an ode to the chopped cheese sandwich written by a fifth grader ready by Alison Roman, to the unexpectedly poetic, like an 11th grader’s imagined inner monologue of an olive read by Annie Shi, co-owner of King, Jupiter, and Lei (“I lived in the brine, a sour, pickled thing.”) Martha Stewart, no stranger to the transformative power of a good cut of meat cooked low and slow for hours, read a fifth grader’s memories of her grandmother’s spicy, melty oxtail stew cooked only on dark cold days.

Other readers included chef and artist Laila Gohar, chef Camille Becerra, founder of One Love Community Fridge Asmeret Berhe-Lumax, Michelin chef Missy Robbins, and culinary consultant Christine Muhlke.

“Helping kids reflect on the role of food in their lives reinforces the importance of community and ritual, connecting them to the people who came before them,” said Tarlow.

The energy was warm and playful (how could it not be in a room full of people happy to accept such wisdom from children as the ability to eat pasta, not just in a restaurant, but “at home, in the park, on the subway, even in another country, possibly.”) But the concerning statistics surrounding youth literacy, the precipitous decline in reading for pleasure, and the increasing reliance of today’s students on generative A.I. tools wasn’t far from minds either. Darugar spoke about the climate of fear created by ICE keeping children from class and their communities. Shi, who grew up going to programs like 826NYC in the New York public school system, mentioned the importance of connecting young people with mentors. “It feels so meaningful to bring together the food community to focus on something that feels urgent.”

For the night’s organizers, writing is a way for kids to explore and name their identities with pride. Laura Ferrara, a stylist and event co-organizer, grew up as an Italian immigrant in Park Slope in the ’70s. She remembers worrying about assimilation, eschewing her mother’s homemade pasta and six-hour ragú for her friends’ families frozen Stouffer’s dinners with peas and carrots. But food also built community: Her grandfather brought fig tree trimmings over from Southern Italy, which still live in her backyard and those of a few friends, including Tarlow.

“Writing helps these kids celebrate their cultures, not hide from them, and gives them the confidence to share their stories and embrace their heritage,” said Ferrara.

As the evening wound down, guests reapplied their many layers of wool, cashmere, and fleece, bellies full. There was a renewed sense that, despite the challenges, the kids would be alright.

Let’s face the facts: it’s cold. Winter sneaks up without warning every year, and before I know it, my fingers feel like they’re going to fall off and my face gets a cryotherapy treatment I didn’t ask for. Even if you don’t experience the seasons (as I didn’t while growing up in Southern California), I invite you to feel chilly in solidarity with those of us currently keeling over in the dead of winter. 

There are a couple of ways I like to handle these months. One, I complain. Two, I cook. It feels like the only way out of our collective seasonal depression is food that nourishes, comforts, and stretches for a couple meals (so we can do less and get more from it). 

If you, like me, don’t necessarily vibe with the strict, healthy eating New Years resolution mindset, you might appreciate what grounds me this time of year: following the Ayurvedic principle of eating with the seasons. It means leaning into warm, cooked foods in the winter rather than cold, raw dishes like salads and smoothies. When temperatures drop, your body has to work harder to digest cold foods, while warm dishes are easier on your system.

For this installment of Chef’s Orders, I’m excited to share a few of my personal favorite winter recipes for you all to enjoy. Hopefully, they will brighten up your winter no matter where you’re freezing from. 

Stay warm and happy cooking,
Samah

Carrot Cake Oatmeal 

Do you like cake? Do you need breakfast? How about Carrot Cake in breakfast form? Say less, I know. I am pretty obsessed with making this Carrot Cake Oatmeal because it feels like dessert, yet is made with nourishing and wholesome ingredients. Cozying up with this while you’re warm inside and it’s cold outside? Heaven. 

Ingredients

1 cup gluten-free organic rolled oats
2 1/2 cups non-dairy milk
1 tsp ground cinnamon
1/4 tsp ground nutmeg
1 large carrot, peeled and grated
2 tbsp coconut sugar
Maple syrup for drizzling on top
Handful toasted, chopped pecans for topping
Unsweetened, shredded coconut for topping
Almond butter, for topping

Method

1. In a medium pot, combine 2 cups of the milk with the shredded carrot and bring to a boil, stirring frequently. 
2. Once the carrots and milk come to a boil, reduce the heat and add the cinnamon, nutmeg, coconut sugar, rolled oats, and the remaining 1/2 cup of milk. Simmer, stirring frequently until the liquid reduces and is absorbed by the oats. The oatmeal should be thick! 
3. Feel free to adjust with more milk to reach desired consistency. 
4. Transfer to a bowl, and serve topped with a drizzle of maple syrup, chopped pecans, shredded coconut, an extra dash of cinnamon, and almond butter. Enjoy immediately. 

Best Dal Ever

As a child of Indian immigrants, I never had to learn to love my vegetables, or vegetarian-forward food in general. All of our dishes are richly spiced and layered with flavor, and few things comfort me more than dal. It’s a staple in Indian cooking, a perfect creamy lentil dish that was on my table growing up more often than not. My dal recipe is simple to put together, tastes even better the next day, and is great served as a soup or over some rice. 

Ingredients

3 tbsp olive oil
5 cloves garlic, sliced
1 3-inch piece ginger, sliced
1 yellow onion, diced
1 cup yellow moong dal or red lentils
1 13 oz can coconut milk
1 15.5 oz can diced or crushed tomatoes
1 tsp tomato paste
2 cups vegetable broth
2 cups spinach, roughly chopped
1 tbsp lemon juice
1/2 tsp turmeric
1.5 tsp cumin
1/2 tsp cayenne pepper
1 tsp coriander powder
Freshly ground black pepper
Kosher salt
Cilantro, to garnish
Naan, flatbread, bread, quinoa, or rice to serve

Method

1. Rinse lentils and soak for 30 minutes (this will allow them to cook faster)!
2. Heat olive oil in a large pot. Add onions, ginger, garlic, and stir-fry until onions are slightly browned and translucent.
3. Add salt, pepper, turmeric, cumin, coriander, and cayenne pepper. Stir-fry in order to roast the masala so you get a nice aroma, about 2 minutes.
4. Add can of diced tomatoes and 1 tsp tomato paste. Continue to cook until masala spices have infused with the tomatoes. Season again with salt and pepper, to taste.
5. Add coconut milk and vegetable broth to the pot. Simmer for a few minutes.
6. Now add red lentils. Cover and let simmer for about half an hour, until lentils are soft and curry is thick.
7. Add spinach into the curry until it wilts. Add lemon juice. Cook for about 10 minutes, stirring throughout. 
8. Serve with naan, flatbread, quinoa, or rice. Enjoy!

Miso Green Curry

Whenever I go to a Thai restaurant, I always order green curry. You may call it basic, but I call it tried and true, and I’m definitely not ready to quit it. I wanted to share a simple green curry for you to make at home, with perfectly cooked tofu for protein, and miso in the base for some extra umami. The result is a rich and creamy green curry that’s filled with vegetables and perfect for a warm and cozy winter dinner. 

