Before I was a trusted food writer, beloved journalist, and renowned recommender of gifts, I was a son. A son with a mother. So, as you can imagine, I take Mother’s Day very seriously. Surely, the woman who gave the world a gift as spectacular as, well, me deserves something pretty special in return.

I do realize that there are all types of mothers out there — some who make excellent fruit tarts and possess a Julia Child-esque charm, sure, but plenty of others who are, say, extroverted and love power tools, or are scientists or patent lawyers, or sauvignon blanc moms who collect Rae Dunn mugs, or others yet who love afternoon tea and crocheting and hushed gossip. For instance, just because mine doesn’t drink doesn’t mean your boozer of a mom should wind up empty-handed. Also, there are all types of maternal figures out there who deserve celebration, not just moms. Maybe your mom is dead, or you don’t have a good relationship with her — or both! I say we expand this holiday to recognize all the mother figures out there. Maybe your “mom” was actually the mother of your best friend down the street, or the proprietress of your local gay bar, or your poor college ex who taught you to do laundry and manage your temper. 

Whoever your mother figure is, they deserve some love — and these gifts are guaranteed to thrill them, delight them, and show them that you care.

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Chocolates: a classic for a reason

Alongside flowers (see next item), chocolates are the gold-standard Mother’s Day gift, and for good reason: Chocolates are both extremely delicious and an effective way of conveying your love for someone.

There are as many types of chocolate boxes as there are mothers to enjoy them. For something a bit more elevated, the Pearls of the Forest Bonbon Collection is the most recent collaboration between San Francisco’s Dandelion Chocolate and New York-based HÅKAN Chocolatier. Each piece is an ode to chocolatier Håkan Mårtensson’s childhood home in southern Sweden and the forest fruits that grow wild there.

Other fancy chocolate boxes that I adore come from French chocolatier Richart. These are little works of art, both in terms of flavor and appearance, and the smaller size means you can try more of Richart’s incredibly intense flavors like ginger ganache and chocolate raspberry.

Or you can skip the rest and go right to the best: a 1-pound box of Nuts & Chews from See’s Candies. Still the GOAT—and the fastest way to my mother’s (and my) heart.

For more ideas for where to buy chocolates, check out Eater’s more comprehensive guide here.

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Bottomless flowers 

Fresh flowers might be the most classic Mother’s Day gift of all, but that doesn’t mean they have to be boring. Instead of the usual last-minute grocery store bouquet, consider a flower subscription—a gift that keeps the compliments coming week after week. It’s a simple way to fill your mom’s space with color, scent, and a touch of indulgence without asking her to lift a finger.

While only regionally available, a subscription from Farmgirl Flowers is a true standout. Its arrangements are lush, seasonal and generous—so generous that trimming and arranging them can make a full morning’s work. It’s enough for a bouquet in every room or for turning a modest kitchen table into a floral explosion.

Nationwide, UrbanStems and The Bouqs Co. both offer stylish options at various price points. The Bouqs also has potted plants and beautifully preserved dried bouquets that last for months, which means she’ll think of you every time she walks past the dining room. A low-effort, high-reward gift—because your mother didn’t raise a sucker.

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The world’s most useful tote

So much hype has been spent on what is written on the outside of tote bags that their fundamental design has been neglected almost entirely. Yes your Iowa Review tote makes a great declaration of what side you’re on in the culture war, but it is hardly practical. 

I’d argue that this pro-level tote from Williams Sonoma is the ultimate lifestyle signifier because it actually helps you to live an amazing lifestyle. It has spaces for multiple wine bottles, plenty of room in the main compartment for sub sandwiches and beach towels, and even has a genius strap on the side for holding a bundle of fresh cut flowers — I’d imagine it would also work great for a baguette or a rolled up copy of the The Daily Worker. This tote would make an amazing gift for all kinds of moms. 

Personally, I’d throw in a few other little treats. Maybe this adorable set of Bonne Maman preserves, or a portable charcuterie board complete with cheese knives, or these surprisingly affordable picnic-appropriate linen napkins.

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A do-it-all pan

There’s a strong chance Mom is behind many of your favorite recipes; why not make cooking as pleasurable as possible for her with pans that last? A 12” pan from our cookware collection with Heritage Steel is perfect for everything from eggs and steak to stir-fries and risotto.

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A toaster from the future

Like Paul Simon said, we live in an age of miracles and wonders—and the Toaster from Balmuda is proof. In my opinion, the Toaster is the perfect gift. A price tag of ~$300 for a toaster can be too much of an indulgence for someone to buy themselves, especially because everyone (and their mother!) seems to share the wrongheaded opinion that their toaster already works “just fine.” But give your toast-loving mother the Balmuda — with its Japanese engineering and ingenious combination of steam baking and traditional toasting technology — and watch their mornings transform from routine to life-affirming. The Balmuda creates perfect toast: as golden as an eagle’s wing on the outside, and soft, steaming, and pillowy on the inside, no matter how thin-cut the bread.

I recently put five different toaster ovens to the test on a variety of performance metrics, and the Balmuda made perhaps the greatest impression for being such a joy to use. This thing can also reheat croissants, transforming even yesterday’s Costco pastry into something you’d happily munch at a café in the Latin Quarter. Maybe couple it with a few jars of fancy preserves — something Mom can smear on a thick slice of shokupan while happily taking a bite of perfect toast.

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Elevated charcuterie for the mom who snacks 

If your mom’s the type to toil over a charcuterie board like it’s an art installation, consider going the tinned seafood route this year. Not only is it having a bit of a moment, but high-end conservas are genuinely delicious and beautifully packaged.

There are tinned seafood options for every type of mom, from basics like high-end tuna to more exotic options like tiny little squids in their own ink or mussels from Patagonia canned in spicy oil. This trio of varieties from Fishwife is wonderfully giftable and comes in a very cool box.

You could build her a little tapas kit: a few great tins (I humbly suggest referring to this very good guide I happened to write), a nice bottle of vermouth, maybe even some fancy potato chips. Bonus points if you promise to come over and eat it all with her. More of a cheese-lover? The Mother’s Day Set from famed New York fromagerie Murray’s Cheese makes it easy to make her happy. 

