Philadelphia’s Italian Market is something of a misnomer. One of the oldest establishments of its kind in the country, it’s where locals go to stock up on pasta and Parmigiano-Reggiano—and, increasingly, to feast on such international delights as lamb barbacoa, pho, and freshly pressed corn tortillas straight from the steamy bag. 

The market, located on and around 9th Street in South Philadelphia, is essentially a living museum chronicling the city’s demographic and culinary evolution. In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, immigrants from Sicily and Abruzzo landed in this part of town. In the 1970s, the area drew Vietnamese refugees escaping war, while the mid- to late 1980s saw the arrival of thousands of Cambodians fleeing the Khmer Rouge. A decade or so later, the North American Free Trade Agreement brought waves of Mexican immigrants, largely from Puebla, many of whom still call South Philly home. 

So, what started as an Italian market more than a century ago has become an all-out global feast. Growing up in Philly as a third-generation Italian American, I spent my childhood exploring those stalls. There was Isgro Pastries for cannoli, each delicate shell piped to order with chocolate chip-studded ricotta. Cacia’s Bakery and Sarcone’s Bakery satisfied my cravings for tangy, garlic-scented tomato pie, while Di Bruno Bros. was a perennial pitstop for wedges of Parmigiano shipped in from the Motherland. Ralph’s (the oldest Italian restaurant in America) was for celebrating birthdays and baptisms. 

But the older I got, the more I came to appreciate Philly’s cosmopolitan food scene beyond the Italian mainstays. After all, Philadelphia is home to one of the country’s highest percentages of residents born abroad, primarily Latin America, East Asia, and West Africa. And with all that immigration has come some truly phenomenal food. 

Since moving back to Philadelphia eight years ago, now with my own family in tow, I’ve introduced my husband and our three daughters to my childhood favorites—and to fragrant papaya salads, herb-marinated pork tacos, and bubbling bowls of hot pot. In the process of rediscovering my home city as an adult, I’ve become something of an expert on the international dining scene. Follow my recommendations, and you’ll be treated to a global taste tour—without setting foot outside the City of Brotherly Love. 

Thai at Kalaya

4 West Palmer Street
(215) 545-2535

Opened in 2019 as a tiny BYOB in the Italian Market, Chutatip “Nok” Suntaranon’s ode to southern Thai cuisine now occupies a revamped warehouse in Fishtown. Palm trees grow under the lofty ceiling in the center of the dining room,where you might start the evening with a cocktail made with galangal and lemongrass. The fiery, complex curries are always revelatory, as are the platters of grilled freshwater prawns and sweet-and-tangy cabbage doused in pungent fish sauce. Consider bookending those mains with an appetizer of handmade dumplings, such as the bird-shaped kanom jeeb nok, and a dessert of shaved ice that arrives in a shimmering dome.

Cambodian at Mawn

764 South 9th Street

According to the sign outside this small, lively restaurant, Mawn is a Cambodian “noodle house with no rules.” Peruse the menu, and you’ll see why: There are dishes chef Phila Lorn, the son of Cambodian immigrants, ate growing up, including cold noodles with oyster sauce and clam salaw machu in a tangy tamarind-lemongrass broth. But there are also unorthodox standouts, including a particularly phenomenal Thai khao soi, the schmaltz-enriched Mawn noodle soup (an ode to Lorn’s wife and partner, Rachel), and (at lunch) a Cambodian chili dog with Prahok and sport peppers. Make a reservation, since the 28 seats book up weeks in advance.

Japanese at Royal Izakaya

780 South 2nd Street
(267) 909-9002

There are two ways to nab a spot at Royal Izakaya, the ever-packed Japanese bar and sushi counter in the Queen Village neighborhood: Either book online for the coveted eight-seat counter exactly 30 days in advance, or try your luck at the walk-in-only front room, which serves more casual fare. At the counter, watch chef Jesse Ito (trained by his father and co-owner, sushi chef Masaharu Ito) skillfully prepare each bite of the exquisite 16-course, $300 omakase with highlights including charred New Zealand salmon belly sushi and Kombu cured Japanese scallops. If that sounds a bit extravagant, stick to the bar, where shrimp shumai and chile-glazed wings pair wonderfully with pitchers of Kirin Ichiban. 

Modern Italian at Fiore Fine Foods

2413 Frankford Avenue
(215) 339-0509

Fiore is a fresh chapter in Philly’s long love affair with Italian cuisine that offers a lighter alternative to the usual red-gravy staples. The contemporary café in Fishtown has whitewashed walls and big windows that let in lots of natural light, and nearly everything on the menu is made from scratch. Breakfast centers around baked goods such as lemon olive oil cake, custard-filled bomboloni, and cornetti with pistachio cream, plus savories such as egg and ricotta sandwiches on focaccia. For lunch, there are slow-cooked pork panini and housemade pastas. No matter the time of day, save room for a scoop of gelato (I love the rainbow cookie and fresh fruit flavors), or get a pint to go. The restaurant usually closes after lunch but makes exceptions for the occasional pop-up dinner.

Afrocentric at Honeysuckle Provisions

310 South 48th Street
(215) 307-3316

Omar Tate and Cybille St. Aude-Tate opened Honeysuckle Provisions in West Philadelphia in 2022 as a way to bring fresh produce and healthier prepared foods to a neighborhood that was lacking both. The project began with the Afrocentric café and market on site, where you’ll find plantain snack cakes (inspired by St. Aude-Tate’s Haitian heritage) and breakfast sandwiches with vegan black-eyed pea scrapple. Earlier this year, the couple unveiled Untitled, an ever-changing tasting menu served in an eight-seat room that speaks to the couple’s memories and to Black culture and history as a whole. The experience starts with a handwritten menu and unfolds with highlights including sorghum tea and deviled eggs from their compost-fed chickens topped with lump crabmeat and caviar—served on ceramic dinnerware that Tate, an artist and chef, made himself. 

Modern American at Illata

2241 Grays Ferry Avenue

Philadelphia has long been a BYOB paradise, thanks to the state’s rigid and antiquated liquor laws. But in the wake of the pandemic, the once-booming genre seemed to be losing steam, with longstanding spots closing left and right. Then, Illata opened in 2023. At the intimate, 20-seat spot in Graduate Hospital, a table of four can (and should) order the whole succinct menu. The dishes change regularly, but a recent meal included plump mussels in miso and chile oil, vivid green caramelle pasta with mint and peas, and a salted brown butter tart I can’t stop thinking about. Insider tip: Pick up an eclectic bottle of wine (or non-alcoholic beverage) at nearby Cork. 

Mexican at El Chingon

1524 South 10th Street
(267) 239-2131

Juan Carlos Aparicio started baking at age 16 after moving to the U.S. from Puebla, and in 2022, he finally opened his own place. Inside this colorful South Philly café, you can taste the culmination of three decades of experience woven together with time-honored family recipes from Mexico. Cemitas are built atop his from-scratch rolls and stuffed with chorizo or herb-marinated pork, and tacos come on sourdough tortillas, made using a starter he’s kept since his baguette-baking days. Beyond the sandwiches and baked goods, the aguachiles stand out for their bright flavors and variety. Try the “tropical” ginger-spiked salmon topped with thin mango matchsticks, or the vegan version with hearts of palm.

International at Friday Saturday Sunday

261 South 21st Street
(215) 546-4232

Have you ever heard of a cocktail made using the Fibonacci sequence? At this modern American restaurant in Rittenhouse Square, bartender Paul MacDonald uses the mathematical formula—in which each number is the sum of the two preceding ones—to strike the optimal balance of ingredients in cocktails such as the Assassin’s Handbook, with mulled wine shrub, Averna, Jamaican rum, and cognac. Start with a pre-dinner cocktail at the polished downstairs bar. Afterward, head up to the dining room for chef Chad Williams’ tasting menu that features dishes such as pasta with Benton’s Country Ham and collard greens and jerk quail, which make fantastic finger food when tucked into the slightly sweet coco bread that comes alongside it. 

Jewish American at Famous 4th Street Delicatessen 

700 South 4th Street
(215) 922-3274

In a notoriously difficult industry, few restaurants make it to the century milestone, and those that do are usually tourist traps. But since 1923, Famous 4th Street Deli has been a Queen Village staple for gathering around heaping, perfectly executed hot pastrami or chopped liver sandwiches, bowls of matzo ball soup, and other Jewish delicatessen standards. The wooden tables, set amid deli cases of knishes and black and white cookies, are always overflowing with  neighborhood families, well-dressed office workers, and everybody in between. 

Italian at Saloon 

750 South 7th Street
(215) 627-1811

Walking into Saloon feels like stepping back in time. The South Philly staple, part Italian restaurant, part steakhouse, opened in 1967 and still exudes that nostalgic charm with its wood-paneled walls, penny-tiled floors, and stained glass light fixtures. The bilevel restaurant fills up nightly, with waitstaff (sharply dressed in all black) buzzing around tables covered in plates of clams casino, veal piccata, and New York strip steaks. If you don’t have a reservation, you can usually find a seat at the upstairs bar. Wherever you land, start with an icy martini and end the meal with a treat—say, tiramisù or cannoli—from the old-school dessert tray.  

Mediterranean at Mish Mish

1046 Tasker Street
(267) 761-9750

Dinner at Mish Mish, the Mediterranean-ish restaurant on East Passyunk, feels like an intimate, effervescent dinner party. The dishes change seasonally—fluke crudo with torn herbs and elderflower vinegar in the spring, perhaps, or braised pork with tamarind barbecue sauce in the fall. Natural wines are broken out by cheeky descriptors (“pink linen,” “hammocks, palm trees”), and it’s all set to a soundtrack that bops from Egyptian rap to aughties R&B. Speaking of cheeky, the giant apricot that hangs over the front door is a nod to the restaurant’s name: Mish Mish means apricot in Arabic. Deal hounds shouldn’t miss Sunshine Hour, from 5 to 7 p.m., for $8 snacks (think “lil hunks of marinated feta”) on the sidewalk patio.

Vietnamese at Gabriella’s Vietnam

1837 East Passyunk Avenue
(272) 888-3298

In the wake of the Vietnam War, thousands of refugees settled in Philadelphia, resulting in a large, vibrant Vietnamese community. Along Washington Avenue and in pockets of South Philly, pho shops and Vietnamese bakeries specializing in bánh mì and bánh cam (sesame rice balls) abound. Complementing the tried-and-true classics, chef Thanh Nguyen, who grew up in Vietnam, opened Gabriella’s in 2021 to spotlight dishes that are popular in her home country right now: water fern dumplings, crisp savory crepes, and vermicelli platters served with a pungent kumquat-shrimp dipping sauce, to name a few. Early evening, the minimally adorned dining room fills with families, while later, it’s groups of friends feasting on chicken hot pot, sizzling catfish, and other shareable favorites.