Ingredients

2 tbsp coconut oil
3 tbsp green curry paste (Maestri brand is great)
2 cloves garlic, grated
1 1-inch knob ginger, grated
2 tbsp miso paste
2 13.5oz cans full-fat coconut milk
1 tbsp tamari
1 tbsp coconut sugar
1 stalk lemongrass, trimmed and smashed
1 large eggplant, cut into strips or cubes
1 red bell pepper, sliced
1 cup broccoli florets
Juice of 1 lime
1 block extra-firm tofu, drained, pressed and cut into cubes
1 tbsp cornstarch
Extra virgin olive oil
1/2 cup Thai basil leaves
Fresh cilantro
Lime wedges
Kosher salt to taste
1 cup white jasmine rice (or rice noodles)

Method

1. Cook rice according to the instructions on the package.
2. Drain the tofu, and press it using kitchen or paper towels. You can wrap it in paper towels, top with a sheet pan, then top the pan with a few heavy books to allow the tofu to reallllly be pressed, and for the water to squeeze out. Press for about 20 minutes.
3. After pressing, cut the tofu into cubes, and toss with 1 tbsp cornstarch and salt.
4. In a medium pan, add olive oil. When the oil shimmers, toss in the tofu cubes. Cook, flipping the tofu on each side until golden.
5. Heat the coconut oil in the pan on medium heat, and add the green curry paste and miso paste. Fry the curry and miso pastes in the oil to bloom the flavors. Add garlic and ginger and sauté for one minute, ensuring nothing burns.
6. Add coconut milk, tamari, coconut sugar, and smashed lemongrass. Stir to combine and simmer for 5 minutes.
7. Add eggplant, bell pepper, and broccoli florets. Adjust the curry with salt to taste, then simmer uncovered for 10-15 minutes.
8. Once the curry has reduced, thickened, and the vegetables have cooked through, add the tofu to the curry and stir to combine. Add a squeeze of lime juice and adjust to taste with salt. Stir in the basil.
9. Remove the lemongrass from the curry.
10. Garnish the curry with cilantro, and serve with rice and lime wedges. Enjoy!

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We’re here to talk about salt. Salt is not only the only rock we eat, but also a substance that has influenced everything about civilization as we know it. Salt was our first form of “refrigeration” (in that it preserves meat). It also makes everything we cook tastier. The history of salt is long and interesting, but this article is about how to use and navigate the many different kinds of salt available to us today. 

When I first arrived in Athens, where my family moved for the year, I had trouble salting my food. I didn’t have the same access to different types of salt that I did in New York. I couldn’t find kosher salt—the type I use most—anywhere, so I made do with my solitary bottle of iodized Kalas table salt (making sure to use it sparingly, as table salt is very “salty”).  

No two salts are the same. They can vary greatly in “saltiness” levels, texture, and, for lack of a better word, “sprinkleability.” Sprinkleability (you heard it here first!) is very important when you are seasoning delicate things such as steak or salad. 

Below, you’ll find my guide for how I use salt, the brands I like best (no sponsors), and, as we are approaching the holiday season, some ideas for gifting special salts. (It’s a gift that will never go bad!)

Kosher Salt

Having worked for years as a chef in New York, I am sure I speak for most kitchen professionals when I say I use kosher salt about 99 percent of the time. 

Why, you may ask? Kosher salt is a coarse-grained, large-flake salt that adds a great “crust” to meat-related cooking, and it is also less salty than many other types. That means you have greater control over seasoning your food and are less likely to go overboard. Plus, there are no additives in kosher salt (no iodine or anti-caking agents). It is usually made from underground salt deposits, so the salt grain is more uniform and flaky than other varieties. 

My absolute favorite brand is Diamond Crystal Kosher Salt ($13.59 for a three-pound box). It has beautiful flakes that make it very easy to sprinkle and achieve a great texture on anything you are cooking. It offers solid seasoning control when you are seasoning soups and stews—you might be surprised how much you will have to add to achieve proper seasoning. 

The ratio of Diamond Crystal to table salt is 2:1. In other words, you need two teaspoons of Diamond Crystal to achieve the same amount of saltiness as one teaspoon of table salt.

I stay away from Morton’s Kosher Salt; the grains are more spherical and it is almost as salty as regular table salt. It’s not fun to sprinkle and has an anti-caking additive.

Sea Salt

Sea salt is produced by evaporating sea water. It is less processed and retains some trace minerals that could give it some color or texture. I have never been able to tell the flavor difference between standard sea salt and kosher salt, but it is a valid alternative (and additive-free). Just remember it’s saltier, so use less than you would the kosher equivalent. 

Sea salt can range from irregular flakes to uniform grains. It is nice to have on the table for those who want to add an extra sprinkle to their food.

I always have a box of Maldon sea salt ($8.99 for an 8.5 oz container) that I like to use when finishing cooked greens, grain and bean dishes. The salt flakes look like pretty gems on top of the food, and add a nice texture and pop of salt when you are eating. 

For a finer grain of sea salt, I also love the brand Baleine ($9.99 for 26.5 oz).

Iodized Salt

Most often known as table salt, iodized salt is fine-grain salt with a small amount of iodine added to it. The addition dates to the 1920s, when many people suffered from goiter, a preventable thyroid condition. (Iodine, an essential nutrient, helps prevent the condition.) It is still added to table salt today, though usually with anti-caking agents such as calcium silicate. Although all signs seem to point to calcium silicate being a safe food additive, I just figure I’d rather skip it if I can. 

My favorite table salt—yup, you guessed it, Greek girl alert—is Kalas ($13.50 for 26.4 oz). Mostly for its kitschy Greek vintage vibes. I would use this salt for fun, on the table, or when I find myself in Greece and can’t find kosher salt. Goiter be gone! 

It is also good to know that iodine occurs naturally in the following foods: oysters (the highest source), fish, prawns, eggs, seaweed, and dairy products like milk, yogurt, and cheese. 

Himalayan Salt and Other Fancy Salts

Himalayan salt is a type of rock salt mined from Pakistan. Like most salts that have any kind of color, its pink hue is due to trace minerals present in the salt. I don’t usually buy and use these fancy salts—which also include sel gris and fleur de sel—but some people love them and they are fun to finish food with sometimes. I would use any of them if I received them as a gift.

In Conclusion…

You now have a guide to the different kinds of salt, how to use them, and, more importantly, which ones you actually need (all of which are available at most grocery stores). It’s also fun to buy salts from different parts of the world and offer them at the table or as a gift. The best part, to me, is that salt will never go bad—and it will most certainly never go out of style. 

Miami during Art Basel moves fast: There are fairs to hit, parties to survive, and just enough time between the two to remember you haven’t eaten since breakfast. Amidst it all, it’s tempting to fall back on the usual suspects or file into whatever line looks shortest. But there’s far more to eat in this city than whatever is within a five-block radius of the Convention Center.

To prove the point, we asked three of Miami’s most distinctive voices—Nando Chang of Itamae; Luciana Giangrandi, the co-owner of Michelin-starred Boia De; and André Bienvenu, the old-school executive chef behind Catch & Cut—to map their Miami for us. The ventanitas they swear by. The pastries worth crossing town for. The dive bars, the splurges, the hangover cures, and the places they go when they absolutely do not want to be seen.

Consider this our chef-edited guide to eating your way through ABMB.

Best Pastry Shop 

Nando Chang: “True Loaf. For me, it’s all about the Kouign Amanns and croissants.”

Luciana Giangrandi: “Facade or Madruga Bakery.”

André Bienvenu: “Mojo Donuts. They do an incredible job—just really great donuts, made right.

Best Cortadito 

Chang: “Suite Habana. Great coffee, great space, great people, and especially great chairs.”

Giangrandi: “Part of a good cortadito experience is enjoying it from a ventanita. Versailles is one of the best—they pump out a million a day and are true pros. Latin Café 2000 by the airport is great if you’re grabbing one on your way out of town. Tinta y Café is a go-to if you’re in Miami Shores or Coral Gables.”

Best Quick Bite

Chang: “Tacos Atarantado. Some of my favorite al pastor tacos right now. Great sauces and a great selection of Latin oldies.”

Giangrandi: “Proper Sausages. It may be a butcher shop, but they make some of Miami’s best sandwiches to go.”

Bienvenu: “Coconuts. Simple, well-executed food with waterfront dining and a true local vibe. It’s an easy go-to.”

Best Wine List

Chang: “Macchialina. Jackie Pirolo!! That’s it, that’s the tweet.”

Giangrandi: “I’m biased, but Boia De. Gaby, our wine director, makes one hell of a wine list, and has a real talent for guessing pours people will love.”

Bienvenu: “Casa D’Angelo, for the size and variety of the wine list, and for the staff’s deep knowledge of every bottle.”

Best Place to Make a Good Impression

Chang: “Sunny’s. If you want to make a good impression… take them to the best place in town.”