Speaking of advanced charcuterie, the pickle-loving mom will appreciate this set from Olympia Provisions, which will provide several sessions of exquisite snacking on a variety of pickled veggies. 

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Pretty much anything from Flamingo Estate

The ever-expanding, Los Angeles-based lifestyle, food, and bath and body brand Flamingo Estate is akin to a sybarite’s general store. It’s so hot at the moment that it’s tempting to dismiss its mystique as hype, but the fact is, it does a spectacular job at making high-quality, very giftable products. If you’re in the market for anything from a candle or a new body wash to a box of avocados, the offerings from Flamingo Estate are guaranteed to be spectacular. We’ve already mentioned its superlative flower delivery service, and it’s also worth mentioning that it offers the status farm box on the West Coast à la moment.

I’m as excited to get my hands on its new Prinsesstårta candle (food candles—still trendy!) as I am to try its persimmon vinegar and rosemary and Ionian bergamot shampoo — and all of these picks make Mom-friendly gifts. 

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Booze!

When giving the gift of alcohol, my philosophy is that the bottle itself is only half the gift—the other half is permission to consume it whenever the recipient sees fit. That’s why I like to gift alcohol meant to be consumed in the morning. 

What says “empty nester but thriving” more emphatically than a splash of something festive in your coffee? My current favorite coffee addition is actually from Australia (a nation that knows both coffee and getting drunk better than any other): Mr Black Cold Brew Liqueur. This stuff is maybe too delicious for something with 25 percent ABV, and also makes an excellent espresso martini.

If Mom is more of a Sunday brunch drinker, consider a Bloody Mary kit: a mini bottle of Tabasco, a bottle of Zing Zang Bloody Mary mix (the very best there is), a jar of artisanal pickled green beans, and a bottle of habanero vodka, like the stuff from Hanson of Sonoma. 

If your mom prefers a tipple at a more civilized hour, you really can’t go wrong with an amaro. I’m currently obsessed with the Montreal amaro brand Festif—especially the Festif Choux, which they describe as a Canadian take on Fernet. Délicieux.

If your mom is more of a wine lover, I recommend a set of new glassware; there are so many brands out there right now making beautiful styles. I personally love Kurt Josef Zalto wine glasses, but they’re on the pricey side (though, I’d argue, worth it for being elegant, feather-light, and a joy to drink out of). For something affordable but equally gorgeous, try a set of German-made Schott Zwiesel glasses or these break-resistant glasses from West Elm with a similar aesthetic (and a great price). 

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Boos! (as in a John Boos cutting board)

I promised myself I would never become the type of food writer who writes things like “the Cadillac of cutting boards,” but here we are. If you enjoy watching chefs cook on YouTube, take a closer look, and you’ll see that they’re almost certainly cutting on a Boos board. John Boos & Co. has been making wooden cutting boards since 1887, and while the idea of a status cutting board sounds a bit silly, the truth is these boards are both beautiful and a delight to cut on.

My dream board is a reversible end-grain board in either walnut or maple, and I’m sure your mother would love one, too. 

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Bacon!

In this fractious and fractured country, an abiding love of bacon may be our last sliver of common ground. In fact, bacon—even the cheapest bacon—is so good that many Americans aren’t even aware of just how good the excellent stuff can be. Real hand-crafted, artisanal bacon is nothing short of miraculous—from the Amish-style thick-cut unprocessed rashers to the South’s dedication to streaky, super-smoky slab bacon.

Goldbelly has a variety of high-quality bacon at various price points, but  as far as I’m concerned, for fancy bacon, the Kurobuta pork bacon from renowned Snake River Farms can’t be beat. Or maybe spring for a whole slab from the standard-bearer of the disappearing art of historic American ham smoking, Edwards Virginia Smokehouse.

My current favorite bacon is Benton’s bacon from Tennessee. It’s beloved by the next generation of Southern chefs, and I credit it with actually saving my life one particularly hungover morning in New Orleans.

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Peanut butter and slippers (what I’m giving my own mom this year)

Time to pull back the curtain and share some truth: Historically, I have often fallen into that all-too-common trap of giving the people I love what I would want instead of what they would want (see the section on bacon). At times, this habit has extended to my Mother’s Day gifting. 

So, this year I am getting my mom gifts that I know she would actually use and enjoy—which, in my particular mom’s case, mean anything cozy or that facilitates or improves the eating of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. To that end, I’m gifting her (and Mom, if you’re reading this, please stop reading now) a pair of my favorite slippers — the fur-lined Kolo house shoes from Topdrawer — and a molinillo whisk. These traditional Mexican hot chocolate whisks really do take your hot cocoa to the next level by aerating it and making it more fragrant and creamy. Maybe I’ll throw in a bit of Mexican chocolate, too.

For the sandwiches, I’m giving her a jar of my favorite jam: Mountain Fruit Company’s Always Apricot Natural Fruit Spread, made from Northern California apricots by a family company out of Chico.

I’m also getting her one of these contraptions. My mom prefers natural peanut butter, and I recently discovered—while staying at hers—that she has been using a stick blender to reconstitute the peanut butter and oil before making a sandwich. This natural peanut stirrer should do the job even better and keep the vibes at Mom’s more charming bed-and-breakfast than construction site. 

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 I’ll leave you with a piece of advice. As I write this, I’m currently on vacation with my mother and recently found myself joining her — and about half a dozen other moms — in the pool for a morning aqua aerobics class. After class, I took the opportunity to ask what they really wanted from their own wayward children for Mother’s Day.

“Nothing I have to dust!” said one.

“That’s right!” said another. “Just visit! Just spend some time.”

To this, they all agreed: I am relaying the message, dear readers, that most of all, your mom probably just wants to hang out with you.

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from Eater https://ift.tt/gvFRlY4

This excerpt was originally published in Pre Shift, our newsletter for the hospitality industry. Subscribe for more first-person accounts, advice, and interviews.

Now Open is a yearlong series celebrating some of 2026’s most exciting new restaurants. Throughout the year, we’ll check in with teams in Chicago, New York City, and Washington, D.C. to hear what it’s really like behind the scenes of a buzzy opening. Then, we’ll host exclusive meals at these restaurants as part of Dinner Party, presented by Capital One. Read along for challenges, candid reflections, and advice from the proprietors behind some of the country’s hottest new openings.