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At the tip of Cape Cod, on a narrow strip of land 60 miles out to sea, lies Provincetown, Massachusetts—the end of the world (or, at least, New England), and the place I’ve called home for close to two years. Locals might call me a “washashore,” but I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

That’s because Ptown is (per capita) the queerest town in the country and one of the most sought-out vacation spots for anyone on the LGBTQIA+ spectrum. It’s a place of extraordinary natural beauty (the dunes! the beaches! the gardens! the architecture!) as well as a playground for freedom and pride. The main drag, Commercial Street, runs the length of the town along the bay side and is home to the majority of the restaurants, clubs, shops, and galleries. During the summer, it overflows with people of all flavors of gender expression, kink, and sexuality.  

I landed in Ptown after 20 years in professional kitchens ended in epic burnout. In 2021, mid-pandemic, I sold Willa Jean, my restaurant in New Orleans, and headed north. Love was waiting, as was eventual heartbreak and, ultimately, recovery and healing in Ptown. 

I’m not sure if it was the sunset G&Ts with friends on the beach, the impromptu clambakes, or the slices of pizza I devoured in the street after raucous nights out, but eating my way through the city has taught me that to be a queer person in Ptown is to be part of a community. Every restaurant and bar contributes to this spirit, and these are some of my favorite places.

Nor’East Beer Garden

206 Commercial Street

The Nor’East Beer Garden is an unassuming outdoor space on Commercial Street that serves some of the best food and cocktails in Ptown. That’s because you never get bored: The culinary “theme” changes each season; this summer, it’s “light Italian,” which means you can savor dishes like mushroom pâté, burrata with fried dough, and minty brown-butter mussels. 

Sal’s Place

99 Commercial Street

Sal’s is by the water in the West End, which makes for spectacular views. Cash-only and often difficult to reach by phone, Sal’s is worth the trouble of getting a reservation, whether you’re booking dinner with friends or a date. Don’t skip the cauliflower Caesar with baby romaine, which I love to order alongside the charred octopus with garbanzo beans and smoked chile oil.  

Relish

93 Commercial Street

This inviting little bakery in the West End makes a variety of breakfast and lunch sandwiches—great for a handheld meal while strolling about, or as beach picnic fare—but I always go for the pastries. Spring for a wedge of key lime tart, or grab a cookie or a slice of coffee cake.  

Tea Dance at the Boatslip Resort

161 Commercial Street

Shirtless muscle gays, margarita-sipping drag queens, straight vacationers who love to party—Ptowners of all stripes congregate every afternoon at the ultimate pregame called Tea Dance (or just “Tea”), held at the Boatslip Resort from 4 to 7 p.m. The legendary bartender Maria reigns over the right side of the bar, the end closest to the water, and will happily start you off with the Planter’s Punch, their official cocktail. 

Strangers & Saints

404 Commercial Street

After Tea, many revelers flock to Strangers & Saints, housed in an incredible 1850’s Greek Revival homestead. The Ken Fulk-designed interior, and well-made cocktails make for a dependably enjoyable second stop. The food goes well beyond basic bar snacks with dishes like meatballs with salsa verde and cucumber kimchi (my go-to dish), which pair nicely with the charred shishito peppers or spicy Moroccan carrots. Eating at Strangers & Saints feels like being welcomed into the home of someone with impeccable taste who loves throwing dinner parties.

The Mayflower

300 Commercial Street

Long before Provincetown was an LGBT+ mecca, it was a Portuguese fishing village. Remnants of that past can be found at the Mayflower, where traditional Portuguese flavors endure in dishes like the Portuguese kale soup, made with spicy linguica sausage and red beans. Its obligatory sidekick is an order of garlic bread, and if you’re still feeling peckish, a dozen steamers, a Cape classic of brothy soft-shell clams that you dunk one by one in melted butter. Family-run with a no-reservations policy, the Mayflower has an old-school diner feel with a down-home friendliness to match. They also happen to make the best Manhattans in town.  

Irie Eats

70 Shank Painter Road

Provincetown has a large, vibrant Jamaican population—many first arrived as seasonal workers and wound up making Ptown a year-round home. A little off the beaten path is Irie Eats, which offers spicy Jamaican food that fuels my summer season. My favorite dishes in the regular rotation are the curry goat, jerk chicken or pork, salt fish, and oxtails—all of which come with rice and red beans, and slaw. It’s a grab-and-go vibe, but they do have a small outdoor seating area to soak in the sun (and the flavor). 

Pop + Dutch

147 Commercial Street

My personal “best sandwich shop” award goes to Pop + Dutch. Their slogan is “Sandwiches. Salads. Lube,” and their tiny market selling vintage, often slightly titillating textiles and art only adds to the appeal. The shop carries everything you need for a day at the beach or pool, including sunscreen and, yes, lube. The fridges are stocked with fresh potato salad, pimento cheese, chicken salad, dolmas, and a variety of drinks including a great Arnold Palmer. But the sandwiches are the main event (lately, I’ve been loving specials like turkey topped with Cool Ranch Doritos and ranch-flavored mayo). In the morning, they make a mean scrambled egg sandwich on brioche, but slugabeds be warned: It’s only available from 9 to 10:30 a.m.

Crown & Anchor

247 Commercial Street 

The grande dame of Ptown is Crown & Anchor, an entertainment venue that sits in the center of town. Housing six bars and entertainment venues, a restaurant, a pool club, and a hotel, it caters to visitors and locals of all types. In 2021, it got new owners who were determined to turn the complex into a safe (and profitable!) space for queer artists, musicians, and chefs, among others. The restaurant concept changes daily, while the oyster bar is open seven days a week. Brunch (Thursday through Sunday) is hosted by yours truly and features a New Orleans-meets-New England menu. Expect my famous biscuits and gravy, plus live drag performances fueled by talent and fantasy. 

Lobster Pot

321 Commercial Street

The bright neon lobster sign, one of the Cape’s most recognizable images since 1979, welcomes stampedes of seafood lovers to the Lobster Pot. Tanks of fresh lobsters? Check. Ocean views? check. Consistently friendly service? Check. The plan of action here is to venture upstairs to the “top of the pot,” snag a seat at the bar, and kick things off with a perfect bloody mary. Then, it’s lobster rolls all around—or, for the lobster-averse, a wide-reaching menu of all sorts of fish and shellfish that you can order pan-roasted, grilled, stuffed, baked, blackened, fried, and more. There are also to-go dishes around the corner at Lobster Pot Express (5 Ryder Street). 

The Red Inn

15 Commercial Street 

Happy hour at the Red Inn is peak Ptown. From 2 to 4 p.m. daily, you can enjoy a raw bar menu, cocktails, and wine specials—all on a deck overlooking the beach that’s blessed with the best natural light in town. If oysters won’t cut it, chase them with heartier dishes like panko-crusted shrimp with sweet chili sauce, bacon-wrapped oysters, or shrimp remoulade salad. 

Helltown Kitchen

338 Commercial Street, Unit 3

Legend has it that Provincetown, because of its remote location, used to be a hideaway for smugglers and pirates. That’s why Puritans began calling it Helltown, a nickname that inspired the name of this restaurant that blends international flavors with New England ingredients. There’s truffle-scented, South American-spiced lobster risotto studded with peas and mushrooms. And if lobster isn’t it for you, Helltown does an incredible pork vindaloo that comes with mango chutney, basmati rice, and naan to sop it all up. 

Provincetown Brewing Company

141 Bradford Street 

Provincetown Brewing Company is fueled by community activism, and its business model reflects that. Not only does the brewery donate 15 percent of proceeds to LGBTQIA+ and Outer Cape causes; it also buys from queer-owned businesses and farmers. I’m big on their artichoke-cheese dip and jerk chicken sandwich, which I wash down with a flight of whatever PBC beers happen to be on tap. Keep an eye out for themed parties, trivia nights, “fag-out Fridays,” women’s night, and even a “yappy hour” for dogs. 

Atlantic House

6 Masonic Place

If Tea is where the party starts in Ptown, the Atlantic House (aka “A-House”) is where it ends (or at least where last call happens). Most patrons have no idea that the establishment is a contender for the oldest gay bar in America, having been in continuous operation for over two centuries. It draws the biggest crowd of any bar in Ptown and has three spaces: little bar, macho bar, and the dance floor, where the lights are low, the music is loud, and little by little the clothes seem to disappear. 

Spiritus Pizza

190 Commercial Street

Spiritus pizza is an old faithful and has become the staple stop between the party and the after party—so much so that the hour from 1 to 2 a.m. is called “pizza dance.” Spiritus is the only late food option in town, and after last call at the bars, the pizzeria fills up with hungry crowds, who overflow onto Commercial Street to revel in what’s essentially a nightly pizza party. There are three New York-style slices: cheese, pepperoni, or Greek (cash only!).  

Chalice at the Land’s End Inn

22 Commercial Street

Chalice is a new favorite wine and beer bar on the manicured lawn of the Land’s End Inn, which sits atop the tallest point at the end of the Cape. Complete with a fire pit and stunning views of Provincetown and beyond, it makes an ideal pitstop on your way to Tea or pre-dinner cocktails.  Look out for the pink martini flag: If you see it flying, then Chalice is open and well worth the uphill walk.

The post Where to Eat and Drink in Provincetown, Massachusetts appeared first on Saveur.

At the back of a butchery in the town of Martina Franca, Riccardo Ponte claps his massive, baseball-mitt hands, calloused from years of charcoal burns and judo holds, and presents the next plate. Tender chunks of veal lung wrapped in sinister layers of pork fat form a glistening pyramid on the table. “Pugliese chewing gum,” he says with a grin, before retreat- ing back to his grill, a central fixture of his shop, called Mang e Citt, or “Sit Down and Eat” in Pugliese slang. Most of the macellerias—butchers that double as informal restaurants—have, out of convenience, moved to standard-issue flat-top grills in recent years. Ponte’s setup, however, is somewhere between a pizza oven and a hearth, a kind of infernal cubby hole carved directly into the wall of his small fluorescent-lit shop. Stacks of meat balance precariously on skewers; coals, dispersed in various piles, create heat zones measured purely by feel. Ponte insists that this technique, established centuries ago by the butchers of Martina Franca, makes all the difference: “You can taste the process,” he says. 

I had come to Puglia—the gleaming, postcard-ready wedge of Southern Italy that sticks into the Ionian Sea like a boot heel—to eat. This, I recognize, is not a very original quest: Elizabeth Gilbert has been there, Stanley Tucci has done that. Spend enough time digging through guide books and suggested itineraries, and you’d be excused for thinking the only thing in Italy to do is eat.

When we travel to eat, though, we’re often looking for a story—a tale to bring back home, or a clear, easy-to-digest version of a place that fits squarely in our own mental atlases: The ruby red aperitivo glistening in the Tuscan sun, the trapizzino held aloft on the Spanish Steps, the pale green scoop of pistachio gelato, doled out in a Sicilian alleyway. Or, in Ponte’s case, the small-town, larger-than-life chef, seemingly grief-stricken by your physical inability to accept “just one more” piece of grilled meat.