Giangrandi: “Recoveco. It’s off the beaten path, so you’re likely to surprise whoever you take. The menu changes regularly, everything is delicious, and the wine selection is top-notch.”

Bienvenu: “Anthony’s Runway 84. They do a great job of making you feel like you are someone. The team goes above and beyond and gives you a real reason to come back.”

Best Splurge

Chang: “The Surf Club. It’s a complete experience, magical in so many ways.”

Giangrandi: “Omakase at Shingo. The sushi is first-rate, the wine and sake list beautifully curated, even the florals are stunning. I’ve loved every visit.”

Bienvenu: “Joe’s Stone Crab. It’s the perfect combination of simplicity, consistency, quality, and history.”

Best Place to See and Be Seen

Chang: “Gekko.”

Giangrandi: “Sunny’s or Cote!”

Bienvenu: “Tropical Acres. Family-owned since 1949 and incredibly consistent. It’s one of my favorite restaurants with genuine old-school hospitality.”

Best Place to NOT Be Seen

Chang: “Lung Yai Thai Tapas. IYKYK.”

Giangrandi: “Billy’s Pub Too.”

Bienvenu: “Luigi’s Coal Oven Pizza. Fast, simple, low-profile.”

Best Solo Dining Spot

Chang: “Pasta in Wynwood. I love hitting the counter for a couple of pastas. I crush a bowl of the corn cappellacci and the pici cacio e pepe.”

Giangrandi: “The bar at Sunny’s. I feel like I’m in an episode of Cheers where everybody knows my name.”

Bienvenu: “McDonald’s. To me, it’s the world’s best restaurant. It’s clean, consistent, organized, and pleasant. And nothing beats a morning Coke.”

Best Date-Night Spot 

Chang: “Gabose for Charcoal-grilled Korean BBQ, beer, and banchan if we want to be laid back. Ariete in Coconut Grove if we want to celebrate a little more.”

Giangrandi: “The Surf Club. The building is stunning and gives you a reason to dress up. The service and food are spot-on. There’s a champagne cart. And they have great live music in the bar room on certain nights.”

Bienvenu: “Lobster Bar Las Olas. There’s an elegance that makes you feel special the moment you walk in.”

Best Late-Night Bite

Chang: “Pan con bistec at Mary’s Coin Laundry. Add huevo frito and make it bien tostado, please.”

Giangrandi: “Cote or Katana. Both kitchens are open until midnight, and although they’re totally different in food and price point, each has a fun, unique vibe.”

Bienvenu: “Mister O1 Pizza. A great pie and good energy. Sometimes I’ll meet my daughter there late at night; it’s our little spot.”

Best Dive Bar

Chang: “Brother’s Keeper on South Beach.”

Giangrandi: “On the Rocks. Beer-and-shot specials, check. Pool table, check. Bartenders with just the right amount of ‘no fucks given’ attitude, check.”

Best Hangover Cure

Chang: “Leche de tigre in any form. Locura Marina by North Beach has a variety of ceviches for lunch.

Giangrandi: “A toasted, everything bagel B.E.C, and a Mexican Coke from El Bagel.”

Best South Beach Spot

Chang: “Macchialina. The outside patio at 7 or 7:30 p.m., table for two. Who says no?”

Giangrandi: “Bettant Bakery for breakfast, Macchialina for dinner, and Mac’s Club Deuce for everything in between.”

Bienvenu: “Catch. They bring a different perspective to South Beach. Great menu, great energy, great location.”

Best Design District Spot

Chang: “Nami Nori. It offers great and fun Japanese food.”

Giangrandi: “Sushi Yasu Tanaka. Despite its food hall location, it’s some of the best sushi in the city.”

Bienvenu: “Michael’s Genuine.”

Best Caribbean Spot

Chang: “King Jerk. It’s a great Jamaican barbecue spot. If you’re from Miami, you know the ribs and the chicken.”

Giangrandi: “B&M Rhoti.”

Bienvenu: “Calypso Restaurant & Raw Bar.”

Few art-world events are simultaneously as mythologized and dreaded as the gallery dinner. At a great one, you might observe deals being made, career trajectories fast-tracked, and maybe even the next great industry tryst ignited. At a bad one, you could be seated next to someone who has no idea who the artist is, or perhaps worse, isn’t aware that they are already dead. The speeches are interminable. There’s not nearly enough wine flowing to wash the whole ordeal down… You get the picture.

The gallery dinner is an antiquated exercise. Yet, as a contracting art market and the Covid pandemic have reshaped how the art world spends its time and money, this particular brand of gathering endures. To explore its strange staying power, we asked industry veterans to spill their best and worst memories, hot tips, and words of wisdom for those wondering what a seat at the table really gets you. 

The Best and the Worst Dinners

“The worst is a dinner where there is a huge queue for food. I was at a dinner where the crowd was so massive that I didn’t eat. To make it worse, there were ‘VIPs’ who were served at their tables, while other guests weren’t. It’s very bad form to have two levels of guests.”– Meryl Rose, collector

“I went to one for a close friend’s show where the gallery director only invited his random bros. No press, not even any collectors. I thought, Damn, my friend really needs a new gallery.” – Janelle Zara, writer

“I was recently at a dinner that Jose Martos and his wife, Servane Mary, hosted at their beautiful apartment for Michel Auder’s show. That was really great—an intimate, intergenerational mix of smart and funny people drinking too much wine and smoking cigarettes.”- Tif Sigfrids, partner at Canada Gallery

“The worst are always the ones that feel corporate or obligatory, when the conversation dies and no one remembers why they came except to be seen or feel like slaves to money.” – Arden Wohl, poet and philanthropist

“There was a White Cube dinner in an embassy. Stunning setting, candlelight, a great assortment of loose-lipped guests who were well-acquainted with the royals. It was also one of the worst, as I was seated across from a collector who had flipped multiple pieces of mine at auction. They didn’t recognize me and kept trying to make small talk.” – Natalie Frank, artist

“The best gallery dinner is for a close friend at a restaurant where you can’t score a reservation. The worst gallery dinners are all the same: an endlessly long table, where the food lands at a brutally late hour, while the guests get overly buzzed from an open pour and trade endless art world travel itineraries.” – Helen Molesworth, curator

“The most fun one I ever went to was for Douglas Gordon on Halloween in the mid aughts, maybe 2007? Someone’s giant townhouse on the upper east side was turned into a haunted house and in my memory there was an open bar in every single room.” – Sarah Hoover, writer

Strategic Seating

“If there is an artist on each side of me, it’s heaven! The worst is to be seated next to an obnoxious collector who insists on showing pictures of their collection.” – Meryl Rose

“Seated dinners are stressful for everyone—from the hosts to the guests. Someone should publish a book of select seating plans from historical gallery dinners; it would provide a fascinating insight into how the art world functioned at different times.” – Matthew Higgs, artist, chief curator and director of White Columns

“People think the end of the table is exile, but it’s where the best conversations happen, usually with someone who’s a guest of a guest and doesn’t care about the art-world hierarchy.” – Christina Ine-Kimba Boyle, founder of Gladwell Projects

“The best seat? Beside Sharon Stone—no contest. The worst? Beside an art dealer without hosting privileges.” – Alex Israel, artist

“I would like to be seated next to Joan Jonas and her dog. Or L.J. Roberts and their dogs. Or Dominique Fung and her dog. Or Timothy Lai and his dog. Or maybe just their dogs.” – Pamela Hornik, collector

“The best is not to be seated.”- Michael Nevin, co-founder of the Journal Gallery

“I would most like to be seated very cozily between Jerry [Saltz] and Roberta [Smith], across from Laurie Simmons, while I’m eating a beautifully prepared steak. No one judges that I ordered a Diet Coke with my martini. Dessert involves ice cream. We’re all incensed about something, and no one is holding back.” – Sarah Hoover

Location is Everything

“The best location is a home… or Mr. Chow.” – Casey Fremont, executive director of the Art Production Fund