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In New York, the line between “bar” and “restaurant” is hard to parse. Both delineations are nebulous at best; more and more self-described wine bars offer $80 entrees and counter service, while there are also restaurants that hawk small plates exclusively. If you squint, they all blur together. That said, Dean’s, the latest venture from chef Jess Shadbolt and beverage director Annie Shi (the pair of whom opened King together in 2016 and Jupiter in 2022), stands on a compelling middle ground. It’s a British pub. And while such places can operate as rowdy drinking halls, the quintessential pub is both a place for 12 Guinesses on a Tuesday night (mind you, Dean’s has a prize for the first guest to drink 500 pints), and sit-down fish and chips among friends. Open since late March, it’s a brighter, New York-ified version of the public house. 

Notably, 75 percent of the restaurant’s seating is reserved for walk-ins—meaning there’s no need to visit the dark web in pursuit of an all-but-impossible reservation. Moreover, the bar, which is first come, first served, allows for standing room, so you can grab a drink while you await your bar seat. In turn, Dean’s is a welcome case for the fact that rowdier bar-esque zeal can live amicably in the same room as proper dinner guests. And with that in mind, before you hurry over to add your name to the queue, here’s a look at how Shi and Shadbolt pulled it all off. 

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Pre Shift: What was the space like when you took it over? 

Annie Shi: It was a complete disaster—it required so much renovation. Honestly, I’d thought this space was cursed. So many things had opened and closed here within a matter of months, and for a while, it was a shop that mostly just sold, like, Diet Coke and whole milk. It had been derelict for a long time when we took over, and we did a lot of major demo. It really felt like we started from scratch, but now that it’s done, it feels like a completely new space. I’m still sort of amazed that it all came together in the end. 

How did you decide to open a pub in the first place? 

AS: When we decided to take the space, we thought it might just be an extension of King or Café King—among several other things. At some point, I’d noticed that more and more British items were making brief appearances on the King menu because Jess, who is British, kept finding herself compelled to make them. Eventually, I was like, “Jess, I feel like there’s something you need to get out of your system. What’s smoked cod doing on the menu at King?” I was hoping that our new spot could include some of Jess’s British cooking.  

Eventually, I asked her what she missed most about England, and she said the pub. Then, it dawned on both of us. Once we started talking about it, we were both like, This feels so right. This is exactly what we want to be making at this point in our lives — something fun, delicious, casual. Neither of us can remember to make a reservation to save our lives, so we wanted it to be walk-in-friendly and easy.

On top of that, Jess just became a mom. She has a 9-week-old son. And there’s just something about bringing new life into the world that makes you feel really nostalgic for your own childhood and your childhood cuisines.

Jess Shadbolt: What drew us to opening a pub was the sense of freedom it offers. Traditional restaurants can sometimes prescribe a very specific way of dining, but a pub brings more flexibility. It can be a quick pint after work, a long, celebratory dinner with friends, a casual afternoon glass of wine, or even a romantic evening. People increasingly want that sense of optionality—somewhere that can meet different moods and moments without feeling rigid. 

I actually think New York is incredibly well-suited to pub culture because it already values places with a strong sense of community. Think of your local coffee shop at the end of the block! A great pub is a blank canvas— it’s shaped by the people who walk through the door and for the moments they share within it, and New York is designed to allow that kind of exchange.

How has the opening felt to you? How did the process differ from opening King, or Jupiter? 

JS: Every opening has its own rhythm, but this one has felt particularly shaped by the idea of atmosphere and accessibility. With our other venues, the focus may have leaned more heavily toward a defined dining experience. Here, we’ve been thinking just as much about how the space feels at 4 p.m. as it does at 9 p.m. About how it moves seamlessly from afternoon drinks to dinner service to a late-night stop-in. Opening a pub also asks different questions: How do you create ease without sacrificing care? And how do you make it feel lived-in from day one? It’s been a different kind of challenge, but an incredibly rewarding one. As the Brit, I was keen to really represent English cooking, and as the New Yorker, Annie is thinking about what will translate. As ever, it’s always such a pleasure to explore, research, and bring to life something so personal, but in partnership—two heads and pairs of hands are definitely better than one. 

With regard to the question of “restaurant vs. bar,” how would you describe Dean’s? 

AS: When we decided we were opening a pub, we were scared everyone would just say, “No, this is a restaurant.” But we wanted to make sure that it was casual and fun and vibey, and that people were popping in for a drink and a snack and also doing the full meal thing. And the good news is, thus far, they are. 

Because we don’t even take a wait list for the bar, people just stand around drinking until seats free up. It’s really fun to watch people do that thing where they make friends with their neighbors, and everyone’s keeping tabs on the next open seat, and everyone is chatting amongst themselves. It all feels like classic bar behaviour that wouldn’t be possible at King. I’m all for vertical drinking. 

How did you go about building the wine list? 

AS: When you think of the British approach to wine, there’s always a bottle at the table, but not every wine moment requires that you talk in-depth about a producer or the terroir. Sometimes it’s okay to drink something that’s $75 and crisp and white and delicious, so we were trying to bring that value to the list.

I wanted to pay homage to the classic British palate for wine. If you ask any British person over a certain age what they like to drink, they’ll name big houses: Champagne and Bordeaux. So I went looking for some lesser-known, low-intervention Bordeaux producers, and there’s a fun little half bottle of Pol Roger on there for your super classic British drinker. I’ve got some great Burgundy on the list, but I was avoiding the big villages to keep price points on the lower side. If you want to drink blue-chip Burgundy, you can go next door to King, but the purpose of Dean’s is to provide value that’s also delicious.

Tell me about the English portion of the list! Are people opting for English wines?

AS: Right now, I think we have the largest selection of English wines in New York—though it’s not a tough bar to clear. We have a good amount of English sparkling, and we’ll keep expanding our English still list as we get into summer. We’re working with an importer to bring in some English wines just for us, which is so fun because we have exclusivity of sale. Right now, I think people are really interested in trying these bottles. At Lei, when we first opened, all we sold was Chinese wine, and now here at Dean’s, we’re selling a ton of English wine, so I hope that momentum continues—even knowing that English wine isn’t always easy to sell. But I love when a niche region finds its home, so it’s making me really happy. 