It’s easy to arrive in a place like Puglia with pre-conceptions about Southern Italy: a hot, quiet place, where things move slowly and naps are plentiful. But I quickly learned that for every person doing something one way, there is someone else doing the very same thing—for the very same reasons—a completely different way. As one meal bled into the next, I found that every time I built a story out of the meals I ate and the people I met, every time I thought I had found some definitive sense of what Puglia actually tastes like, it quickly fell away.

While I wish I could take credit for stumbling upon Ponte’s establishment, I was part of a tour group traveling through the region. Roads and Kingdoms, an online travel magazine, has, in recent years, pivoted toward offering small-group, food-centric trips around the world. Trips like the one I took to Puglia are focused not on big-name restaurants, but on offering a backstage pass to show travelers how the actual sausage gets made, drawing on what co-founder Nathan Thornburgh describes as “an archipelago of interesting people.” 

If it all sounds vaguely Bourdainian, that’s not a coincidence. Founded in 2012 by Thornburgh and food writer Matt Goulding, the company and its journalism was for many years supported and funded by Anthony Bourdain. Today, Roads and Kingdoms’ trips actively try to avoid what Thornburgh refers to as “following the umbrella across the piazza.” Potential guests must undergo an interview process to make sure they’re a good fit for the group: Fighting couples and Michelin star-hunters have been turned away in the past. 

Roads and Kingdoms’ shift toward this kind of “don’t-call-it-a-group-trip group trip” is indicative of a wider trend in travel, one in which access is everything. Whether helmed by chefs, academics, or journalists, experiences are being gently curated in a way that feels uniquely yours as they lodge themselves into your memory. Serendipity, by definition, can’t be manufactured. Oftentimes, the best partner to the unexpected is time—slow down and stretch out a trip and you’re bound to meet the characters and have the conversations that end up solidifying the travel experience in your mind. That’s harder on an organized tour, but, as these experiences seem to posit, not impossible.

The interesting person leading us on this particular trip was Eugenio Signoroni, one of Italy’s most celebrated food writers, as well as the editor of the hotly contested “Osterie d’Italia” guidebooks from Slow Food International’s publishing house, which list and review the best traditional restaurants across Italy. On day one, as golden hour sets in at the masseria, or farmhouse, that would serve as our base, Signoroni explains that this is a trip to shatter preconceptions, not confirm them. “You know the stories of the nonna, the Italian grandma and her amazing cooking?” he asks. “I want you to know it’s a total myth: My daughter’s grandmother doesn’t know how to cook a damn thing.” It was a good line for a tour built on this kind of punk-rock premise, but in talking to him afterwards, it became clear that the sentiment behind it is true.

“We like to build up this romantic idea of tradition,” Signoroni says when I ask what he notices when talking to first-time visitors to Italy. “It makes us feel safer and more comfortable.” Four years prior, when I visited Puglia for the first time, I had felt a kind of self-satisfied contentment: Sipping wine and watching a blacksmith working on new horseshoes for the stallions he kept behind his shop, the memory fits squarely into the romantic. “If we want to really understand a place,” Signoroni says, “we have to see it as it is, not as we think it should be.” 

That doesn’t mean you won’t find intergenerational recipes and deep-seated heritage in Puglia. This is a place fiercely proud of its traditions, themselves a mishmash of the steady wave of conquerors who came to this land over millennia. It’s a pride that has been reinforced by recent history too, borne from decades of being looked down upon by the rest of the country. Long one of the poorest regions in Italy, Puglia was left behind by the industrialization that took hold in the north. As a result of a largely subsistence economy, cucina povera—literally “poor kitchen”—is the backbone of Pugliese cuisine. It’s only in recent years, as Puglia has marketed itself as a global destination, that the culinary label has been wielded not with shame, but with a kind of reclaimed dignity. 

At Cibus, a family-run restaurant tucked away in a labyrinth of climbing alleyways in the town of Ceglie Messapica, every dish reveals new layers of com- plexity that belies the kind of catch-all utilitarian implication of cucina povera. The Silibello family offers a crash course in the ingredients of the Salento region: Lampascioni, often translated as “bitter onion” but actually the bulb of a type of hyacinth, takes on the consistency of burnt newsprint when fried, yielding a bitterness that prepares the palate for what comes next. Stringy stracciatella cheese is teleported out of the heart of the burrata balls where it’s most often found, and spread out onto overflowing plates, to be eaten by the dripping forkful. Slices of capocollo and other cuts from the Apulo-Calabrese black pig are arranged into a gradient of richness with clear instructions on how to avoid blowing out your taste buds with hits of lard too early. To bring us back to earth, a Pugliese classic that emerged from tough times: fave e cicoria, a bed of mashed fava beans, topped with chicory leaves and lashed with olive oil. A ragù follows, made with tender horse meat and ricotta forte (an aged, barnyard-forward cheese with a long shelf life ideal for peasant pantries), and juicy, butter-soft slices of beef from the region’s Podolica cow, equally prized for its meat as for its milk.

With its familial ambience, its focus on hearty, of-the-soil ingredients, and its secret, in-house cheese cave, Cibus is the kind of place most travelers dream about when they dream about Italy. And it is exactly as satisfying as you might imagine. Here, all of Signoroni’s “romantic ideas of tradition,” are confirmed to carry at least a foundation of reality. But just 30 miles away, in the town of Putignano, those vague notions of some idealized past are being intentionally—and ruthlessly—torn apart.

At Osteria Botteghe Antiche, chef Stefano D’Onghia takes many of the same ingredients—the same dishes, even—and brings them into a kind of parallel universe where what is known and established gives way to what there is left to learn. There is lampascioni here too, but it is accompanied by a kind of capocollo pocket, filled with chickpea purée. Fave e cicoria becomes a vague signpost rather than a cornerstone of tradition: The fava purée is stuffed into a single grilled green pepper and served alongside a spoonful of caramelized red onions. Ricotta makes an appearance, too, but it is imbued with mint and hidden within the delicate folds of a zucchini flower. Orecchiette, the ear-shaped pasta often served in Puglia with broccoli rabe, is made—intentionally, cheekily—with grano arso, burnt grain that for centuries was the only stuff available to the poorest of the poor. It shares the plate with indulgent chunks of grilled octopus, as if to say look how far we’ve come.

The next evolution of D’Onghia’s menu will be a push toward sustainability, something he argues is at the core of Puglia’s seemingly simple, local-first cuisine. “Nowadays it’s hard to sell a meat dish for less than 18 euros, which is strange for a region like Puglia,” D’Onghia told me. “I want to think about how to make cuts of meat that are not expensive—liver, tongue, offal—just as delicious.” He points to the octopus orecchiette as a dish that is becoming just too expensive for him to sell. What would it taste like, he wonders, if instead of serving the meat, he sous-vide cooked the octopus’s liver, a piece often discarded by fishermen? Somewhere, in some- one’s imagined reality, a nonna in a sauce-streaked apron can’t believe her ears.

Other days highlight both the diversity of the gastronomic scene and the utter impossibility of fitting it into a neat package. There’s the pork cookout in the sun-slapped courtyard of a pig farm belonging to local producers Salumi Martina Franca. It lasts for hours, and transitions organically into a long walk through the land where the animals roam free. At Intini, an olive oil producer outside of Alberobello, a fourth-generation maker explains how some visitors are disappointed to see gleaming industrial equipment instead of charming wooden presses. “If I made it the traditional way, it wouldn’t be good,” Pietro Intini says. “The real revolution in olive oil production only happened 20 years ago.”

Even where traditions do remain intact, modernity creeps in. In Taranto’s Mare Piccolo, an inland sea, Luciano Carriero, a mussel farmer from a family of mussel farmers, explains how a tight-knit network of families has come together to create a cooperative, keeping the sticky fingers of organized crime away. As we float around the bay, he draws long necklaces of the bivalves out of the water and shucks them on the spot, to be eaten raw, paired with bites of provolone cheese and washed down with sparkling wine. He insists I try more than one. “It’s like a big box of chocolates,” Carriero says, one-upping Forrest Gump forever. “Each mussel tastes a little different.” That night, I follow his bounty to its final resting place at Antica Osteria la Sciabica, tucked away along a seaside promenade in the city of Brindisi. The seafood soup doubles as a taxonomy of marine life: fish, squid, shrimp, and, yes, mussels, all afloat in a rich, tomato-based broth. The restaurant buzzes with the sounds of spoons scraping the very last drops from drained bowls.

There is something about visiting the so-called “Old World” as a resident of the so-called “New” one that sets off a kind of rabid, voyeuristic urge to witness “tradition.” Some parts of Puglia, like the family-run cheese cave hidden under a bookshelf at Cibus, or the focaccerias in every village churning out flatbreads in the same oven for generations, do feel stuck in time, and I feel an almost involuntary delight whenever I encounter people doing things as they had been done since before Italy was Italy. But I soon find myself most looking forward to the moments of disruption. I had been warned, in a way, by Signoroni’s meditations on what we often expect from so-called “authentic experiences.” I had caught little rebellions in the form of culinary innovation, and in the subtle twisting of convention. But nothing, it was becoming clear, is that simple.

On the outskirts of Bari, in Altamura, I meet Vito Dicecca who, along with his siblings, has inherited the family cheesemaking tradition, which he treats with all the sacrosanct rulebook-abidance of a mad scientist. Out of a relatively small kitchen, the Dicecca family whips up around 800 pounds of lactic heresy every day. “Anyone in Puglia can make small cheese,” Dicecca says before pointing to his brother Paolo who is in the process of tying a mozzarella knot the size of a newborn. “I want to make big cheese.” He shows off a milky goat cheese concoction, best used as a dip for crispy bagel-shaped taralli crackers (“the best drunk food,” Dicecca calls it). A bright orange cousin to caciocavallo goes by the name “Life on Mars.” While conventional wisdom says mozzarella needs to be made from buffalo milk, the Dicecca family makes a goat milk version, granting the usually mild cheese a deliciously grassy funk.

To try Dicecca’s wildest creation, I have to wait until we leave the shop in Altamura and travel into the pinewoods of the Mercadante nature reserve. There, the family has opened Baby Dicecca, a cheese bar that serves as a tasting room and satellite for experimentation. After the kind of long, languorous meal I’ve grown accustomed to in Puglia, Dicecca brings out dessert. Looking more like a cake than a wheel of cheese, this has, for good reason, become the Diceccas’ most famous act of sacrilege. To create it, he drops a wheel of blue cheese into a barrel of primitivo wine, where it soaks for 100 days. Afterwards, it’s topped with candied sour cherries, adding a tartness to the indulgent sweet and salty combination. It’s cut into wedges that are inten- tionally about 12 times too big for one person to handle and served with even more primitivo wine. It’s called, Dicecca tells me with a conspiratorial grin, “Amore Primitivo.”