“Somewhere terribly chic, possibly with a bit of faded glory or something pastoral and garden-like—so, the Chateau Marmont.” – Helen Molesworth

“The best location is a private home you’ve always wanted to see, and when you get there the host says, ‘Yeah go ahead, take a look in my closet. Raid my pill cabinet. Drink whatever wine you think has the prettiest label.’” – Sarah Hoover, writer

“Anywhere but behind a velvet rope, where I literally sat once at a friend’s dinner.” – Arden Wohl

“Just because Hudson Yards is close to Chelsea does not mean it’s a good place to host a dinner.” – Sarah Goulet, publicist

“The best location is Gasthaus zum Hirschen, a tavern and hotel run by a third-generation family about 30 minutes by car outside of Basel. Galerie Max Mayer has its Art Basel dinner there.” – Paul Leong, collector

“The best location is definitely in the middle of a gallery surrounded by an artist’s work. At a James Cohan dinner for their first Byron Kim exhibit, Byron’s seven-and-a-half-foot-tall night sky paintings were installed all around us. Each one revealed itself as dinner went on, very similar to the experience I once had at an Ad Reinhardt David Zwirner opening. As I sat in the middle of the gallery talking with the artist’s daughter, Anna, all 13 of those black paintings started to come alive as my eyes adjusted to every nuance.” – Mihail Lari, collector

Watch Out For These Faux Pas

“Not knowing who the artist is, and not having seen the show.” – Natalie Frank

“Texting during the remarks.” – Paul Leong

“Over-ordering. The horrible last ‘meat course’ when no one is hungry anymore, the shame of being witness to so much waste.” – Helen Molesworth

“Confirming a seated dinner and not showing up. Or showing up and leaving an empty seat halfway through dinner.” – Michael Nevin

“Rearranging the place cards.” – Alex Israel

“Trashing the venue or the food at the table—or worse, being rude to staff. I’ve seen it, and it’s the kind of thing that lingers. The art world never forgets bad behavior at the table.” – Christina Ine-Kimba Boyle

“Treating spouses as less important… and seating them next to people who couldn’t be bothered to talk about or care about the art.” – Mihail Lari

“If it’s an open kitchen, people feel like it is okay to come and just pick off the plates. It’s so weird, yet it happens every single dinner. People see food in front of them, and something primal kicks in.” – Mina Stone, chef and author

“Only talking to the people you already know is rude, and also extremely boring.” – Janelle Zara

No One Comes For the Food, Or Do They?

“I don’t care about the food as long as it’s served by 9 p.m. and there is dessert.” – Benjamin Godsill, art adivsor

“Andy Warhol said it best.” – Michael Nevin

“Great food is a connector as well as good wine. When the company is not up to the test, it helps you survive terribly dull conversations.” – Valeria Napoleone, collector

“Good food is a plus. Good company is a must.” – Tif Sigfrids

“Dinners are supposed to start ‘promptly’ after the opening, but they never do. I’m usually starving by the time the food arrives.” – Paul Leong

“I was always trained for there to be an open bar and wine on the tables, and I do think it really feels convivial, more European, and more fun. I remember being at an art event where they poured the wine, and at some point, it got so exhausting because they never came around … The wine should be good, but that does not mean it has to be expensive. I serve more white than red, but there should be both.” – Mina Stone

“Cocktail hour is called that for a reason. You get one hour, then people need to be fed something on a large plate.” – Sarah Hoover

Notable Sightings

“The weirdest thing I ever witnessed at a gallery dinner was Sylvester Stallone getting handsy with my friend who was interviewing him.” – Natalie Frank

“Once, I witnessed a dealer and a collector quietly arrange an entire loan for a major exhibition between courses. It felt like a
piece of art history was being drafted in real time at the table—a reminder that these dinners can be as consequential as they are convivial.” – Arden Wohl

“Mid-conversation, a gallery director came up to us and started eating off of my friend’s plate. Yes, we were all a little tipsy. No, none of us were tipsy enough for that.” – Janelle Zara

“The weirdest was a dinner in a castle in Venice for an artist who had quietly passed away, although no one knew it at the time. The night ended with an EDM DJ set that lasted until 4 a.m. I woke up to the news a few hours later. In hindsight, I think the dinner was technically a ‘celebration of life’ thing.” – Christina Ine-Kimba Boyle

“A rambling speech by an Italian curator who was not involved in the show the dinner was for.” – Benjamin Godsill

What Happens at the Gallery Dinner…

“A girlfriend and I wanted to remain cool and mysterious by not eating from the buffet, and instead snacked on too many pot brownies.” – Casey Fremont

“At a Sprüth Magers dinner many years ago, the person across from me abruptly stopped speaking to me. They still give me the cold shoulder to this day. Was it something I said? We’ll never know.” – Janelle Zara

“It’s always fun when the dinner’s at someone’s home. I’ll never forget one such evening at the former residence of my friend, the LA collector Rosette Delug. The night ended in her palatial bathroom, the entire party queued up for B12 shots in the tush—administered, naturally, by our fearless hostess herself.” – Alex Israel

“I sat next to Jeffrey Gibson at a gallery dinner, and he took a selfie of us on his disposable camera. I’m still waiting for a copy of that photo.” – Pamela Hornik

“I met my husband [Tom Sachs] on my first day of work in a gallery on the phone, but we met in person a few weeks later at an opening dinner celebrating a group show—the dinner was at a BBQ restaurant Uptown that was, at the time, owned by Justin Timberlake. Our love was partially forged over fried pickles and buckets of wings, as all true love should be.” – Sarah Hoover

A Word of Advice

“I think museum directors and curators should publicly reveal which gallery dinners they attend, just like British politicians have to declare any ‘gifts’ that they receive. This would be useful information!” – Matthew Higgs

“Seating charts are minor masterpieces of diplomacy—trust the system, and make the most of whoever lands next to you.” – Sarah Goulet

“Thank the people that served you. Just to go up to the catering team and say, ‘It was really good. Thank you for this evening.’ Even a wave from the door. Anything to feel like the service portion was acknowledged is really nice. It’s never annoying.” – Mina Stone

In Samin Nosrat’s highly anticipated second cookbook Good Things: Recipes and Rituals to Share with People You Love, her greatest goal was not to make a book filled with amazing recipes (although there are more than 125 of those). It was making the importance of gathering around the table the most meaningful takeaway.

In our conversation, we dove into big ideas, like whether cooking can be a radical act in a society where big tech is harvesting our attention for profit. (We landed on yes.) We also compared notes on how to cook for a crowd (work backwards and bring an emergency satchel of lemon, olive oil, and salt) and why it’s okay to fry in olive oil. 

Nosrat offered so much useful cooking advice in our interview that it’s worth reading twice just to commit her advice about how to properly salt beans to memory. At the same time, her reflections on the intersection between food and society remind us why what happens in the kitchen never stays there. 

CULTURED: Where are you, and what’s in your system?

Samin Nosrat: I’m in New York, and what’s in my system is pie. I didn’t eat it today, but yesterday I, along with a bunch of other people, judged a pie contest where we tasted 33 pies.

CULTURED: Tell me about your new cookbook.

Nosrat: I struggled with this book a lot. I wondered if I would be able to weave meaning into a book of recipes and connect to a larger part of life. After eight years of the book being in my head, I get to talk to people and have their experience of my work reflected back on me, and through that, I’ve learned a lot about myself and the book.

For example, a few nights ago I was in Iowa City, and [the writer] Carmen Maria Machado and I were talking about how cooking can be a radical thing. She said, “Do you really believe that? Things are falling apart around us right now. Do you really believe cooking is enough?” I thought, Well, I don’t think cooking is enough, but they are making money on our attention. They create social media to suck up our brain cells and our time, and then they sell the data they harvest from us to make money. Reclaiming our attention from these forces is actually quite radical. Not everyone has to cook. We can all find our own ways to ground ourselves and connect to other people. But cooking is my way, so that’s what I write about.

CULTURED: What’s your earliest memory of food and interacting with it?