What’s the crowd been like thus far? 

AS: Honestly, it’s been really crazy the number of British accents I’ve been hearing in the room since we opened. The British ex-pats are definitely finding us. And we’re really looking forward to having a local crowd. 

This was hands-down the most difficult construction project I’ve ever worked on, but it was motivating to see so many locals pop their heads in enthusiastically over the six or seven months we were working, and it seems like everyone’s so glad it’s no longer this sketchy underutilized space on the street. We’ve had a bunch of neighbors come in already, but we’re hoping we’ll get a good group of regulars who come by for a beer on their way home. I’d already met some local neighbors over at King, but I feel like I’ve met so many new ones at Dean’s because the environment is so much more casual.

This conversation has been edited and condensed.

from Eater https://ift.tt/DS3tjAK

Eating lunch and shopping are two of my mother’s favorite things — she reminded me as much by voice note when mentioned I was planning to write a piece about a specific, nostalgic mother-daughter experience we share: eating at the Nordstrom Cafe. 

I’m a child of the 1990s, when mall culture was still thriving. Nordstrom was the jewel in my own outdoor SoCal mall’s crown, a multifloor department store that felt timeless, yet tapped into the imminent Y2K culture. From the outside, its Spanish revival building towered over trendy chains like Abercrombie & Fitch and the Discovery Channel Store; inside, classical oil paintings dotted the walls, and a pianist played a jazzy, live rendition of “Tiny Dancer” while shoppers pondered their Lancôme Juicy Tubes. The restaurant was on the store’s top floor, and drenched in what folks at the Consumer Aesthetics Research Institute now call Frasurbane: a portmanteau of the soft, sophisticated urbane aesthetic seen in the ’90s sitcom, Frasier, that was popularized by Gen X, which was still nursing a 1980s aesthetic hangover. 

The restaurant had low, sepia-toned lighting, cloth napkins, and romantic parlor palms — a far cry from the blender-whirring social register of Jamba Juice, or the rushed environment of Panda Express. I loved both of those places. But the Nordstrom Cafe was my first fancy-ish restaurant; it was not a food court, but it was where I realized that a restaurant could be a place to hold court. And I would never have braved the host stand alone (another noticeably absent feature of Jamba Juice) without my mom.

At times, the Nordstrom Cafe felt like an unofficial women’s club. Sure, there were businessmen taking their lunch breaks and buying socks, but the crowd was most often filled with a multigenerational assemblage of moms, daughters, and grandmas. To even access the restaurant in our particular Nordstrom, you had to go through the women’s lingerie department — a blush-inducing signal to my preteen mind: Here’s where real women eat. The odyssey of walking past bras whose cups could fit my entire skull made the upcoming meal feel all the more earned, especially if I was fresh off of shopping for a training bra or underwear with my own mom. 

“Do we have the grilled cheese and tomato soup here?” the waiter would ask with decorum, placing my mom’s and my respective orders on the table (hers, a French dip and an iced tea). The grilled cheese sandwich was sliced at an angle, its scalene triangles stacked on top of each other in a way that resembled Fallingwater, which I first saw in a calendar at a friend’s place, and which made me think, That house looks serious, because it looks like it hurts. The Nordstrom Cafe didn’t coddle kids with a typical kids’ menu. It proposed an architectural sandwich and a creamy, crostini-topped cup of Roma tomato basil soup — a lot of words to chew on as a 12-year-old. I ate them up, thinking that, surely, my waiter must have known that only a person capable of picking out their own underwear could place such an elegant order. 

It turns out I wasn’t the only kid sharing this experience with my mom, and I’m not the only adult reminiscing about it, either. During the 2020 lockdowns, Nordstrom shared the recipe for its beloved tomato soup on Instagram, eliciting a wave of emotional responses. Social media spilled over with hundreds of Instagram videos about it, bloggers duped the soup and continue to do so; TikTok was filled with videos under the search term “Nordstrom Cafe Grilled Cheese Tomato Soup and Mom”; even now, years later, users continue to make declarations like “POV: there’s nothing better than the Nordstrom Cafe with your mom” or “Mom just took me to the Nordstrom Cafe. Everything will be OK.” In the comments of the latter post, one user wrote, “THE TOMATO SOUPPPPOPOPP😩😩❤️❤️❤️😩,” another eulogized, “mine closed and it was the worst thing to happen in my family 💔.” 

Today, there is a crostini-size hole in my heart where the Nordstrom Cafe of my childhood, which shuttered in 2020, used to be. One Reddit user wrote about the location’s closure, “I used to eat clam chowder in the cafe with my grandma in the ’80s. I miss it too.” For millennials, the decline of mall culture has posed a small existential crisis. As Jamie Loftus wrote for Eater in 2023, “As a kid, I entered the mall food court with more than just my mom and 10 clammy dollars. I went in with a framework for what it Meant.” 

I know that somewhere in this mystical, expanding constellation of mother-daughter tomato soup experiences, there is a dry through-line about privilege, and socioeconomic status, and the Santa Barbara, California, location of my hometown’s bygone Nordstrom. But there is such aesthetic specificity to this widespread, mother-daughter Nordstrom Cafe experience, that it’s become almost folkloric. The cafe is a third space of yore, a reminder of the bonding alchemy that mothers and daughters share in the unique but steadily disappearing lunch-in-the-department-store ritual. Sometimes when I sit in a trendy Manhattan restaurant booth, I still think of the stately Nordstrom ones that made me feel important. “The Cafe was never an afterthought but its own destination,” said Becky Mulligan, the VP of Nordstrom’s restaurant operations. “Customers aren’t coming back out of convenience; they’re coming back because it means something to them.” I wouldn’t say my tomato soup initiated me into adulthood, but its basil garnish hinted at the idea that maybe, one day, I could be a person with taste. Just like Mom. 

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from Eater https://ift.tt/Tme42hZ

For years, Quince has been a website that I knew as “that place to get affordable cashmere sweaters.” But as its offerings have expanded further and further, from home goods and luggage to jewelry and perfume, it’s also become a source for diamonds, caviar, and even Dom Perignon. The site has been dabbling in gourmet foods and beverages — and I’ve been curious as to why, and whether it’s a good place to buy, say, Champagne and mushroom coffee.