This, I think, seems like the kind of person who takes great pride in his inventions, who revels in the fact that he’s challenging tradition with each new wacky idea. Does he spend as much time thinking about authenticity as I do? “Are you worried some- one is going to take your idea, or try to do some other, worse version of it?” I ask. I imagine grocery stores lined with tasteless, harmless cheeses, smothered in neon jelly.

“It doesn’t matter who invents the thing or who has the original story,” Dicecca says while doling out the next in an endless series of wine refills. “It only matters who does it best.”

Recipes

Brindisi Seafood Stew

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Orecchiette with Octopus Ragù and Chickpea Purée

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Ricotta-Stuffed Squash Blossoms with Fried Zucchini Coins

Get the recipe >

The post The Cuisine of Puglia Defies Definition appeared first on Saveur.

Down a gravel pathway in a rural Colombian town, just over 20 miles from the Caribbean coast, a group of African women donning billowy dresses offer up baskets filled with sweets: coconut-laden cocadas, chewy caballitos, and the ever-so-sweet popped millet balls known as alegría, from the Spanish word for “joy.” Cloaked in the saturated red, yellow, and blue of the Colombian flag, the women, known as palenqueras, make a living here peddling fresh fruits and homemade treats to locals and visitors alike. But it’s not just the palenqueras’ snacks that are sweet; the quiet roads of San Basilio de Palenque are paved with the sweetness of freedom.

Palenque, as its name is typically shortened, is the first free African village in the Americas, and descendants of African slaves exist here in a way that’s foreign to most other descendants of slaves, myself included: There is no police system here, and never has been. Instead, locals self-govern, and approach disputes using locally-trusted practices of forgiveness and conflict resolution. This atmosphere has enabled the community’s African heritage to flourish well beyond the legacy of Colombian enslavement. Elders retain ancient medicinal practices, young musicians revitalize erstwhile music traditions, and home cooks and chefs preserve their generations-old recipes and culinary techniques—all rooted in customs and practices brought over by their enslaved ancestors in the early 16th century. 

That heritage was immediately evident even before I arrived in Palenque, along with about 10 other Black American travelers. Roughly 4.7 million Colombians are of African descent, making up just under 10 percent of the country’s population. In Cartagena, 30 miles or so to the north, their influence is most recognizable in the street food: Arepas, the popular flatbreads frequently stuffed with meat and cheese, are made from a dough of ground and mashed maize, a common ingredient for Indigenous and Black Colombians. Among vendors doling out papas con huevo y carne (potato balls with eggs and meat) and potato- or meat-stuffed empanadas, the palenqueras, who sometimes commute north to make more money in Cartegena’s main squares, are easily visible in their vibrant colors, selling the same sweets I encountered in their storied hometown. 

In Palenque, though, that African influence extends far beyond the food: It’s an inextricable feature of the place itself. As you arrive in town, you are welcomed immediately by a striking statue of the freedom fighter Benkos Biohó, a Guinea Bissau–born revolutionary who escaped a Spanish slave port in Cartagena in the 16th century and led his people to freedom. Settling in the mountainous Montes de María region of the country, he organized a runaway slave network to help other enslaved Africans reach their liberation. He was ultimately captured and executed in 1621, but his efforts toward freedom weren’t entirely in vain: In 1713, after years of failing to take back the settlement, the Spaniards surrendered their attacks, and Palenque effectively became the first free African village, by decree of the King of Spain. Today, lionized through the brass statue, Biohó extends a single shackled arm, grasping for one more chance to bring another soul into a free world.

More than 300 years after its founding, food, art, and music have become some of Palenque’s most prominent features. Walking through the gravel roads, songs drift from open windows, while local bands perform in the streets throughout the day. Drum beats and the sounds of rhythmic steps merge with the music as it crescendos and reverberates across town. Brightly painted murals adorn storefronts and walls, many depicting Black women experiencing the ebbs and flows of life. 

As I swipe beads of sweat from my forehead, I see a mural showing a Black woman with words inscribed in her braids, an ode to a clever trick among enslaved African women who braided maps and instructions into their hair to provide key information and escape routes during the transatlantic slave trade. They would braid seeds into their hair as well, which enabled ingredients like tamarind, bitter melon, kola nut, and the subtly sweet melegueta pepper to become part of Colombia’s foodways. Elsewhere, a stoic Black woman’s eyes seem to meet the end of the short road, and a colorful “Black Lives Matter” sign points to Black people’s interconnected, global fight for liberation. 

I am soon encircled by a group of children, recruiting me into their game of tag as we approach “The House of Music.” Founded by local musical group Kombilesa Mi (which means “my friend,” in Palenquero, the Creole language here), the small museum is home to a collection of regionally specific instruments, like the Cuban-inspired marímbula and large drums called buleadors. The band members hope to transform the space to welcome even more visitors, and are actively raising money to reach their $12,000 goal. “Music is really the heart and soul of Palenque,” says Blue Apple Beach hotelier Portia Hart, “so having an institution like this readily available for the community and visitors is imperative.” 

Palenque’s music history includes a combination of traditions brought over and adapted by enslaved Africans from places including Nigeria and Central Africa. In 1927, Cuban influences reached the local music scene, which continued to evolve as more local musicians drew inspiration from other parts of the diaspora. As we walk to lunch, we are treated to some music from a local group that march near us down the road, dressed in some of the cleanest multicolored short sets in the area, their ebullient lyrics and colorful instruments rousing the entire neighborhood.

“Everything we do—how we learn how to use our environment, how we prepare the plants that grow nearby, the way we prepare fish, the way we prepare our medicine—it’s a result of our heritage from the African people,” says Víctor Simarra Reyes, a chef, educator, and an advocate for Palenque pride. 

Just a few blocks away from Biohó’s statue, at a friend’s home, Reyes has prepared an exquisite meal for us. Quiet and uninterested in small talk, Reyes focuses on getting the food to our table, which is covered in bright, pear-green banana leaves. Within just a few minutes, there are generous helpings of meat, rice, stews, and sauces. Reyes throws his towel over his shoulder, and gestures with his hands in urgency. 

“Eat,” he says. And so we do. I take handfuls of hen and cassava in a lightly sweet coconut sauce, served with a thick red bean pottage. We all take increasingly bigger bites of his bollo de plátano con cerdo asado, a traditional plantain bun cooked with roasted pork; and his cabeza de gato, a smashed green plantain snack he’d decided that day to combine with a kind of fresh cheese. We enjoy our share of sweets during a magnificent dessert spread: alegría, like the palenqueras served, sweet and fragrant with coconut, and enyucado, a cassava cake enlivened with star anise. 

It’s a marvelous feast that clearly has required hours of cooking. Reyes explains that he chose to share these dishes not in spite of their difficulty, but because of it. “We wanted to show that this cooking is not simple,” Reyes says. “It requires a lot of time, and a lot of effort.” This education is part of a larger movement that Reyes has long championed—working with Palenque cooks and chefs to preserve and create from their local foodways, rather than have their food expressed by non-Black chefs and writers. He has become a voice for sharing what he describes as Palenque’s “rustic” dining with the world, and fully and proudly communicates the integral role African roots play in their food.

Reyes’ work is documented in the cookbook Kumina ri Palenge pa tó Paraje, or “Palenquero Cooking for the World,” in English: a community collaboration he spearheaded to document recipes spanning more than 300 years of the town’s history. He and his wife, Ruth Reyes, consulted more than 600 local home cooks, collecting recipes and selecting an elite group of recipe writers and testers. “We were the first ones to go through the recipes, collect them, and put them on paper so we don’t let these traditions die,” Reyes says. Together, they produced the first cookbook documenting Palenque’s cuisine, which went on to receive the “Best Cookbook in the World” award at the 2014 Gourmand World Cookbook awards in Beijing. 

Before Reyes was a chef, he was a young African Colombian boy, helping his grandmother with her sancocho trifásico, a three-meat soup that typically took a full day to prepare. Often served with cassava and rice, both of which Reyes says are mainstays of the local diet, the soup is a peppery, aromatic, and deeply soothing dish that has persisted in home kitchens. He recalls the once-ubiquitous (and labor-intensive) bollo de maíz, a fried, roasted corn snack, which he laments had disappeared from many Palenque homes by the time he was a young man.

I get the chance to experience some of this labor with Antonia Cassiani, a Palenque native and local tour guide who goes by the name “Samba.” Gripping a massive pestle along with another partner, we rhythmically beat the corn as our group sings songs to encourage us. The process is reminiscent of an enduring practice in which women pile rice, grains, or corn into a massive wooden mortar and use their physical strength to do what locals call, “pillaring the corn.” That is, grinding the ingredients while singing songs that illustrate their dreams, concerns, and everyday thoughts. “This kitchen instrument was the creative engine of many women who poured their ideas into it, and sang their sorrows to it,” says Reyes. “It’s another example of just how important Black women are to our community, and to our food.”

When Reyes first started cooking, he picked up history and recipes orally; it wasn’t until later in his life that he learned to read and write so he could record and share his knowledge. When he graduated from elementary school at the age of 50, he immediately put his new skills to use: As part of his graduation requirements, which encouraged students to do something impactful for the community, he authored the cookbook. The goal for most, it seems, in Palenque, is not to climb and climb and climb chasing trivial achievements, but rather to salvage, to save, and to secure. 

“I take pride in my role as the representative of our traditions and our cuisine,” says Reyes. “After all these years of working, that’s what I cherish most.” 

Palenque hasn’t always been so comfortable with sharing its culture: The legacy of colonization has made many in the community understandably resistant to outside influence. Even Ruth, Reyes’ wife, was considered suspicious when she first moved to Palenque from the similar small Colombian town of San Antonio. An outsider, then, was always an outsider. But Reyes and his peers are learning to embrace opening their doors to other descendants of the African diaspora. 

“I’m very joyful that the community of Palenque is very open,” Reyes says of the shift. “My heart warms every time I see 80 buses full of tourists. Palenqueros are welcoming them and are showing their traditions, their cuisine, and their culture. They’re taking pride in it and showing it to the world.”

Reyes and his peers recognize a solidarity among curious Black travelers who come to Palenque. It might be for the food, the music, or simply the evidence that we all have a shared home, a shared origin story. The canvases on which we were forced to design a life reveal a com – mon search for freedom—perhaps most evidenced in our ability to survive and thrive in different parts of the world. 

Prior to my departure, I visit Biohó’s statue once again, his face charged and yearning to be free. My own family, like many others, were enslaved on American coasts in the Deep South, and though Emancipation supposedly gave us freedom, it would be another century before my people gained equal rights in the United States. The quest for Black liberation can be devastating. Our culture, heritage, and contributions are still often misrepresented or under – appreciated. We lose our heroes to state-sanctioned violence, are lectured about our behavior, and are chastised for demanding a society where equity and decency are primary values.