Nosrat: I was very small, probably 3 years old. My mom was cleaning the house, and she lifted a couch cushion and underneath she found a piece of pepperoni pizza. And she was like, “Why did you put this here?” And I was like, “Oh, I was just saving it for later.”

CULTURED: Mine was that we would come home late at night and my grandma would make me fried eggs and french fries. She would fry everything in olive oil.

Nosrat: That’s very beautiful. But why were you coming home late at night as a child?

CULTURED: We would be at my cousin’s house until late at night. Every Greek child stays up late and is underslept. I’m very excited to ask you the next question: Do you ever fry in olive oil?

Nosrat: All the time. When I lived in Italy, we fried everything in olive oil. If you’re a careful cook, it’s completely in the zone of safety. A lot of it has to do with expense—which is why it’s not more customary here—but I wouldn’t be surprised if part of the reason that we use all these other oils is that there’s a huge agricultural industrial complex growing all of these plants and seed oils, so that is what becomes the fry oil. I also just saw Sohla [El-Waylly, a recipe developer and chef] on her Instagram talking about deep frying in olive oil and how it’s fine. So I’m like, If Sohla said it, it’s fine.

CULTURED: Tell us about adding salt to the cooking water of beans from the beginning rather than the end.

Nosrat: I understand how one could draw the conclusion that salting a bean would make it tough, because there are so many other things making it tough. Salt can draw water out of things and make them tough. But for beans in particular—and for anything dried that you’re cooking in water—that’s not true.

It’s in fact all of these other factors that make beans tough—including hard water or, even like moderately acidic water, which is why it’s nice to alkalinize your water with some baking soda. But if you use too much? Then the skins fall off, which is the trick that people use when they’re making hummus. 

We would cook our fresh shell beans with olive oil and herbs and put in some tomatoes. I stopped putting the tomatoes in early because I don’t want to risk adding any acidity in the water. I’ll always add anything acidic or dressed with vinegar after they’re fully tender.

CULTURED: For me, Thanksgiving looked like spinach pie and lemon chicken. What did it look like for you?

Nosrat: We never had it. It was just a few days off from school. When I was maybe in 12th grade, my little brothers—my brothers are twins, they’re four years younger than me—felt left out. My mom bought a readymade dinner from Whole Foods. That was the first time we ever had Thanksgiving, but we did not sit down and enjoy it in any sort of cornucopia way. We were just eating some turkey with cranberry sauce. 

CULTURED: It wasn’t depressing per se, it was just nonexistent.

Nosrat: Thanksgiving is a time of year that I just am very aware that I’m not a white American. It’s interesting because it’s not that rare to be a third culture kid, or a kid of immigrants, and there are of course different ways that immigrant families approach assimilation. Some people fully take it on, some people joyfully hybridize the traditions. 

One thing I have not seen represented in the narrative or pop culture is this reluctant assimilation: I’m doing this because I feel I should, but I’m not happy about it.

CULTURED: Tell me about how you cook for groups of people. What salad do you make for a crowd? Do you have a sit-around salad recipe?

Nosrat: I try really hard to think about who’s coming: what do they like to eat, are there children, or vegetarians? I also want to factor in how much time and energy I have to give the meal. Things based on grains or beans are sit-around salads—the kinds of salads that improve with time sitting around being dressed. I absolutely would make a leafy salad for a potluck or a gathering and then dress it at the last possible moment. 

Fifteen years ago, I was invited to a potluck book event for Deborah Madison. Everyone was bringing something—it was one of the first things with notable people that I was invited to. But I also had no money, and was working full-time. I scrounged through my pantry and found a bag of beans. I cooked the beans and made a super simple salad with crumbled feta cheese, some toasted cumin, some macerated onions, and olive oil and vinegar. I brought it and everyone was like, “What is this?” There wasn’t anything special about it, but I was shocked that all these luminaries thought it was so good. They kept asking for the recipe, and that always stuck with me—you guys are cooks, what do you mean “the recipe?”

CULTURED: Simple is best. You just make it right and it is delicious.

Nosrat: I also feel like the main problem of potluck food is that people make things that should not be sitting around all day. The only pasta that’s appropriate for a potluck is lasagna because it actually improves with cooling down a little bit and sitting. Anything else will just congeal and get gross. I always am thinking about the constraints of the final serving situation, whether it’s an office, kitchen, or park. Then I work back from there. Always have your emergency satchel of olive oil, lemon, and salt.

CULTURED: Kitchen utensil or tool you use the most?

Nosrat: The little Y-shaped vegetable peeler. I use that every day.

CULTURED: Breakfast, lunch, or dinner, and why?

Nosrat: Lunch has been my favorite for a while. First of all, I’m 46 now so digesting takes a lot of my day and energy and there’s just a lot more possibilities involved in lunch. I don’t want to have long dinners anymore. 5:30 p.m. is my ideal dinner time.

CULTURED: What do you never do in someone else’s kitchen?

Nosrat: Don’t open someone’s fridge unless they say it’s okay.

CULTURED: Can you draw a parallel between your relationship to food and a way of looking at the world?

Nosrat: Being in the world is about adapting to whatever you are given—weather-wise, environment-wise, social-wise. You have to adapt in real time to the life experiences as they appear. That’s absolutely how I think about cooking. I have an idea that I really want to make something with tomatoes today, or cook out of my garden—and then real life happens. Where people go wrong is holding too tight to the original plan. That’s where the friction comes from. 

Diane Kochilas has been my Greek cooking idol for as long as I can remember. 

Born and raised in Queens to Greek parents, she moved to Athens in 1992 for love (she married a Greek artist) and secured a job as a food columnist for one of Greece’s largest newspapers, Ta Nea (The News). Over the past 30 years, she has written 15 cookbooks in both English and Greek. She runs a cooking school on the island of Ikaria and is co-creator and host of the cooking and travel series “My Greek Table” on PBS, which is currently embarking on its fifth season. 

I sat down to talk to Kochilas about her new cookbook-meets-memoir, Athens: Food, Stories, Love. As a fellow Greek American, I could relate to many of her reflections. As a firm believer in the personal aspect of food, I basically interviewed her while silently crying. We talked about the surprising history of the ubiquitous Greek salad (invented in the 1960s!), how we both believe Greek food in the U.S. is still very much stuck in the past, and why Athens’s food scene is rooted in a sense of generational freedom. 

Where are you in the world right now, and what’s in your system? 

I am in Ikaria, finishing up my cooking classes. I ate a little bit of my homemade cheese, which we made yesterday from goat’s milk. I also had a bowl of fruit, and of course, I have a lot of coffee in my system right now, which I take black and cold because it’s still warm out. My dirty little secret is that I like yesterday’s coffee on ice. 

How did your career in food in Greece begin?

I’ve been living in Athens full time since 1992. I was a food columnist and a restaurant critic for 20 years at what was at the time the largest newspaper in Greece, Ta Nea. 

I lived through a lot of social change in Athens. My generation was post-junta [the military dictatorship that ruled Greece from 1967 to 1974] and when I arrived my in-laws were avid supporters of the center-left party PASOK. I used to see Ta Nea on their kitchen table. I wrote to the newspaper for a job—and my then-husband told me, “This person from Ta Nea called you. You have no idea who he is, but everyone in Greece knows who he is, so call him back.” He was the editor of the newspaper. I got hired, and I started writing my column.

What was the food scene in Greece like at the time?

Greece was in the throes of its first major modern social change. That was very much represented and mirrored in the restaurant scene. Greece entered the common market. There was a lot of structural development money pouring into Greece from the EU. The road network was getting revamped. Different ingredients became more accessible. 

Athens started to change dramatically from being a place where tavernas were on every street corner to restaurants that had a lot of international food interpreted to a Greek palette. The ’90s saw a massive stock market boom. That was also mirrored in the restaurants. Huge places started opening up in old warehouses and factories, and it suddenly became very prestigious to be a chef. Before, that was never a profession that any parent wanted for their kid.