If you’re new to Quince, the company first launched out of San Francisco in 2020 as a direct-to-consumer (DTC) lifestyle brand, meaning it cut out the middle man, and thus, was able to slash the prices of typically expensive leather bags, linen tablecloths, bamboo sheets, and silk pillowcases. The initial offerings felt focused: simple, versatile apparel and accessories, catering to the person who might need, say, a silk slip dress for an upcoming wedding. (At Ralph Lauren, one might cost $398. At Quince, they’re under $90.) Now, the brand appears to be applying that philosophy to the food space, and started off on an especially luxurious note with wine and Quince label caviar. 

Like most aging millennials, I’ve grown tired of the Temu-fication of, well, everything; inversely, I can’t always justify splurging for a new purse (the gift-with-purchase totes, after all, are right there). I grew up sniffing out estate sales for tin-glazed earthenware ceramic tiles like a truffle pig. I have the same mentality about food and beverages (the best DTC source for vegetables? The farmers market), but it’s a little trickier to thrift something like royal osetra caviar and cabernet, the former of which is being sold at Quince for purportedly 76 percent less than competitors. 

Feeling intrigued and slightly skeptical, I dedicated a week to sampling a smorgasbord of Quince’s stand-out gourmet and specialty items, from mushroom powder coffee to highly rated pinot noirs. Get your caviar spoon ready, and let’s dive in.  

The caviar

I love everything about caviar: the subtle, crisp whiff of the sea; the buttery finish; the singular sensory experience of having a dozen small, black orbs melt in unison on your tongue. For the most part, Quince’s royal osetra caviar delivers on all of these fronts, although I did find it to be less on the nutty side, and more on the buttery-briny side. It paired nicely with eggs, avocado, and (my favorite combination) Bonilla a la Vista’s olive oil-fried potato chips.    

Given that 100 grams of coveted, royal osetra caviar will easily cost you upwards of $200 anywhere else, this is one of Quince’s best hidden gems at $125 a tin. Plus, the tin has stately, giftable packaging that comes with a caviar key and a mother of pearl spoon.   

Rating: 8/10

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The wine

The wine cellar, launched in winter 2025, is the newest addition to Quince’s gourmet lineup. I’m no Frasier Crane, but I beheld an impressive assortment of mostly Napa reds and chardonnays (no amber-colored, skin-contact oranges here), as well as a bottle of 2015 Dom Pérignon Champagne that would run you closer to $300 with shipping elsewhere (but is available for nearly $50 less at Quince). For my money, the best picks are the Tolosa Edna Valley Primera Pinot Noir 2018 (a robust pinot with notes of pomegranate and cherry) at a cost that’s 17 percent less than its competitors; the Kelham Vineyards St. Helena Napa Valley Chardonnay 2022 (this is what I call a picnic chardonnay, because it’s bright and acidic) that goes for a whopping 40 percent less than competing sites; and, my favorite of the bunch, this Kelham Vineyards Oakville Napa Cabernet Sauvignon 2021 that sells for 46 percent less than other retailers, and is the kind of tannin-intense red wine that pairs well with lamb, and makes you feel like a poet by the river Seine after two glasses. 

Finally, don’t sleep on the wine glass selection. They’re hand-blown, as thin as watercolor paper, and make drinking a crisp white feel that much more satisfying. 

Rating: 10/10

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The mushroom coffee

On the wellness end of the spectrum, I was surprised to learn that Quince offers a vast array of collagen powders, electrolyte blends, and lion’s mane mushroom capsules. Next to the caviar, this was the section of the site I was the most curious to try, because, like the caviar, it’s a Quince label product (unlike, say, a bottle of Dom). As a generally overcaffeinated person who loves coffee, I tested out the organic mushroom coffee for a week to see how my mood and energy levels changed. 

Firstly, all of Quince’s supplement powders come with a serving-size scoop, which I found particularly helpful as a lazy, sleepy person who usually consumes most if not all of my wellness and/or caffeinated beverages in the morning (with the exception of a chaotic 4 p.m. cold brew coffee). This mushroom coffee is made with functional (no psychedelics here) mushrooms, L-theanine (which is supposed to promote relaxation), and contains half the caffeine of a standard cup of coffee. Simply add hot water, and stir. 

Some powdered coffees lack a nice froth and a complex aroma, but this one packs both. There’s some Folger’s commercial-worthy froth at first pour, and an earthy, chocolatey aroma with a hint of spice that was vaguely festive, like a holiday coffee blend. Again, this reduced caffeine beverage doesn’t deliver the same crowbar-between-the-eyes aroma or energy boost to me as coffee, but the hint of arabica really pulls its weight by making you feel like you’re about to drink a real, robust cup of coffee. 

The taste was initially less exciting and a bit watery. Once I started adding in a half a spoonful more of the powder and some whole cow’s milk, it became a nice sub for my late-afternoon coffee. With the exception of a day when I was a little hungover, my body felt far less tense and my attention span was a bit more focused at work. I know, I know  — water too wet! Steak too juicy! It might seem like a no-brainer, but I was pleasantly surprised at its effectiveness for weaning me off of a $7 neighborhood cafe latte. 

Rating: 7/10

On the whole, Quince’s foray into gourmet foodstuffs left a pretty good taste in my mouth — once I got over cognitive jump one has to make to buy caviar from the same place that sells you bath mats. 

Learn more about Quince’s gourmet food and wine selection here.

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This excerpt was originally published in Pre Shift, our newsletter for the hospitality industry. Subscribe for more first-person accounts, advice, and interviews.

Everyone needs a convenient, accessible place to socialize. But maintaining a cafe, bar, restaurant, or hybrid space that fits the bill has its challenges. In this three-part series, we’re partnering with Spectrum Business to put a spotlight on third spaces and how their operators make them work.

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I know Dayna Evans from our time as colleagues at Eater, when she was one of the best people in the game writing about baking and the culture around it. (Even before that, I was a big fan of her writing.) She left her role at Eater to pursue baking full-time, turning what she’d started as a cottage bakery in her home in 2022 into the aptly named Downtime Bakery, which opened in December 2024. 