“There’s a phrase that resonates here,” Pedro Mosqueda, a chef and student of Reyes, tells me. “I’m happy, and it is not because of the music, but because of the leader who gave me my freedom.” As I gaze upon the town, filled with Afro-Colombians dancing, playing soccer, and lounging out under the dazzling sunset, I remember that freedom is so often something we find within ourselves.

Recipes

Colombian Stewed Chicken with Achiote and Yam

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Creole Coconut Chicken

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The post Colombia and West Africa Unite on the Plate in This Fascinating Food Town appeared first on Saveur.

Fresh heads of romaine lettuce are split down the middle, grilled until charred and smoky, and then topped with blue cheese and bacon for this satisfying salad.

Featured in “California Eternal” by Georgia Freedman.

The post Grilled Romaine with Blue Cheese and Bacon appeared first on Saveur.

Joyce Kutty likes wicked sharp knives and catch-of-the-day dinners. 

As a child, the 33-year-old metalsmith learned to fish the waters off Point Judith, Rhode Island, and helped her mother prepare Tamil- and Malayali-style curries in their kitchen in East Providence. Now, after a stint crafting Harmony engagement rings for Tiffany & Co., Kutty has moved on to more utilitarian objects inspired by the ancestral housewares her father carried home after visits to family in Kerala, India: Hand-forged spice spoons, hammered thali bowls, nadan kathi knives, and koduval coconut cleavers.

Her own boning and filleting knives reference the same graceful curves of these more traditional South Asian blades. “Both my parents are from coastal states,” she says. “So we eat a mostly fish diet. Making knives that can carve into fish and the things we grow stems from the root of my culture and upbringing.” Providence chefs Scott LaChapelle of Pickerel and Robert Andreozzi of Pizza Marvin are fans of her designs (Andreozzi is her occasional fishing buddy). “Part of my practice is to get out on the ocean and harvest seaweed from secret fishing spots [to create] a saltwater patina on bowls.”

On days away from her studio, she rises before dawn to cast for bluefish, stripers, and bonito. Oily mackerel is a particular favorite for those family curry recipes, which mingle deeply oceanic flavors with the sting of chiles. With every fish she brings home, Kutty also slices off a little piece for crudo to taste its essence. And the ones that get away? “Some for us, some for others, some for next season.”

Recipes

Keralan Fish Curry

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Sri Lankan Fish Curry

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The post Meet the Knifemaker Inspired by South Asian and New England Fishing Traditions appeared first on Saveur.

These days, Italian-style cheese is part of everyday life. From gooey mozz melted atop classic pizza, to strip steaks drizzled with gorgonzola cream sauce, to the flourish of umami-rich parm crowning bowls of pasta from New York City to Tokyo, these cheesy ingredients are the culinary backbone of recipes enjoyed far beyond Europe’s boot-shaped country. And while Italy’s cheesemaking traditions have also traveled beyond its borders—inspiring farmers, makers, and affineurs around the world—there’s still nothing quite like the real thing.

Many Italian cheeses are infinitely versatile in the kitchen, but that doesn’t mean they’re any less revered than their cheese board brethren. Savory shards of Parmigiano-Reggiano (Italy’s “King of Cheeses”), for example, might be enjoyed with a glass of sparkling wine, while that same wheel’s rind, simmered in a brothy pot of white beans and escarole, is just as much a revelation. This is partly due to the fact that many well-known types of Italian-made cheeses are held to the strictest standards. The European Union has granted more than 500 Italian cheeses PDO (Protected Designation of Origin) status, a legal designation that ensures recipients are produced in their established region, using the traditional methods and specific ingredients that make each unique. Here are some considerations that come into play:

Top-Quality Milk

Nearly every Italian region produces some sort of dairy—and along with it, some sort of cheese, from piquante Gorgonzola ripened in the northern Piedmont and Lombardy regions, to mild and milky Mozzarella di Bufala hand-stretched in southern Campania. Italian cheese is always crafted from top-quality milk, whether it’s made from the milk of sheep, cows, goats, buffalo, or a mix. Animal welfare and a grass-fed diet are often built into the exacting PDO standards as well: for example, Sardinia’s Pecorino Sardo is made primarily from the milk of sheep that graze freely on that island’s lush and shrubby hillside pastures. Many PDO designations also specify that cheeses may only be made from the milk of certain breeds—such as the firm, Alpine wheels of Piave, which must be made using an 80 percent minimum of milk from the local Bruna Italiana, Valdostana Pezzata Rossa, Frisona Italiana, or Grigio Alpina cows.

Regional Diversity

Much like wine, Italian cheese is an agricultural product reflective of its origin’s soil, terrain, flora, and climate. From the vegetation consumed by the dairy herd to the conditions under which a cheese is aged, each one takes on very particular regional characteristics. For instance, Fontina Val d’Aosta is made only from the unpasteurized milk of Valdostana cows pastured in northern Italy’s Aosta Valley. The resulting Alpine cheese is creamy and firm, and its ripening process—up to three months of rest in natural stone caverns—enhances the milk’s underlying nutty, buttery, grassy notes.

Skilled Artisans

After milk has been sourced, it’s up to talented Italian artisans to craft it into a cheese that is consistent from wheel to wheel, and is a unique expression of its particular place, producer, and tradition. Cheesemaking is not an easy task, and in Italy, it’s an artform that carefully balances science, culture, and craft. Each cheesemaker and affineur relies on methods honed over generations. And in some cases, the artisans themselves are a component of the authenticity of the cheese; Gorgonzola, for example, may only be made by 40 small family dairies and commercial producers. Grana Padano, one of Italy’s most popular exports, was created by the Cistercian monks of Chiaravalle Abbey in Lombardy—though it has long outgrown the monastery and is now more widely produced.

Centuries of Tradition

The history of cheese in Italy dates back thousands of years and is an important part of Europe’s food culture. Pecorino Romano was used to feed legions of Roman soldiers; the salty, low-moisture cheese was deemed a vital source of fat, salt, and protein, and is still prized for its long shelf life today. Production of Parmigiano-Reggiano has barely changed since the 12th century; it’s still made from a mixture of whole and skimmed milk in large copper cauldrons, and only in the regions of Emilia-Romagna and Lombardy. Lombardy’s soft, washed-rind Taleggio has been made much the same way since the Middle Ages, too, drawing its distinct pungency from ripening in the naturally cool caves of Val Taleggio.

Italy’s rich and storied history—along with its diverse climate, geography, and regional traditions—make it particularly fertile ground for cheese production. Ancient recipes and techniques have persisted for millenia, occasionally adapting and evolving with technology, but always with the utmost care and oversight. When no substitute will do, ask your local cheesemonger for Italian-made cheese, or look for “made in Italy,” on the label at the supermarket.

The post If the Cheese Is From Here, You Know It’s Going to Be Good appeared first on Saveur.

In Mexico City, no matter where you are, you’re steps from a taco. That unmistakable aroma of grilled meat, chiles, onions, and earthy corn tortillas may emanate from a busy street stand or hole-in-the-wall shop, its walls blackened by decades of smoke. Or maybe the scent is coming from a corner vendor hawking blue corn squash blossom quesadillas, or from a market stall known for its tacos de guisados (topped with saucy stews).

Tacos are an integral part of daily life from the Southwestern U.S. to Central America, but in Mexico, they’re so omnipresent that the phrase “echarse un taco” (to down a taco) is shorthand for “let’s grab a bite.” Much of Mexican gastronomy has been influenced by immigrants from Europe and beyond, but corn tortillas have been consumed here since pre-Hispanic times, and the idea of wrapping food in them precedes written history. The taco is ingenious—it is plate, fork, and spoon. Its three elements—tortilla, filling, and salsa—need to be well crafted and of high quality as balance is the key to a great taco.

Tacos were originally sold from carts or baskets by itinerant vendors, but the earliest taquerías (restaurants specializing in tacos) appeared around the turn of the 20th century.  Many of my favorite places go back to the 1940s and ‘50s. While the earliest venues usually specialized in the aforementioned guisados or simple grilled meats, the midcentury influx of Lebanese immigrants introduced the now iconic tacos al pastor, a fusion of spit-roasted shawarma with local ingredients. And recently, a new generation of chefs have begun highlighting local, seasonal produce that speaks to tradition and frequently incorporates foreign flavors. 

Even in the taquería mecca of Mexico City, not all tacos achieve greatness, but the ones served at these, my favorite haunts, always do. 

Taco de rib-eye at Taquería Los Parados

Monterrey 333, Roma Sur

Los Parados is, as its name implies, a standing-room-only hangout and a Mexico City institution. Tacosal carbón(cooked over coals)are the specialty, and the smoky aroma seduces patrons from half a block away. I’ve tried everything on the menu, but the rib-eye is the winner. Strips of tender, marbled meat come charred and juicy on a soft tortilla accompanied by ruby red tomato-guajillo and fresh green tomatillo salsas served out of big molcajetes (volcanic stone mortars). Local office workers congregate here during the day, while the late-night hours attract a motley cross-section of tired club patrons, off-duty workers from the nearby hospitals, and policemen who assiduously devour tacos by the plateful.

Taco de mole verde at Taquería El Jarocho

Tapachula 94, Roma Norte

This Colonia Roma landmark, in business since 1947, specializes in tacos de guisados. My repeat favorite is the mole verde: tender pork swathed in a luxuriant jade green sauce made with pumpkin seeds and the anise-like Oaxacan herb hoja santa. There are always a few vegetarian options as well, such as the old standards, poblano chiles in cream, or eggs in tomato sauce. While the prices are high for Mexico City, each taco comes topped with an extra tortilla, so it’s really a two-for-one. Rice-based horchata is the libation of choice.

Taco campechano of rib-eye and longaniza at Maizajo

Fernando Montes de Oca 113, Colonia Condesa

Maizajo, a Condesa hotspot, started out as a tortillería (tortilla factory) on a mission to promote fast-disappearing varieties of heirloom corn. In late 2023 it was expanded to become a restaurant, whose retro-tiled interior pays homage to taquerías of yore. The menu offers well-crafted versions of street-stand classics, including the campechano, a combination of sautéed rib-eye and housemade pork longaniza (a type of chorizo fragrant with chile de árbol). Heaped on a blue corn tortilla and garnished with chopped cilantro and onion, it’s best with a dollop of brick red salsa martajada (grilled tomatoes and chiles). Also worth noting is the grilled eggplant taco, a good plant-based option.