Those years really saw a shift in the mindset of Greek cooks and chefs who suddenly started to embrace foods that [for] the older generation [were] still fraught with harrowing memories of war [World War II and the Greek Civil War]—like cornmeal,  trahana [fermented mixture of grain and yogurt], even paximadia [bread rusks]. My in-laws lived through that. 

I remember once serving my father-in-law black-eyed pea salad, and he said, “I’m sorry I can’t eat that. We lived on that for five years.”

Then the [debt] crisis happened [starting in 2009], and everything crashed. But Greeks continued to look at their cuisine as an expression of the times because it always is. A lot of places opened up that were much less expensive but equally creative. 

Tell me about your new cookbook, Athens: Food, Stories, Love. Why did you feel it was important to write this book?  

Athens is a very different city now than it was 30 years ago. Athens is comfortable in her own skin. Thirty years ago, Athens was a city that always looked over its shoulder, feeling that it was somehow inferior. Greeks had to insist that it was actually Europe. For a long time, I think there wasn’t a very strong sense of self in Athens, and I think that’s totally changed now.

I’m not a newspaper reporter anymore, but I eat out all the time and I am always interested in what young chefs are doing. I see my daughter’s generation—she’s in her 30s—and they have almost no emotional connection to those very traditional Greek dishes. It’s the Internet generation. To me, it would be sacrilege to take a stifado sauce and marry it with turmeric or goji berries. My generation had a very rigid set of rules about what you could and couldn’t do in the kitchen. This younger generation doesn’t. 

This is a really personal book—more than your previous ones. I was learning about your personal life and exploring Athens through your eyes. Really, the book is three things: a guide, a cookbook, and a memoir. 

When I first came to Athens, I had just written my first cookbook in New York. My husband at the time really wanted to come back [to Greece]. He didn’t like being in New York. If you’re an artist, it’s extremely hard, especially if you don’t want to live in a situation where you’ve got a bathtub in the kitchen. So I moved to Athens. It was not against my will, but it wasn’t my first choice, let’s say. 

This book was my way of coming to terms with my life. For me, so much of Athens is the memories of my then-husband, a person I spent almost 40 years of my life with. I had to get that out of my system, and I wanted to do it in a way that was grateful. Athens is not a city that reveals itself easily. Layers of history and stories are everywhere you look.

What’s your opinion on the state of Greek food today?

I think it’s confident. There’s a lot of respect for all aspects of Greek food. One of the great restaurants in Athens, Seychelles, personifies all the stuff that’s been going on in the city: There’s a respect for local ingredients. They create these very identifiably Greek dishes that are still modern. 

Is there a back and forth between Greek food in the U.S. and Greek food in Greece? 

There isn’t much discourse. In the States, people’s perceptions of anything Greek starts with blue and white, the Greek key, a picture of King Leonidas in his helmet, and the goddess Athena. I had to push back on that in the book’s design process. That is not Greece. Greece is earth. Greece is all this other stuff. 

There are a few creative Greek restaurants out there in the States. You had one of them [Mina’s at MoMA PS1 in Queens]. There’s Committee in Boston, Molyvos in New York, Avli in Chicago. I have not been to Balos in DC yet, but I’m looking forward to doing that.

What are some of your favorite dishes in the book that you feel represent something important?

I love the kotopoulo Milanese, which is a bourgeois Athenian dish that doesn’t actually exist in Milan. It’s a Greek affectation. I love those bourgeois dishes because they also evoke memories of family Sunday lunch. The Athinaiki mayioneza or fish covered with homemade mayonnaise was a litmus test of a good home cook. I love the focaccia spanakopita. 

Can you tell me the history of the Greek salad?

It was born in Plaka in the ’60s. In Greece, there used to be price controls on certain menu items. From what I recall, there was a price control on the salad, so they added cheese to it because then it didn’t meet the legal definition of the salad and they could make a little extra money.

What do you think the food community needs more of right now?

The world needs more Greek food. [laughs] The world needs more interesting Greek food, not just more moussaka and souvlaki. 

What is a kitchen etiquette role you live by?

Don’t pick food out of the pot before I serve it. 

What’s the kitchen utensil you use the most?

My Japanese chef’s knife.

Do you feel like the book draws a parallel between your experience and the city of Athens itself? 

I think so. I always wanted to be a newspaper reporter. I did that in Athens. I always wanted to do a television show. I did that in Athens. I had my kids in Athens. I went through a transformation in Athens from being a New Yorker by birth and temperament to being very appreciative of all the things that Athens gave me. All the things I wanted to do in my life, I did in Athens.

Dear Readers, 

If anything can elicit an eye-roll, it’s the proposition of a plant-based Thanksgiving. A turkey-less holiday dinner, if you will. Gasp, I know. But I continue to support this hot take: many (and perhaps I will go as far as to say most) people are not there for the turkey, they are there for the sides. Don’t shoot the messenger—this is a well-documented fact. If it ruffles your feathers, I hope you enjoy your turkey. But the best part about Thanksgiving is the assortment of (often vegetarian) dishes that accompany the big bird. 

Growing up in a South Asian household, we generally struggle to hold back on spicing… everything. The mere thought of a steamed, buttered green bean with barely a whisper of salt and pepper is our version of a nightmare. My parents’ assimilation resulted in our taking a stab at these classic (read: bland) sides, and cooking them as “American” as we could, but we quickly learned to compensate with masala stuffing and a vehement omission of cranberry sauce. When I cook my family’s Thanksgiving dinner, I relish in making my vegetarian dishes so delicious that my meat-eating family goes back for more—not because they are “good for vegan or vegetarian food” but because they are good. Period. 

I’ve spent my entire career developing plant-based recipes, and teaching people how to make a vegetable dish the star of their tables. I am not advocating that you flip your entire diet to a vegetarian or vegan one. But when you learn how to work with spice, heat, and texture—and invest a little time in making incredible sauces and condiments—the plant-forward dishes will have no trouble standing up to the mains. Who knows, you might even like them more than the turkey. In this installment of Chef’s Orders, I invite you to imagine such a world. 

STARTER

Shaved Brussels Sprouts Salad with Coarse Mustard & Aleppo Dressing

If you haven’t yet gotten behind Brussels sprouts, here’s a preparation that will change your mind. The texture of this salad mimics a slaw because the Brussels are shaved finely using a mandoline.  This light and tender texture is accentuated when tossed in a coarse mustard and Aleppo dressing, and complemented by the crunch of pine nuts and pomegranate arils. This salad is bright and fresh, making it an excellent contrast to the heavier items on the table.

Ingredients

Salad
1 lb Brussels sprouts, shaved using a mandoline or sliced thin using a knife
1/2 large apple, shaved (I like Honeycrisp or Cosmic Crisp here)
½ red onion, shaved using a mandoline or sliced thin using a knife
1/3 cup pine nuts, plus extra for garnish
3/4 cup pomegranate arils 

Dressing
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
2 tbsp coarse whole-grain old style mustard
1 tbsp apple cider vinegar
1 tbsp maple syrup
1 tsp Aleppo pepper, plus more to taste if desired
Kosher salt to taste
Freshly ground black pepper
Flaky salt

Method

1. In a small bowl, whisk together the olive oil, coarse mustard, apple cider vinegar, maple syrup, Aleppo pepper, salt, and black pepper until fully emulsified. Taste and adjust with salt and Aleppo if needed.
2. In a large bowl, toss the shaved Brussels sprouts, shaved apple, shaved red onion, pine nuts, and pomegranate arils with the dressing until well mixed.
3. Plate and top with more pine nuts and flaky salt. Enjoy.

ENTRÉE

Creamy Miso Pumpkin Alfredo Pasta with Brown Butter-Fried Sage

This pasta is completely vegan, though you’d be surprised at that fact if you tried it. The sauce is creamy and smooth, made possible thanks to raw cashews, which expand and soften after being soaked in water. When these soaked cashews are blended, they create a creamy (yet dairy-free) base for sauces and fillings. Canned pumpkin purée provides sweetness, miso provides umami, and brown butter-fried sage seals the deal for a decadent and plant-based entrée.