Even before the shop opened in Mount Airy, Philadelphia, Downtime started hosting a series of Bakers’ Hangs, events where anyone with an interest in baking (including professionals) could come swap treats or take a trip to a local mill. I talked to Evans about why doing meetups like this felt important for her bakery.

Pre Shift: Why did you start the Bakers’ Hang series?

Dayna Evans: I started as a cottage baker and baking at home can be an isolating craft in a lot of ways. Obviously, it’s really early mornings. Especially when you’re a one-man show baking at home, you don’t really have access to community in the sense of other bakers as much as you do your customers — the people who are part of the greater picture. When I started in my home, which was around January 2022, I would have questions, or I would be testing something and I wanted to know if an expert thought it was good. I was really looking for an opportunity to meet other people in my city, either professionally or otherwise doing the same thing as me, and get a chance to chat with them.

What are the events like?

The only requirement is that you are, in some form, a baker: Home bakers, professional bakers, anybody who wants to show up, and even people who are baking-curious can come. It’s not ticketed; the only real thing is an RSVP. They’ve all been very different in energy and in terms of who shows up. It’s not just industry folks. It’s not just homemakers. Everyone shows up, which I really appreciate.

I don’t really think you even have to bake something. I encourage this, and often I take my own advice. It’s nice, obviously, if you’re testing something. Especially now that Downtime is open [as a brick-and-mortar], we tend to bring stuff that we have [left over] at the end of the day. It’s really more about conversation and hanging out. I don’t always make something because I’m too tired, so I just want to hang out with people. 

Not every event is at Downtime. How did you decide to host outside of your own space?

We’ve done one at Mighty Bread, Lost Bread, Dead King Bread, Two Persons Coffee, and then one at Downtime. I like living in Philly because no one’s competitive with each other here, like, I think it’s a real ego-free place in a lot of ways. Expanding and connecting with other bakers and other bakeries shows we all are trying to help each other in a way. I think that that’s the sort of larger picture thing with Downtime too: We are a bakery, but we also like other stuff. I think allowing people to see a bakery as more than just the place that you come to get bread really makes people connect to it a lot more.

[I also get to] commiserate with other bakery owners. We hosted one at Lost Bread early this year and it was good to talk to them. We all had had a really slow January, so it was like, “Oh, how are you guys surviving?” 

Downtime also now hosts nighttime events. Why did you decide to do that?

Our bakery is open Thursday through Sunday, which is not a huge number of hours in the scheme of things. Even though we’re all maxed out and working as much as we possibly can, I think that we want to be able to activate the space when it feels like it goes unused. I really think of Downtime as a cinematic universe: It doesn’t feel like it’s just a bakery to me; it’s a real community hub. Because of that, we have a lot of people who have been in our orbit and we’re like, “We should do something with them.” A lot of that [programming] speaks to our interests; every person on staff at the bakery is so much more than just a baker so it allows us this opportunity to expand on the things we’re into.

What will the next Bakers’ Hang entail?

Castle Valley Mill is a mill in Doylestown that is run by some of my favorite people: a family called the Fischers. They supply flour to us, and we’re big fans of the stuff that they do. The mill is on the Neshaminy Creek, and it’s a beautiful setting. I’ve been talking to them about how to get more people who bake in Philly interested and compelled by stone-ground flour and the stuff that they’re doing. They do tours, and we were like, “Well, we could just do a Bakers’ Hang there.” I arranged for this school bus that will leave from Philly in the afternoon, take us to Castle Valley, and then take us back to Philly.

I’ve known the Fischers since even before I ran the bakery, because I would interview them about flour-related stuff. People might not know that much about this sort of stone-ground flour movement, but this is a real hands-on way of getting to understand where things are coming from. [Editor’s note: The next Bakers’ Hang will be on June 28; RSVP here.]

This conversation has been edited and condensed.

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In this episode of Plateworthy, host Nyesha Arrington returns to her hometown for the third and final stop on her California food tour. Her time in Los Angeles kicks off with pastries at Santa Canela in Highland Park. Pastry chef Ellen Ramos shows Arrington how she makes champurrado doughnuts with fresh masa, burnt-vanilla cream-stuffed conchas, and LA-shaped churros, before Arrington sits down for her sweets-filled breakfast.

Next, Arrington takes her dog, Bleu Ginger, for a bike ride along Santa Monica’s Main Street as she makes her way to Augie’s on Main, a restaurant from her mentor, chef Josiah Citrin. She digs into a fried dirty chicken sandwich at the casual spot before heading to the beach. Then, she heads to South Central’s Somerville, where culinary director Geter Atienza shows Arrington how to make collard green lasagna with house-made spinach pasta sheets, which she sits down to enjoy with the co-founders of Somerville, Issa Rae, Ajay Relan, and Yonnie Hangos. They dig into fried chicken sandwiches topped with caviar and a short ribs dish as they discuss how the restaurant and jazz lounge has brought more Angelenos to explore the neighborhood.

Watch the latest episode of Plateworthy to see Arrington taste LA-shaped churros, flavorful fried chicken sandwiches, and a cheese-filled collard greens lasagna.

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In the latest episode of Let’s Do Lunch, celebrity chef José Andrés sits down for a bite at Spanish restaurant Casa Teresa in Washington, D.C. where he savors classic Catalonian dishes made by chef and owner Rubén García, who was mentored by Andrés.

While he waits for his food, Andrés lists iconic D.C. chefs that made significant contributions to the city’s dining scene, such as Nora Pouillon and Patrick O’Connell, as well as old-school restaurants like Bethesda Crab House, before starting his midday meal with seafood and appetizers: Oysters with caviar, anchovies, croquetas, pan con tomate, and jamon. While he eats, Andrés talks about some of his favorite dishes and how tinned seafood is a perfect travel snack. He also talks about traveling to Haiti to feed communities affected by an earthquake with World Central Kitchen, and how he was schooled on how to make beans the Haitian way.

Just as Andrés is being hit with the hard questions (including whether Mexico City or Madrid is a better food city), García brings in fresh fish for Andrés to choose from for his main course. Andrés reminisces about friends he’s lost, including Anthony Bourdain, before diving into the entree.