Taco de carnitas de costilla y buche at Amor y Tacos

Calle Corregidora 5 C, Centro Histórico
Calle 5 de Febrero 34, Centro Histórico

Amor y Tacos’ sign proudly proclaims its age: “Since 1958.” The beloved institution in the historic center recently relocated, but you’d never know it, thanks to the midcentury-style décor complete with sawdust-strewn floors and walls with slogans lauding taco culture: “Mexico is beautiful—Mexico is tacos,” proclaims one. The specialty here is carnitas, the Michoacán dish that’s now found all over the country (and the world). To make it, cooks boil a whole pig, viscera and all, in water perfumed with onion and garlic, then braise the meat in its own fat, confit-style. Tacos are then made to order according to the preferred cuts of meat. I usually order a combo of costilla (spare rib) and buche (stomach) because the ribs have all the flavor but can be dry without the succulent buche, whose melty texture is similar to tripe. Carnitas should be dressed with salsa, cilantro, onion, and an obligatory squeeze of lime.

Taco de jaiba suave at Siembra Taquería

Avenida Isaac Newton 256, Polanco

Siembra is the visionary project of chef Israel Montero, formerly of the acclaimed Raíz, who fronts this venue for restaurant versions of classic regional street tacos. The menu includes 20 options, many traditional, others creative, and all come atop tortillas made with local endemic corn. Popular are the cecina (salted dried beef) combined with housemade green chorizo; and the picaña con chicharron, grilled, juicy beef topped with crunchy cracklins. But the sleeper hit here is the deceptively simple jaiba suave (softshell crab), which comes tempura-fried, resting on its blue tortilla like a crispy little cloud. A drizzle of housemade Japanese-style mayo, a crown of shredded red cabbage, and a dash of salsa chiltepín—made from a tiny but potent chile—makes a great thing greater. The compact locale features pleasant outdoor seating under a shady wooden canopy.

Taco de chilorio at La Tonina

Serapio Rendón 27, Colonia San Rafael

In 1949, Tonina Jackson, a successful lucha libre wrestler, opened this restaurant to rectify the city’s dearth of cooking from the northern states of Sonora, Durango, Nuevo León, and Sinaloa. It was once the after-hours haunt of showbiz luminaries who frequented the spectacular Cine Opera, down the block and now in ruins. The restaurant may have lost its former glamor, but the food still sparkles. Flour tortillas—a rarity in the capital—are made from scratch and served fresh from the griddle. The fillings are beef-based as the north is cattle country. Chilorio, my favorite, reminds me of that Tex-Mex classic, chili con carne. A favorite in the markets of Sinaloa, it’s made with shredded beef, ají colorado, garlic, oregano, cumin, and vinegar.

Taco de chorizo verde at Ricos Tacos Toluca

Calle López 103, Colonia Centro

This open-to-the-street, standing-room-only taquería serves up specialties of nearby Toluca and Mexico State, namely, chorizo, cecina (salted dried beef), and obispo (stuffed offal along the lines of haggis) tacos. Red and green sausage links hang like Christmas ornaments above the griddle, and their spicy aroma entices passersby to stop for a tentempié (quick bite). The bright green chorizo verde, made with ground pork, serrano chiles, cilantro, tomatillos, spinach, and pine nuts, reminds this ex–New Yorker of the Italian sausage once proffered in Little Italy. Brightly colored salsas—chile-avocado, fresh pico de gallo, and roast tomato-chile—can be added to each diner’s liking.  

Taco de carnitas de buche y barriga at Taquería El Gran Abanico

Francisco J. Clavijero 226, Colonia Tránsito

This legendary carnitas purveyor occupies an entire block in the working-class Tránsito neighborhood south of the Centro. It is a pilgrimage site for aficionados of all stripes, who sit in the cavernous interior or spill onto the street to revel in all things pig. While some spring for the taco de maciza (pork loin), I recommend the “buche y barriga hecho a la plancha” (griddled pork belly and stomach). The extra pass on the grill gives the meat a crackly crust and brings out more flavor. Sides of sautéed nopalitos (cactus) and grilled cebollitas (baby onions) round out the proceedings, and a chela (slang for beer) is the perfect accompaniment.

Taco al pastor “negro” at Taquería El Trompo Imperial

Calle Río Lerma 43, Colonia Renacimiento

Tacos al pastor, iconic in the capital, are the Mexican interpretation of Middle Eastern shawarma, brought to the country by Lebanese immigrants in the middle of the last century. To make it, thin slices of achiote-marinated pork are stacked onto a trompo (upright skewer). Then, a peeled pineapple is placed on top, and the whole thing is grilled vertically and shaved to order by the pastorero with rhythmic elan. The meat is heaped onto a small tortilla, then topped with cilantro, onions, and salsa. Ex-music promoter and restaurateur Carlos Ruíz is the brains behind this refined neighborhood taquería. His version of al pastor stands out because it’s negro, “extra dark,” thanks to a marinade of smoky charred chilies. 

Taco de milanesa de res at Los Milanesos

Calle Glaciar 121, Colonia Olivar de los Padres

Los Milanesos stands alone—literally and figuratively. It’s located on a grassy strip in what feels like the middle of nowhere in the southwest part of the city, and its milanesa tacos are in a category of their own. Milanesas are breaded deep-fried cutlets of beef or chicken that can be layered with ham and cheese. To turn them into a taco, cooks here slice them into strips and bundle them in a tortilla with a schmear of frijoles refritos. The optional addition of fresh green or roasted tomato-chile salsa lends every bite a welcome zing. 

Taco de birria at Birria Las Margaritas

Mercado de La Merced, Pasillo 29 Banquetón, Centro

Birria, Jalisco’s signature dish, is a spicy, soupy stew of mutton or beef. It starts with a marinade combining several chiles and spices, such as cumin and oregano. The meat is then wrapped in leaves of the maguey plant (from which mezcal and tequila are extracted) and slow-roasted in pots sealed with corn masa. The dish is a specialty of this unassuming stand, which is run by the Gómez family from Guadalajara, and has just a few tables outside the Merced Market’s main building. Their recipe is a guarded secret, and once you taste the birria tacos garnished with cilantro, onions, and avocado—you’ll understand why. The bowl of accompanying consomé, ladled from a cauldron, is ambrosial with its balanced flavors of beef, chile, and spice.

Taco de pork belly cantonés at Cariñito Tacos

Guanajuato 53, Roma Norte

This tiny yet popular restaurant typifies the new breed of modern taquerías whose chefs don’t forsake traditions but add to them, fusing foreign techniques and ingredients with classic Mexican ones. Cariñito offers several types of pork belly tacos (plus a couple of vegetarian options such as grilled eggplant or cauliflower) that incorporate Korean and Chinese ingredients. The Cantonese, my favorite, consists of sous vide pork with a crackly chicharrón crust. It comes sliced and mounded on a housemade flour tortilla slicked with Korean barbecue sauce, then dressed with a chile and tamarind infusion and topped with lemony pickled carrots and turnips. This is Mexican-Asian fusion at its best. 

The post The Top 12 Tacos of Mexico City—And Where to Try Them appeared first on Saveur.

LGBTQ bars have had a tough run lately. Shuttering in concerning numbers, many have been struggling with soaring rents and an increasingly challenging business model (not to mention dating apps, which make it easy to flirt from the couch). But happily, and against all odds, many of our go-to LGBTQ spaces are still standing—thriving, even. What’s more, they need your business more than ever in light of discriminatory anti-transgender legislation and distressing Don’t Say Gay laws. To that end, here’s a pared-down list of our favorite queer bars, restaurants, and clubs in major cities across America. Drop in for a drag show, catch a late-night DJ set, or simply pull up a stool at the bar. No matter your gender or orientation, you’re in for a good time.  

The Stonewall Inn, New York City

“We really are like the gay Church,” said co-owner Kurt Kelly. Mecca for America’s gay liberation movement, Stonewall is the site where a dayslong protest for LGBTQ rights ensued in 1969 after police violently raided the establishment. In 2019, an estimated 5 million people made the pilgrimage to Greenwich Village to commemorate the 50th anniversary of the pivotal event. Today, Stonewall is more than its brick-and-mortar location; behind the scenes, the Stonewall Inn Gives Back Initiative is taking the “Stonewall Inn legacy to the most marginalized in our community and in the toughest places to still be LGBTQ+,” said Stacy Lentz, Stonewall’s co-owner and CEO of the nonprofit.    

Round-Up Saloon, Dallas

Next time you’re in Dallas, lasso up your friends and take them to this kitsch Oak Lawn dance hall where queer culture meets line dancing and twangy country music. Thursdays are the best nights to go for the uninitiated; that’s when instructors give free lessons on, say, how to do-si-do your partner and dance the “Hoedown Throwdown.” Nobody goes for the gastronomy (the menu is basically burgers, fries, and wings)—though it helps to have something to nibble on to mitigate the dangerously generous pours.

Cheer Up Charlies, Austin

Austin’s LGBTQ residents are up in arms: It may be too late to protect three emblematic Fourth Street queer bars from the wrecking ball as they’re slated to be replaced with luxury highrises. That makes Cheer Up Charlies—which is safe, for now—all the more important to support. With a well-furnished outdoor patio, bubbly staff, and a vegan food truck always parked outside (sweet potato fries! blood orange hard cider!), this bar is our favorite spot for partying in Texas’ blissfully “weird” capital. 

Atlantic House, Provincetown, Massachusetts

The “A-House,” as locals call it, is so old that its original owner was a mounted postman who died of cholera. Opened in 1798 as a stagecoach inn, it became a hub of Bohemian life at the turn of the 20th century as artists and writers fled gritty, industrial Boston for a freer and more solitary life. As early as the 1950s, the A-House was an openly gay establishment, a badge it wears proudly to the present day.   

Big Chicks, Chicago

The first thing you notice when you walk into Big Chicks in Chicago’s Far North Side is the diverse clientele: a wonderfully motley mix representing virtually all ages, races, physiques, and gender identities. Translation? Everybody feels seen at Big Chicks. Consider starting your evening with updated diner fare at Tweet (the sister restaurant) next door, before unbuttoning your shirt and heading over to the dancefloor. 

Akbar, Los Angeles

Akbar is all “good vibes and pretty guys,” according to Los Angeles-based music and travel writer Taylor Henderson. But it nearly shuttered due to the pandemic, when it was running up debt to the tune of $10,000 per month. In a do-or-die plea for aid, the owners created a GoFundMe page that, to their surprise, met its goal within 24 hours. Such is the commitment of this cozy watering hole’s clientele, which doubles as a community space and open mic venue.

Slammers, Columbus, Ohio

Here’s a not-so-fun fact: There are only 33 lesbian bars left in the entire country. And Slammers, fortunately, is one of them. A downtown Columbus standby since 1993, this indoor-outdoor establishment serves pizza and jalapeño poppers and strong drinks against the backdrop of live performances. There’s also karaoke, darts, and pool for those who like some friendly competition. 

Jolene’s, San Francisco

A relative newcomer on the Mission District scene (est. 2018), Jolene’s is a casual queer bar whose Insta-famous neon sign says it all: “You are safe here.” At a time when lesbian bars are closing at an alarming pace, Jolene’s is bucking the trend as a non-male-centric space that doesn’t feel exclusive. The bar food punches well above its weight with dishes like craggy fried chicken served with mashed potatoes and succotash, and cheese-cloaked sliders served alongside thick-cut fries. 