Ingredients

3 tbsp extra-virgin olive oil
1 yellow onion, roughly diced
4 garlic cloves, grated
1 tbsp fresh thyme leaves, finely chopped
3 sage leaves, finely chopped
1 cup pumpkin purée
1 13.5 oz can reduced-fat coconut milk
1/2 tsp cayenne pepper (can reduce to ¼ tsp if less spice is preferred)
¼ tsp ground nutmeg
1/2 cup raw cashews, soaked overnight or “flash-soaked” for 1 hour in hot water
1 tbsp white miso paste
3 tbsp nutritional yeast
Kosher salt to taste
Freshly ground black pepper to taste
1 cup vegetable broth plus more to thin to desired, smooth consistency
1 lb pasta of choice (I like rigatoni here)

Garnish
5-6 sage leaves & 2 tbsp vegan butter
Nutritional yeast
Freshly ground black pepper

Method

1. Soak cashews overnight or in hot water for one hour. Set aside. 
2. In a medium saucepan over medium heat, add olive oil. When it shimmers, add in your onion and sauté until tender, translucent, and browning around the edges. 
3. Add in the garlic, thyme, and sage and sauté for about two to three minutes. Add salt, pepper, nutmeg, and cayenne. Sauté for a minute, and then add the pumpkin purée. 
4. Stir the pumpkin purée into the onions and spices, then add the coconut milk. Mix and simmer for 5-10 minutes until the sauce has reduced slightly. 
5. Transfer the mixture to a high-speed blender. Add the soaked cashews, miso paste, and nutritional yeast. Blend until completely smooth. Adjust with salt and pepper to taste. Now add the vegetable broth to thin the sauce. Start with ½ cup and add more to reach desired consistency. 
6. Cook pasta according to the package instructions. Combine the pasta and the sauce until fully incorporated. 
7. In a small pan over medium heat, add the vegan butter. Reduce the heat to medium low, and cook, stirring frequently and watching the butter until it starts to bubble and simmer. Once the butter darkens in color, add the sage leaves and fry until golden. Remove from the pan. 
8. Garnish the pasta with the brown butter-fried sage, nutritional yeast, and freshly ground black pepper. Enjoy immediately.  

SIDE

Hot Honey Roasted Carrots with Spiced Chickpeas and Green Tahini

These hot honey roasted carrots are a play on traditional glazed carrots that you’ll often see on a Thanksgiving table, but made with crushed coriander and cumin, roasted to perfection until tender and sweet, then set atop a smooth, herby green tahini. To add a hit of crunch and texture, you have some spiced and roasted chickpeas on top. What’s not to love? 

Ingredients

Hot Honey Carrots
1 lb rainbow carrots, peeled
1/4 cup hot honey
1 tsp red pepper flakes
2 tbsp olive oil
1 tsp cumin
1/2 tsp whole coriander seeds, crushed
Kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper

Chickpeas
1 15.5 oz can chickpeas, rinsed and dried well
2 tbsp olive oil
1 tsp ground cumin
1/2 tsp ground paprika
Salt

Green Tahini
1 cup cilantro leaves and tender stems, packed
1 cup parsley leaves and tender stems, packed
1/3 cup olive oil
1/2 cup tahini
3 cloves garlic
Juice of 1 lemon
Kosher salt to taste
Cold water to thin

Garnish
White sesame seeds, finely chopped parsley, and red pepper flakes

Note: I purchased smaller rainbow carrots as you can see from the photo, but if yours are thick, feel free to halve them so that the roasting time is comparable to what is listed below in the method.

Method

1. Preheat oven to 425 degrees.
2. In a small bowl combine all ingredients for the marinade. Adjust to taste with salt.
3. Toss the carrots in the marinade, or use a pastry brush to brush it on so the carrots are fully coated in the hot honey marinade. Arrange on a tray so that all the carrots have enough personal space!
4. In a separate bowl, toss the chickpeas with the olive oil and spices. Arrange the chickpeas on a separate baking sheet lined with parchment paper.
5. Place the carrots and the chickpeas in the oven and roast for about 20-30 minutes or until the carrots are lightly browning and fork-tender and the chickpeas are golden and crisp. Rotate the carrots halfway through roasting.
6. Make the green tahini by combining all ingredients into a blender except for the cold water. Blend, adding small splashes of the water until a smooth consistency is achieved. Be careful not to add too much water as you don’t want the sauce to be watery! Adjust to taste with salt as needed.
7. Assemble by spreading the tahini on a plate, topping with the roasted carrots and chickpeas, and garnishing with sesame, parsley, and a drizzle of hot honey if desired. Enjoy!

DESSERT

Pumpkin Layer Cake With Vegan Cream Cheese Frosting

Fluffy layers of pumpkin cake are complemented by a smooth, creamy vegan cream cheese frosting that makes for a slightly nontraditional but very welcome dessert addition to the Thanksgiving table. This cake is the m-word (moist) yet both dairy and gluten-free, which will delight those at the table with and without dietary restrictions. Something for everyone!

Ingredients

Cake
2 eggs, best at room temperature
1/4 cup creamy almond butter
1/2 cup maple syrup
1 cup pumpkin purée
3 tbsp coconut oil, melted and cooled
3/4 cup coconut sugar
1 1/4 cups almond flour, packed
1 1/4 cups gluten-free oat flour, packed (I recommend store-bought for this recipe)
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
1 tsp pumpkin pie spice
⅓ cup non-dairy milk

Frosting
1 8 oz container vegan cream cheese
1 stick vegan butter, slightly softened to room temperature
2 cups powdered sugar, plus more according to taste 

Method

1. Preheat your oven to 350 degrees and grease three six-inch round cake pans with coconut oil and/or line with parchment paper.
2. In a medium bowl, beat eggs. Add the coconut oil, maple syrup, pumpkin purée, and creamy almond butter. Whisk until smooth.
3. Add the coconut sugar and mix thoroughly to combine.
4. In a separate bowl, whisk together the almond flour, oat flour, baking powder, baking soda, and pumpkin pie spice until incorporated.
5. Combine the wet and dry ingredients. Mix until thoroughly incorporated.
6. Transfer equal amounts of the batter into each of the prepared pans, tapping the pan on the counter to ensure the batter is evenly distributed throughout the pan. Bake for 30-40 minutes or until the cake turns golden on the edges and a knife or toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Let cool completely.
7. Use a stand mixer to beat the vegan butter and vegan cream cheese until smooth and creamy, about two minutes. With the mixer on low, add the powdered sugar ½ a cup at a time, until the frosting is thick and spreadable. Add more sugar to taste if desired.
8. Once the cakes have cooled, level the cake layers, i.e., slice the domed tops using a serrated knife until the cake is flat. Using an offset spatula, start by frosting the top of the first layer, then add the second layer upside down right on top of the first layer. This will allow it to sit flush against the first layer. Frost the second layer, then place the last layer right side up on top. Frost the tops and the sides of the cake evenly and smoothly. You can leave the cake naked on the sides, or frost the whole thing. Swirl a touch of extra pumpkin spice on top and garnish with edible flowers if desired.

Alison Roman knows exactly what to cook, bake, and pour to keep delicate dinner politics in balance. The chef—a former New York Times columnist, Bon Appétit alum, and owner of upstate New York grocery First Bloom—has nurtured a devoted following drawn to her colloquial approach to cooking. She has also spawned viral one-word recipes in spades (her holy trinity: the Stew, the Cookies, and the Dip).

Fresh off the launch of her fourth cookbook, Something From Nothing, and in the midst of her collaborative run with downtown cafe Casetta on a pop-up of First Bloom’s specialty goods and recipes (through November 30), Roman gets down to the meat and potatoes of holiday hosting—from navigating awkward seating arrangements to what happens when the ice runs dry.

What are you grabbing from First Bloom for the perfect holiday party?