Andrés continues to chat about World Central Kitchen and its work to feed communities around the world being affected by wars, natural disasters, and general instability, before digging into a Basque-style goat cheese cheesecake. He says his restaurants reflect that same crisis work and his goal is to “create better communities one meal at a time.”

Watch the latest episode of Let’s Do Lunch to see Andrés deliver some hilarious takes on food culture and enjoy Spanish food in D.C.

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Eater has a new cookbook. Eaterland, Recipes and Stories from Across the United States, debuting April 28. To celebrate launch week, we’re sharing a sneak peek from the book that focuses on the Wisconsin Supper Club tradition, written by the author of the book’s Midwestern chapter, Amy Cavanaugh. Learn more about the project here.

To Really Understand Wisconsin, Eat at a Supper Club

Walk into any supper club on a Friday night in Wisconsin, and you’ll find diners sipping brandy old-fashioneds while snacking on relish trays, then tucking into fish fries before finishing the night with minty grasshoppers. The same scene plays out on Saturdays, except with rosy slabs of prime rib taking the place of walleye. It’s an identical tableau all over the state, whether you’re at Benedetti’s Supper Club in Beloit, the Buckhorn Supper Club in Milton, or Ishnala Supper Club in Lake Delton.

Supper clubs have been integral to Wisconsin life since the 1930s. “Many began as dance halls, taverns, roadhouses, and recreation areas,” writes Ron Faiola, author of Wisconsin Supper Clubs: An Old-Fashioned Experience. “By the late 1940s and early 1950s people in the United States enjoyed a higher standard of living, and these former dance halls and taverns were reborn as supper clubs. They became a destination for drinks, food, and entertainment. Supper clubs welcomed everyone, no membership required.”

Their ubiquity throughout the state — there are currently more than 250, per Faiola’s count on his website (wisconsinsupperclubs.com) — means that Wisconsinites are never too far from a club. So, it’s easy to see how these establishments, which offer large portions of good food and friendly service, became woven into Wisconsin’s identity.

To be clear, supper clubs are not cookie-cutter establishments. Every spot offers something unique, whether that’s the gizzard spread on the relish tray at Kropp’s Supper Club in Green Bay or German specialties at Donny’s Glidden Lodge in Sturgeon Bay on Wednesdays.

Sometimes, it’s the location or the design that sets supper clubs apart. The Hobnob in Racine is located right along Lake Michigan, so you can sip your old-fashioned while taking in a view of the lake through the windows behind the bar. Ishnala Supper Club in Lake Delton is set in Mirror Lake State Park, which means if you need to wait for a table, you can do it from an Adirondack chair on the beach (or, you can go on a bar crawl through the establishment’s three different bars).

Enjoy your old-fashioned with a relish tray, a snack platter filled with some combination of cheese spread, crackers, olives, raw veggies, and pickles. You’ll still receive them complimentary at some places. Another club classic is broasted chicken, a purely Wisconsin invention that involves a locally minted machine, which quickly fries and pressure cooks the bird at the same time (the largest Broaster can cook 22 pounds/9.9 kg of chicken in 10 minutes). In addition to chicken, you’ll also find Broasters turning out pressure-fried potato wedges and battered cheese curds in gas stations and convenience stores across the Midwest.

Dessert takes the form of ice cream drinks such as minty Grasshoppers (containing crème de menthe), Brandy Alexanders (combining cognac and crème de cacao), or Pink Squirrels, which get their signature color from crème de noyaux, made from the pits of stone fruits. Generously spiked with booze and crowned with whipped cream, there’s truly no better way to cap off a celebratory supper club evening.

Eaterland was released on April 28. Order it here. Use code EATERBOOKS40 for 40% off.

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From Barcelona’s towering churches and bustling avenues to the sun-drenched beaches and idyllic plazas, it’s obvious why this city captures visitors’ hearts. You can also eat incredibly well here, and often for not very much money — though Barcelona loves a tasting menu and the World’s 50 Best Restaurant list awarded Disfrutar the No. 1 spot last year. Despite Barcelona’s famed cuisine, it’s also easy to have a downright disappointing meal if you settle for any old paella-slinging bar along Les Rambles (known in Spanish as La Rambla) or La Barceloneta. (Tip: If a restaurant has to pay someone to stand outside and hassle pedestrians, the food isn’t worth it.)

Start with some classic tapas and paella (both great but neither entirely Catalan) and be sure to seek out local gems like bittersweet vermouth, seasonal seafood, and homestyle Catalan cuisine. But after writing and revising this list for nearly a decade, I have to insist you don’t overlook the city’s burgeoning global cuisines; save room for Calabrese paninis, Northeast Asian sharing plates with natural wines, towering fried chicken sandwiches, South Indian fish stews, and nose-to-tail yakitori.

We update this list quarterly to make sure it reflects the ever-changing Barcelona dining scene. Our write-ups include insider tips from our experienced writers and editors, as well as a rough range of pricing for each destination — ranging from $ for quick, inexpensive meals with dishes largely under $10 (or the equivalent in euros), to $$$$ for places where entrees exceed $30.

New to the map in April 2026: Parking Pita, a nearly unmarked destination for falafel and shawarma sandwiches in wood-fired pita; the excellent, homey Catalan specialties at La Fonda de Pirencaicas; and Taberna Nardi, an inviting seafood-focused tavern from a celebrated local restaurant group.

Sam Zucker is a freelance writer, photographer, filmmaker, travel Instagrammer, and gastronomic tour guide in Barcelona. He has contributed to Monocle, National Geographic’s “48 Hours” guides, Culture Trip, and Vice Travel, among others.

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In this episode of Plateworthy, host Nyesha Arrington tastes the best pizza and tacos in Sacramento. First, Arrington heads to the Midtown Farmers Market to find culinary inspiration. She spends the morning sampling freshly cooked paella, huge oranges, and peach cobbler a la mode with Thrifty’s ice cream. Then, she heads to Nixtaco, where Monterrey, Mexico-native Patricio Wise serves up chicharron-filled tacos. “This is something special,” Arrington says as she tries an array of tacos and queso fundido.