Pony, Seattle

Whenever Mark Stoner wears his Pony hat in another city, he can’t believe how many people stop him to say, “I love that bar!” The owner of this Seattle institution housed in a defunct 1930s gas station loves the compliments, but to Stoner, what “feels even better” is “when marginalized people in our own LGBTQIA+ community tell me that it’s one of the only spaces where they truly feel safe and relaxed,” he said.

The post 9 Amazing American LGBTQ Bars, Clubs, and Restaurants appeared first on Saveur.

Marseille: It’s east and it’s west, a city with awe-inspiring force shrouded in mystery. It’s hard to pin down. It must be teased out, won over through discovery. And then suddenly, it’s yours! When you arrive in Marseille from the airport highway, the tracking shot is spectacular. The sea. The islands in the distance. The buildings straight ahead. And the long footbridge crossing that’s like an artery into the city. 

Marseille feels cinematic. The air is sweet even when the cold mistral wind is blowing. You slow down. There’s no rush. La Bonne Mère—the emblematic cathedral towering above the city—watches over you. The fishmonger is calling out the catch of the day. Suddenly you’re hungry, but there’s so much to choose from. Honey beignets on rue d’Aubagne. A “moitié-moitié” pizza. A Friday aïoli. Coffee with an orange-blossom navette. A table in full sun.

Gazing out over the jetties—that’s how I fell in love with Marseille, and knew I never wanted to leave. I was a food writer when I opened Épicerie L’Idéal, a delicatessen akin to Ali Baba’s cave where you can have a sit-down meal, sampling what’s in season, and all sorts of culinary treasures. A thousand products from Provence, Italy, the Mediterranean, and every corner of France. Harissa, candied lemon slices, fillets of Sicilian tuna in oil, Breton gomasio, pesto with pistachios and almonds, Italian coffee, Banyuls vinegar … My store had to be in Noailles, the Arab neighborhood in the heart of Marseille that constantly reminds me of my Sicilian and Tunisian ancestry.

Marseille has the wind at its back. The new culinary wave began about 10 years ago, going beyond bouillabaisse and pieds paquets (stewed lamb’s feet and tripe). And it hasn’t abated. More and more chefs are flocking to the Phocaean city to express themselves, and they’re bringing natural wines, spicy food, and unorthodox ingredients, all against the backdrop of the breathtaking sea view. —J.S.

Where to Eat

Ourea

72 rue Paix Marcel Paul,
04 91 73 21 53 

Here’s Matthieu Roche’s hideaway. The thrilling chef of this pocket restaurant casually rolls out a new menu each night, a gastronomic symphony in perfect harmony over five courses. I won’t soon forget his cooking à la nage, the frothy broths with mushrooms, cream, and raw fish. He cooks like it’s in his blood.

Chez Michel

6 rue des Catalans,
04 91 52 64 22

Look no further for bouillabaisse, the signature Marseille dish that turns the most beautiful local fish into a soup. This is the place to eat it, on a white tablecloth and served with panache, the fresh seafood presented to the table by a server in a suit and bow tie. You can also opt for the bourride, a more rustic fish stew thickened with aïoli.

À Moro 

3 rue Venture,
07 65 80 37 37

Here we have a just-opened “small Italian bistro” with a terrace that takes up half the street. A thoughtful menu is written on a chalkboard and presented in a trattoria-like room. Try the vitello tonnato, puntarelle and anchovies, squid-ink pacchieri, or Roman-style tripe. And don’t miss the chocolate and olive oil ganache with your coffee.

Ivresse

76 rue Léon Bourgeois

This is the wine bar we’ve been dreaming of in Marseille. Unconventional and extremely stylish, Max works the bar’s small kitchen while Nikolaj pours natural wines. Try the smoked fish, roasted beets, or the yogurt and buckwheat, and pair them with an excellent gewürztraminer, riesling, or New Zealand pinot noir.

Livingston 

5 rue Crudère,
04 96 10 00 00

Meet the wunderkind of Marseille. These punchy plates are served alongside natural wines beneath the graffitied walls of Cours Julien. I can still taste the ’nduja and stracciatella pizzetta, the fried pig’s feet with tom yum and lime. And, of course, the strawberry and pepper donuts!

Limmat

41 rue Estelle,
07 86 30 23 16

Lili Gadola opened her poetic restaurant, reminiscent of a little house, beside the famous colorful stairs of Cours Julien. The menu is all vegetarian and pescatarian food because that’s how Lili likes to eat. Note that there are always crazy-good desserts like the red fruit pavlova or the chocolate mousse cake.

Tuba Club

2 boulevard Alexandre Delabre,
04 91 25 13 16

Take a short boat ride to reach the Old Port in Les Goudes, and you’re at the end of the world. Perched on the rocks like the Italian coast, you’ll find a converted white cabanon designed by Marion Mailaender. Try the house-made taramasalata, fried calamari, and sea bass with bottarga—or spring for the grilled fish. Bonus: There’s now a second bar in Le Bikini, where you can have an aperitivo on the roof.

Maison Journo

28 rue Pavillon,
04 91 33 65 20 

David Journo has taken the reins at his grandfather’s bakery. Raised on the family’s fricasseés (fried bread stuffed with tuna, Tunisian salad, and harissa), almond macarons, brick à l’oeuf, and leblebi (chickpea soup)—not to mention Turkish delight and from-scratch orgeat made from sweet and bitter almond syrup—he continues the family legacy in the Jewish Tunisian tradition.

La Relève

41 rue d’Endoume,
04 95 09 87 81 

The real culinary muckety-mucks of Marseille are located in the 7th arrondissement in the Saint-Victor neighborhood. Duo Greg Hessman and Greg Mandonato bring the whole city to life at lunch and apéro time. Hurry there on Fridays for the aïoli (desalted cod and steamed green beans, carrots, and cauliflower, served with boiled eggs and garlic mayonnaise). Upstairs are two hotel rooms freshly designed by Maison Honoré. A marvel.

Chez Étienne

43 rue de Lorette,
04 91 54 76 33 

Eighty years on, Étienne Cassaro’s pizzeria still stands tall. In the legendary dining room now run by Cassaro’s son Pascal in the middle of Le Panier, don’t miss the classic moitié-moitié pizza (half tomato-Emmental, half tomato-anchovy), fried supions (baby calamari) cooked with garlic and parsley, and eggplant parmesan. On the walls hang photos of the extraordinary Étienne and all of the famous guests who have passed through. —J.S.

Where to Stay

Hôtel Mercure Marseille Canebière Vieux-Port 

48 La Canebière

Travelers eager to explore the North African melting pot neighborhood of Noailles will love this newly renovated mid-century modern hotel, whose ground-floor restaurant serves the original, cognac-spiked style of tapenade, believed to be invented on the premises in 1880.

Le Petit Nice Passedat 

17 rue des Braves Anse de Maldormé

A century-old Relais & Château stunner, this hotel houses a sensational three-Michelin-star seafood restaurant boasting sweeping Mediterranean views and a kitchen that works with more than 65 types of fish. Upstairs, spacious rooms feature deep-sink tubs and sleek wooden furniture.

Intercontinental Marseille – Hôtel Dieu 

1 Place de Daviel 

This stately grande dame with flags and manicured hedges out front has understated rooms with clean lines as well as more premium digs looking out over the Old Port. The terrace restaurant serves an exquisite pissaladière, Provence’s signature flatbread topped with anchovies, onions, and capers.

New Hotel Le Quai – Vieux Port

2 Place de Gabriel Péri

After a nine-month renovation that added six spacious guest rooms and an all-day café (where non-patrons are welcome to post up with a coffee and a pastry), this Belle Époque property recently reopened. Its location between Canebière and the Old Port can’t be beat. —B.K.

Essential Culinary Souvenirs

Les Terres de Pierre Fruité Noir Extra-Virgin Olive Oil 

Provisions, 95 rue de Lodi 

Olive growers of yore often left their harvest to ferment in jute bags, imbuing the oil with an earthy, chocolatey flavor that plays well with anchovies, tomatoes, and goat cheese. Few continue the tradition; this local producer is one of them.

Tava Rose Harissa

Piou, 70 rue Grignan

Yotam Ottolenghi’s favorite small-batch chile paste, Tava, is made in Marseille and fragrant with Isfahan rose petals—a nod to the city’s history of North African influence. A little goes a long way, which makes the $9 price tag an absolute steal.

Navettes from Les Navettes des Accoules

68 rue Caisserie

Perfumed with orange blossom water, these canoe-shaped cookies are the city’s signature sweet. They’re lovely alongside coffee or liqueur, and keep for weeks. The Corsican owners of this legendary biscuiterie bake theirs to a crumbly (read: less tooth-breaking) texture than their competitors across town at Four des Navettes.

Torchons from Maison Empereur 

4 rue des Récolettes

This wonderland of a kitchen store dates back nearly two centuries. Thiers knives, canelé molds, and earthenware cassoles are terrific buys, but far more affordable are these durable tea towels.

Mélets de Martigues from Épicerie L’Idéal

11 rue d’Aubagne

Mélets are an ancestral, garum-like condiment heady with fennel seeds made from fermented baby anchovies. Julia Sammut, of Épicerie L’Idéal, keeps her plug a secret (“If he quits, we’re dead!”). At the Épicerie, she serves it drizzled with olive oil as a dip for country bread, while at home, she likes whisking it with bread crumbs, olive oil, and lemon juice to make a quick bagna cauda sauce for pouring over broccolini and soft-boiled eggs.

Henri Bardouin Pastis 

Cavavin – Marseille Opéra, 1 rue Saint-Saëns 

Marseille’s anisey, milky-white tipple is a must-buy. One of the best, by Henri Bardouin, happens to be widely available (in France and the United States). It’s flavored with over 65 spices and herbs and has buoyant thyme and citrus notes.

Fer à Cheval Soap 

66 chemin de Sainte-Marthe

Olive oil-based Marseille soap, with its sage-green hue and rustic stamped insignia, doesn’t dry the skin, and can be used as a stain-busting laundry detergent. Founded in 1856, this local producer sells the real deal—no dyes, perfumes, or funny stuff.

Taste the World in Marseille 

Azul, 73 rue Francis Davso 

This 300-page volume from Marseille-born filmmaker and journalist Vérane Frédiani is a gastronomical goldmine. Chef interviews tell the story of local bakeries and restaurants, while recipes for regional greatest hits—rouille, soupe au pistou, and more—let you bring the city’s flavors home. —B.K.

The post Where to Eat, Stay, and Shop in Marseille appeared first on Saveur.

Pull into a parking lot in San Gabriel Valley, then take a whiff: Is that five spice tickling your nostrils? Hoisin wafting out that window? The smell of dumplings sizzling in a skillet? As anyone who’s traveled to this corner of Southern California knows, hiding among the drab, sand-colored strip-mall storefronts are some of the nation’s most outstanding Asian restaurants.  