These really expensive anchovies [by Don Bocarte] are very worth it. When you eat them, you’re like, “Oh my God, I’ve never had anything like this.” If you show up for a dinner party with those and really good salted butter, people are like, “You are incredible.” The salted butter comes from Cowbella, which is a creamery up in the Catskills. It’s a marigold color—beautiful, fatty, creamy. And to round it out, a Nordic crisp bread.

When was the last time you cried in the kitchen, and why?

Probably in the last few months. I was postpartum, and having a baby is hard. I was doing a lot of crying in the kitchen, but not about the kitchen.

At a holiday party, would you rather run out of ice or alcohol first?

I could do without the alcohol, but if there are guests, I don’t want to ruin their good time. Even if you do not drink, you need ice. That’s non-negotiable. If you run out of ice, it’s game over.

It’s torrentially snowing, Irving Berlin is playing, and you have 30 minutes before hangry guests arrive. What are you—tastefully—throwing together?

I’m buying a rotisserie chicken because I don’t have time to roast one. I’m making three really good vegetable sides: a good tomato something, a leafy-herby salad, and beans. I’m picking a recipe from the book that uses canned beans, which cuts the time in half.

What’s the worst thing that someone could bring to a potluck dinner party?

An ambient temperature, wet, mayonnaise-based dish. Don’t do it. I don’t want it.

You’re reborn as the perfect hors d’oeuvre. What are you?

I’m a little bit of caviar and a potato chip with some sour cream.

You’re working on the seating chart for a holiday dinner. Where do you put the couple that always bickers in public?

One on each end of the table.

Your socially awkward cousin?

Near the middle so I can keep an eye on them, but not too central. It’s a very delicate balance.

Your woo-woo friend who reads auras?

In the middle! That’s the kind of person who can liven things up.

The person who can’t put their phone away?

Just don’t invite them.

Since opening in 2016, King has become one of New York’s most beloved restaurants. The debut cookbook by co-founders Clare de Boer, Jess Shadbolt, and Annie Shi weaves together recipes with techniques informed by the restaurant’s elegant and intuitive approach to cooking.

The trio gathered to discuss why King was tailor-made to inspire a cookbook and how they developed the golden ratio of deliciousness: one part olive oil to one part cooked greens.

CULTURED: Tell me about your cookbook. Why did you decide to bring this to life?

Jess Shadbolt: This is our first interview that we’ve done on it, by the way. You should know this!

We really wanted to put something out there that really represented King. I think restaurant cookbooks are really hard because the perception from the home cook is that they’re out of reach. We’re really excited because we feel like it can be a restaurant cookbook that is accessible to the home cook as well. 

CULTURED: I felt that way reading it—like, I could do this. Even though King is a restaurant, the ethos is that it’s home-cooked food.

Annie Shi: There was a big debate with our publisher about whether we should call it The King Cookbook or King at Home. And for us, it felt unfair to call it King at Home because King cooking is home cooking. 

Clare de Boer: King has a daily changing menu, and I think there’s a lot that can be distilled to be very useful at home: how you can mix things up. We’ve got recipes for 10-plus sauces. And then as you move through the fish and the meat chapters, we use them again and again. You don’t need to know a million things to make a million things. It’s true for the menu at King, and we wanted to bring that through in the book. 

Shadbolt: You’re like, okay, I have grilled chilies—done. Beans—done. I know how to smash. Cook them, smash them, eat them in a salad, eat them with steak. You see the same thing a lot throughout the book, and it expands the repertoire, but also gives variety and ultimately, we hope, confidence.

CULTURED: That leads me to my next question. I really loved that you guys talked about confident and intuitive cooking. Why do you think that’s important? 

Shadbolt: Following a recipe only gets you so far. It doesn’t allow you to grow as a cook. Once you learn about core ingredients and how to use them, then you can cook freely. To be an intuitive cook is to be responsive to the season, to the produce, to whatever it is that you have on hand. 

De Boer: If you were just to do one thing, read the pantry section. And then if you look at all of the photos, particularly the grid photos, you could find a lot of freedom in the kitchen. 

CULTURED: Your pantry section is after my own heart. Olive oil, salt, lemon, anchovies… yes!  

De Boer: We photographed the whole book in the restaurant as well. We hope that it creates this world that people can enjoy but also make it their own. 

CULTURED: Can you each share with me a recipe in the book that’s meaningful and personal?

De Boer: The thing that I love the most and want to eat the most is the greens. Cooked greens, boiled greens, blanched greens, dressed greens, slow-cooked greens. They’re the height of deliciousness. They’re also one of the things that people really don’t understand the world of possibility around. We have a whole section on greens. For Jess and I, that was the first thing we learned to cook at the River Cafe.

When you add a cup of olive oil and some garlic and chili to it, this is not a health food. It’s just one of the best things you can eat, and it happens to also be good for you. And it’s also the thing that I do so often at home and for kids. There’s no sort of, “Oh, my God, greens.” They’re like, “Oh, my God, yes! Greens!” 

CULTURED: I’m waiting for the day when my son says yes to greens.

De Boer: Equal parts greens and equal parts olive oil is the key. 

Shi: My favorite is the Train to Bayonne, a cocktail recipe that I came up with during Covid, and specifically, the tarragon-infused gin. The bar at King is a single-bartender bar, and you have to service the guests in front of you and the entire restaurant, which is extremely difficult. So we do our best to try to bring flavor into our drinks before the bartender starts shaking your cocktail. And I feel like that’s something that a home bartender could really learn—if you make these infusions, whether it’s with the tarragon or chili scraps, you’re able to bring a lot of flavor into a drink before you’ve even done anything.

Shadbolt: My mum’s Christmas cake is in the cookbook—her recipe is my favorite. The reason it’s important is because that’s what recipes are: a translation from person to person. Cookbooks tell a story, and a legacy lives on within them. 

CULTURED: What is a kitchen etiquette rule you live by?

Shadbolt: Invest in a proper pair of kitchen tongs. And don’t underestimate the importance of water in a kitchen. 

De Boer: Never put your knives in the dishwasher. It’s like, my biggest fight in my home kitchen. I’m doing a lot of yelling about that. 

Shi: Mine would be, there should always be a chef’s treat. There’s always a fudgy bit, a burnt, a crispy—whatever. It just makes the cooking rewarding. 

CULTURED: Can you draw a parallel between the ethos at King and your greater outlook in the world?

Shi: Something that I have learned through King and through the cookbook is, simple is best. It’s a motto that I find myself carrying through a lot of life, whether packing the kid’s suitcase for a flight or trying to get through my week. Any time where I feel overwhelmed by decision-making, I remind myself of that. 

De Boer: Just do a few things well and focus on those, and everything else kind of can come. 

Shadbolt: Don’t overthink it and enjoy the process. 

CULTURED: Breakfast, lunch, or dinner? And why?

Shadbolt: I love lunch. It’s my favorite meal of the day and I feel like it negates the need often for dinner if you’ve done it correctly. Particularly the longer lunches of a weekend. 

Shi: A late dinner. When my husband and I were dating, we would often meet up after he finished his job and I finished service. So it was like a 9:30, or 10 p.m. reservation. As a night owl, I’ve always loved a late dinner. 

De Boer: I’m going to say a 5:30 p.m. dinner because all the kids are around. Everyone’s back from school and together. 

CULTURED: Okay, my last question is for you, Clare, because everyone at CULTURED wants to know about this pie competition that’s happening. 

Shi: And can I enter? Is it too late? 

De Boer: You’re a professional, so you’re not allowed to! It was inspired by watching too many hours of Great British Bake-Off. But also, I was a judge at this very serious [cooking] competition earlier in the year, and it was totally upsetting. I didn’t know what I was getting involved in. I showed up, and it was all of these old French guys with multiple Michelin stars and a lot of pomp and ceremony. And then these sort of crazy stuffed cabbages that took hours to prepare were produced. We’re doing the country version, and instead of cabbages, it’s pies. With a lot less pomp and circumstance.