Arrington’s next stop is Majka Pizzeria and Bakery, where she rolls out pizza dough with chef and owner Alex Sherry. The pizza toppings at Majks change daily and are based around whatever ingredients are available and in-season. This week he’s sprinkling broccoli rabe on the pies and making a simple tagliatelle with Dungeness crab and leeks. “The beautiful thing is being able to showcase the farmers market, that’s what Sacramento does best,” Arrington says as she tries the pizza, commenting on the freshness of the broccoli rabe and San Marzano tomatoes.

Watch the latest episode of Plateworthy to see Arrington taste chicharron-filled tacos, green-laden pizzas, and other fresh dishes from the capital of California.

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A version of this post originally appeared on April 22 in our newsletter Eater Today. Sign up here to receive stories like this in your inbox.

I recently had a longer-than-usual conversation with an old friend whom I keep running into at steakhouses. After brushes at Musso & Frank Grill (twice), Smoke House, and Little Dom’s (a spiritually steakhouse-adjacent Italian restaurant), a pattern became apparent: We both like restaurants with rib-eye, icy martinis, and red leather booths. 

“Why are you always out at steakhouses, dressed like Sharon Stone in Casino?” he asked. 

It’s a good question. Why do I, an analytical, alternative-leaning writer who listens to experimental ambient music and buys organic lettuces at the farmers market every weekend, feel drawn to a setting that unapologetically celebrates power, masculinity, and excess? Why do I want to occasionally make-believe that I’m a millionaire in 1957 (read: a white man with a generous expense account) sinking his teeth into a bloody rib-eye, lit Kent in hand, even if that fantasy isn’t exactly designed for me?

I really do love steak and potatoes, cold vodka, and an excuse to dress up, but that’s not the only answer. In truth, like many people, I’m craving something less tangible. Mired in homesickness for loosely defined “times that felt simpler” as I struggle to keep my morale afloat in a sea of endless doomsday notifications, I find a relief in the escapism of steakhouses and the familiarity of olives on a toothpick, a shrimp cocktail, and a room that could plausibly exist in 1940 or 1980 — somehow able to compartmentalize the experience from its evocation of icky, flagrant displays of wealth and old-timey boys-will-be-boys culture. Still, I can’t help but feel concerned that steakhouses, in all of their glorification of beef and money and nostalgia, have an air of “make America great again” energy. 

I grew up in restaurant booths, surrounded by red meat. My grandfather operated a hofbrau; my father, an Italian restaurant. Even now, cavernous, mahogany-paneled, noisy rooms make me feel like a child in a sticky red leather booth, sitting patiently as large men talked business over me and I watched trays of meat in jus and scalloped potatoes whoosh back and forth from the kitchen to the dining room. When I was in sixth grade, I once ate two entire racks of lamb in one sitting, and my parents nicknamed me “Carnivore.” 

But coming of age really does change us sometimes. When I was 16 and moody and newly obsessed with punk rock and its philosophies, I became a vegetarian, motivated by a deep discomfort with animal suffering and a growing awareness of how power operates between humans and animals, men and women, institutions and individuals. I was influenced by writers like Carol J. Adams, whose work connected meat consumption to broader systems of domination. For years, I didn’t just avoid meat; I felt actively opposed to what it represented. 

My views didn’t feel fringe at the time; plant-based eating was on the rise, and there was a sense — maybe naive, but tangible — that the future would be greener, kinder, and more equitable. In the early 2010s, I worked at a vegan magazine for several years, where we ran multiple stories a week about major meat producers committing to more humane practices, of tech companies developing plant-based steak in labs. The rights of animals, of women, and of other marginalized groups seemed to be steadily and reliably improving. I saw no need for idealizing the past. 

That sense of inevitability has, to put it mildly, eroded. I started eating meat again in 2013 (you only live once, I figured), and a few years later, for reasons that I assume you’re already exhausted by, the mood of America changed. The iconic Bay Area vegan restaurant I revered during my peak millennial-optimism era is closing this month after 31 years of business. Beyond Meat’s stock price is in the pennies. Regressive views have reproliferated, and the idea that progress would move in a straight line now feels almost quaint.

Steakhouses are built for deals, company cards, and people who are, at best, selectively thinking about factory farms — people who want to feel important (or at least adjacent to someone important). If they were truly for everyone, how could they make you feel like a big shot? With their $68 entrees, $22 martinis, and tableside theatrics, they’ve become symbols of a kind of spending power that fewer and fewer people actually have, and of a past that was exclusionary, inequitable, and, for some, outright hostile. 

Even if it wasn’t socially irresponsible to try to revert American society to the way it was many decades ago (make America great again for whom?), it’s financially impossible. America’s economy has seen a dramatic stratification of wealth, with a hollowed-out middle class, stagnated wages, and rampant post-COVID inflation — and no amount of making everyone recite the Pledge of Allegiance four times a day or whatever is going to fix that anytime soon. 

Despite all this, I still feel drawn to a night out at a steakhouse. Not just because I like the food, although I (usually) do. Not just because I enjoy the aesthetics, although, let’s be honest, I really do. (Yes, I do like dressing like Sharon Stone in Casino.) It’s because, increasingly, the experience offers something harder to come by: the illusion of control. My own sense of political powerlessness has made me crave a setting where I’m escorted to my table and get my martini just the way I like it. For the span of an unhurried meal, the world narrows to a series of small, satisfying decisions. 

Of course, the fantasy only works if you don’t look at it too directly — and after a dirty martini and a leisurely, lively table conversation, I’m not really looking at anything too directly. There’s a certain pleasure in the tension of guilt: of knowing something’s bad for you and choosing to do it anyway, whether that’s eating red meat or indulging nostalgia. Knowing that the steakhouse is a caricature of indulgent power-dining and still finding it fun, and even comforting, may be twisted, but it’s certainly not the only pleasure that’s complicated. 

Cigarettes are back. Haven’t you heard? I don’t think it’s a coincidence. You won’t find me in a booth with a Kent (although ask me again if they re-legalize smoking indoors), but at least I can cut into some medium-rare filet mignon and embody a liminal, fleeting alternate reality for a few hours. That is, until the bill comes. 

High Steaks, a deep dive into steakhouse culture, continues across Eater all this week.

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