Situated 15 minutes from downtown Los Angeles, these eateries often catch diners’ eyes with bright neon signs and “Best Of” stickers pasted on the doors. Step inside, and you might find soups brimming with braised meats and handmade noodles, baskets of steamed baos, or dim sum carts overflowing with dainty mouthwatering morsels.  

In the mid-1800s, citrus farming brought the first wave of Chinese immigrants to San Gabriel Valley (aka SGV). They were mostly from Guangdong (formerly Canton), which led many Americans at the time to believe Cantonese food was representative of all Chinese food. That false impression was cemented by the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882, which barred immigration from China altogether. It would be nearly a century before SGV got its next major influx of Asian immigrants—primarily from Hong Kong, Taiwan, and Vietnam—who joined the Mexican, Filipino, Japanese, and South Asian Americans who had already made the area their home.

In the 1970s, new restaurants began cropping up celebrating the cuisines of Hunan, Sichuan, Shanghai, Taishan, Taiwan, and beyond. And recently, wealthy Chinese investors have further changed the face of SGV’s food scene by opening a smattering of high-end dining spots. 

An Angeleno of 27 years, I began my exploration of the area’s food scene in college with late-night rides to boba tea shops and to Hong Kong-style cafes to study for midterms. These days, you’re more likely to find me devouring Emperor’s jar soup, Uyghur big plate chicken, or Asian American mashups like Bopomofu’s honey-walnut shrimp burger. Whatever you’re in the mood to eat, you can probably find it in SGV. Here are the Asian restaurants I’m head-over-heels for. 

Dai Ho

9148 Las Tunas Dr., Temple City
(626) 291-2295

This popular and efficient Taiwanese noodle house opens just three hours for lunch because its handmade threads are sold out by the afternoon. After starting with refrigerator-case appetizers such as shredded tofu with celery and carrots and smashed spicy cucumbers, move on to the beef noodle soup (the national dish of Taiwan, natch), whose springy noodles rest in a complex broth and come topped with flank steak and bright green spinach. If you’ve got room for more, order more noodles—preferably the ones topped with minced pork and fermented bean sauce. (Be sure to bring cash, or be ready to pay via Venmo or Zelle.)

Hui Tou Xiang

704 W. Las Tunas Dr. #5, San Gabriel
(626) 281-9888 

Hui Tou Xiang serves tender dry noodles and rich noodle soups, but pan-fried pork dumplings are their strongest suit. They stand out for their rectangular shape, which makes for more crispy surface area. The pork filling is equally delightful with its touch of unexpected sweetness. Then there are the soup dumplings, with their impressive number of pleats, delicate yet sturdy wrapper, and gloriously splurty center. Basic ambiance and decor—pleather booths, hardback chairs, fluorescent lighting—let the food do the talking. 

Golden Deli

815 W Las Tunas Dr., San Gabriel
(626) 308-0803

Many pho spots look alike in this corner of SoCal, but it’s a mixed bag when it comes to how good the broth is. At Golden Deli, it’s just right—the clear soup sweetly beefy and aromatic with ginger, onions, star anise, cloves and cinnamon. Top your bowl with tender slices of rib eye and brisket, and if you like, tendon and/or tripe. A must-order pho precursor is chả giò, fried spring rolls, which are spectacularly crispy. The best way to eat these is by wrapping them in a lettuce leaf and herbs, which make a crisp, cool counterpoint to the juicy filling of pork, carrots, mushrooms, and glass noodles. Since its first location opened in 1981, Golden Deli has become an SGV institution, with long lines that are worth the wait.

Newport Seafood

518 W Las Tunas Dr., San Gabriel
(626) 289-5998

Newport Seafood is known for its quality seafood, often seen swimming in its tank before you order it. The signature dish is wok-fried, sauce-coated lobster with green onions, garlic, jalapeños, black pepper, and butter, a recipe developed by co-owner Ly Hua reminiscent of his childhood in Phnom Penh. A close second is the baked shrimp and crab, served crisp and eaten shell-on. Speaking of shells, one of my go-to orders is clams with “spicy hot sauce” whose name is as misleading as it is redundant, since there’s little heat to report but plenty of aromatics like basil, garlic, and ginger. Hua and wife Wendy Lam have roots in Guangdong but were born in Cambodia; both sojourned through different countries to eventually land in Southern California, where they met. Through their journeys you can taste your way through the restaurant’s menu filled with Chinese, Vietnamese, Thai, and Cambodian influences.

NBC Seafood Restaurant

404 S Atlantic Blvd., Monterey Park
(626) 282-2323

Dim sum in SGV has come a long way, starting from roving dim sum carts and moving into made-to-order dishes brought hot from the kitchen. NBC Seafood Restaurant is one of the few remaining push-cart holdouts. You know the type: white tablecloths, lazy Susans, satiny gold chair covers that drape over the carpeted floor. I love the bustle and hum of the place—the servers hawking their wares, the whine of turning cart wheels, the din of diners’ conversations. The classics are all you want at NBC, and the classics are what you’ll get: crystal shrimp dumplings; open-faced pork, shrimp and mushroom dumplings; steamed pork ribs; steamed and baked buns filled with chicken or pork and pan fried radish cakes. Just be ready to wave and point when a dish catches your eye—this is no time to be shy.

Yang’s Kitchen

112 W Main St., Alhambra
(626) 281-1035

This second-generation restaurant by Chris Yang and Maggie Ho is a brunch hotspot five days a week and a dinner destination for four, but you can always count on products from local purveyors: This time of year, it’s all about kabocha squash from Yao Cheng Farm and dry-aged barramundi from The Point. Traditional dishes like congee and cold sesame noodles are my go-tos, as is the strawberry amazake smoothie made with Chavez Farms strawberries and oolong “Fresca.” At dinner, Hainan fish rice is a creative spin on what’s usually a boiled chicken dish, with added crunch thanks to crispy fish skin. Dan dan campanelle delivers perfect QQ, and the smoked char siu pork jowl is perfectly tender and sweet, capped off with an outer char. Yang’s wine list is singular and exciting, featuring  unexpected bottles such as Domaine Bükk’s “Litro Libre” made with zenit grapes from Hungary. A great reason to make a reservation for the weekend is wine nights: Flights are $34 and consist of three generous pours.

Bopomofo Cafe

841 W Las Tunas Dr., San Gabriel

Bopomofo is the quintessential SGV Cafe: It’s a casual cafe by and for second-generation Asian Americans and a side project of YouTube sensation Philip Wang of Wong Fu Productions and Eric Wang. They serve inventive beverages like mint matcha lattes and lychee berry bliss, the latter made with calamansi juice, strawberry purée, and coconut milk. If you’re peckish, consider my favorite menu item, the honey-walnut shrimp burger slathered with wasabi-yuzu sauce and topped with candied walnuts, pickled jalapenos, and red onion. There’s also your standard variety of popcorn chicken, crispy niblets dusted in house seasoning, available in white or dark meat and furnished with Thai basil aïoli. 

SinBala

651 W Duarte Rd. Ste. F, Arcadia
(626) 446-0886

SinBala has long been the local standby for Taiwanese comfort food and desserts. The classic order (from the enormous menu) is the pork chop over rice, a battered-and-fried behemoth with a crunchy layer that gives way to tender, juicy meat. There’s also the glutinous meatball, a staple of southern Taiwan, topped with a sweet, orange-tinged garlic soy sauce. Every bite is a delectable combination of pork, wood-ear mushroom, and lip-smacking sauce. After all that richness, a refreshing dessert is in order: Shaved ice topped with condensed milk and your choice of mochi balls, grass jelly cubes, red beans, and boba.

Bistro Na’s

9055 Las Tunas Dr. #105, Temple City
(626) 286-1999

Bistro Na’s introduced SGV to the Imperial cuisine of the Qing Dynasty, representing a new era of deeper-pocketed Chinese immigration to the area. Inside its red- and gold-walled dining room, guests can feast on dishes that were literally made for royalty. Dishes by Bejing-born chef Tian Yong include extraordinarily crispy shrimp in its rendition of walnut shrimp and Emperor’s jar soup, a blend of beef tendon, mushroom, fish maw, quail egg, and sea cucumber suspended in concentrated chicken stock. The restaurant serves only eight Peking ducks per night, and to claim one, you’ll want to call ahead. The bird’s skin has a uniform thickness that almost shatters when you bite into it. Chef Yong carves it delicately and serves the dish himself in two stages—first with only sugar, then in hand-rolled wraps filled with cucumber, green onion, and homemade plum sauce

Dolan’s Uyghur Cuisine

742 W Valley Blvd., Alhambra
(626) 782-7555

Before this Alhambra restaurant opened in 2019, there were hardly any Halal restaurants serving SGV’s Uyghur community. Here you’ll find dishes seasoned with star anise, cumin, black pepper and cardamom—signature flavors of China’s Turkic Muslim minority. Big-plate chicken, the standout main, features flat noodles, potatoes, bell peppers, leeks, and chiles in a spicy, hearty sauce. Equally hard to pass up are the hand-crimped beef and onion manti and the hand-pulled laghman noodles with stir-fried beef and vegetables. Televisions show landscape shots of the vast and diverse landscape of Xinjiang province, and make you reflect on this deep-seated culture fighting eradication. 

Colette

975 N Michillinda Ave., Pasadena
(626) 510-6286

This Pasadena gem that opened in 2022 brings SGV Cantonese cuisine full circle. Though you’ll spot classic preparations—such as dim sum staples like juicy pork dumplings and egg yolk buns or salt and pepper tossed calamari—there’s a new emphasis on seasonality and quality of ingredients. A case in point is chef Peter Lai’s chicken stuffed with shrimp paste distinguished by phenomenally crispy skin. Don’t miss the stir-fried vegetables, including savory luffa tossed with salted egg yolk, and wokked chayote with minced pork and pickled olives. If you’re feeling adventurous, ask your server what the specials are, but don’t veer too far off: While the menu is vast and includes modern takes, experience has shown me that the classics are where it’s at. 

Hsi Lai Temple

3456 Glenmark Dr., Hacienda Heights

In the Easter SGV enclave of Hacienda Heights lies one of the largest Buddhist temples in North America. Hsi Lai, which means “coming west,” is a breathtaking, 15-acre complex with gardens and temples built in Ming and Qing dynasty architectural styles. Every day, they put out a humble $10 vegetarian buffet as a service to the community. You’ll find fairly standard dishes such as tempura vegetables; sesame tofu salad; vegetable broth; stir-fried noodles and cut fruit. The food is nothing to write home about (and may be bland to some, since it’s allium-free due to religious restrictions), but the compound is worth visiting for its meditative serenity alone. The temple encourages visitors to take only what they can eat, so be mindful of waste.

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