I love New York City in the summer, especially this past one, but I grew up in the shadow of the Rocky Mountains. I’m in my late 20s, I rock climb, and I live in Brooklyn, so of course I have an upstate New York itinerary for you. My partner’s mom’s partner (yes) has a cabin in Accord, New York, that we’ve been lucky to house sit, and I’ve fully fallen in love with the Catskills. Over the past few months, I’ve been so grateful to escape for a few long weekends among the trees and the birds and the slightly cooler weather of the Hudson Valley.

When I tell people in the city about my trips upstate, they’re often surprised to hear me gush about the restaurants. And while I think you could make all your meals (the bounty at the farm stands and markets make cooking very dreamy up there) and still have a great time, I can also strongly make the case for a dining-focused trip. Here’s where to go.

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Day 1: Friday

If you’re heading up from the city, there are a few transit options (a bus from Port Authority to New Paltz or Kingston, the Metro North to Poughkeepsie, Amtrak to Hudson), but you’ll want a car to get around once you’re in the Catskills. I journey upstate via a car, which we pick up in New Jersey; that means that I get to grab Corner Slice’s massive, pillowy garlic knots as a pre-trip snack. If you find yourself in the area, I recommend you do the same.

Lunch

Stop at Storm King Art Center to take in the outdoor sculptures or catch a concert (I saw Dev Hynes’ ensemble there this summer and it was one of the most beautiful shows I’ve ever been to). I know museum restaurants are better than ever these days, but readers of this newsletter would probably appreciate that you can bring your own food and picnic, so I say pack a lunch. Anything goes; I’ve seen Panda Express from the nearest rest stop in those fields. 

Dinner

Drive a little farther north and you’ll hit New Paltz, your first introduction to the charms of Upstate. Grab dinner at Shorties, a self-described “bar for the whole family” that lives up to the premise with DJs every night and pinball. A kimchi-topped hot dog is my move, but yours could be green pozole stew, togarashi-rubbed wings, or prosciutto- and pepperoncini-topped nachos. For those who are driving, a bonus at this spot is that the N/A drinks are good, with fun ingredients like salted guava juice. If you’re staying for longer than a night or two and planning to cook, stop by the fishmonger Gadaleto’s for all your seafood needs, while you’re in New Paltz. And if you’re planning to climb, you can rent pads from Rock & Snow.

Drinks

I stay in the Accord area, where lodging ranges wildly, from cabin Airbnbs to a souped-up retro motel to the luxury hotel Inness. The latter has a lovely (but pricey) restaurant for a group. Take in the same vibe (and view of the sunset) right outside the restaurant from the outdoor bar, where you can sit on Adirondack chairs around the fire and pretend you’re one of the celebrity guests. For a night-in alternative, grab a bottle of natural wine at Bluebird Wine Shop, which is next to the cutest grocery store, Accord Market — I like to stop in and pick up pie or ice cream for at-home (in-cabin?) dessert and drinks.

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Day 2: Saturday

Lunch

In the morning, grab a coffee and pastry from Black Dot Cafe on your way to a hike at Minnewaska State Park, which has many trail options of varying lengths and levels of difficulty. Alternatively, if you’re a climber, go to the Mohonk Preserve. Both are beautiful, and — crucially for our purposes here — close to a really great German restaurant for lunch. The Mountain Brauhaus is a scene. I’ve never seen the family-owned German restaurant not packed with people, and as soon as you’re inside, you’ll see why. The portions are massive; the dirndl-clad servers are charming and personable; slices of pumpernickel come with most dishes, and I’ve witnessed people try and then subsequently order a loaf to take home — it’s that good. Recount your jaunt in nature over a wienerschnitzel, some spaetzle, a wheat beer with a slice of lemon, and excellent people watching.

A Snack and an Activity

Skate off the schnitzel at Skate Time, a retro roller rink run by the people behind Bjorn Qorn. You’re here to skate, yes, but also to have some pierogies from Helena’s Pierogis (the pierogi shop’s brick-and-mortar location in Kerhonkson is cash-only, so it’s a bonus to me, a serial non-cash-haver, that you can enjoy them here under the glow of popcorn-funded lights). 

Dinner

Westwind Orchard is a staple for me. I was one of those people who didn’t really understand the hype of a good summer tomato until I had a life-changing panzanella here a few years ago. The ambiance here is the main attraction — parents let their children run free in the fields, there’s sometimes salsa dancing and live music, you’re surrounded by apple trees. Still, the food is better than it needs to be and so what you want when you’re on a trip where nature is the focus: fresh, seasonal, and simple. Get the aforementioned panzanella and don’t decide between pizza or pasta; get both. I like the pappardelle and the seasonal pizza is reliably excellent (right now, it’s summer squash and blossoms). Westwind is a cidery, but if you’re like me and not the biggest cider fan, rest assured that there are also classic cocktails highlighting New York ingredients, like a Negroni Sbagliato with cider as the bubbly topper.

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Day 3: Sunday

Breakfast

Head north to Kingston. Have a cortado and a frittata from Village Coffee and Goods, then make your way around the town, which is one of my favorites in the area and a shopping destination for antiques, records, vintage clothing, and books.

Lunch

Rosie General is my favorite all-day cafe. I always get a mortadella sandwich or a chile-crisp-topped egg toast here. Recently, I surveyed the room and realized it seemed like every sandwich had its own dedicated kind of bread (some on English muffins, some on ciabatta, some on baguettes) made in-house; I really admire that level of commitment to detail. I generally prefer an edible souvenir to a trinket, and the shoppy shop-esque pantry of homemade mustards, pickles, infused oils and vinegars is a great place to pick one up.

Afternoon Pit Stops

Many NYC people travel upstate just to go to Stissing House; us included. On the way, we discovered Zabriskie’s Waterfall near the Bard College campus. It’s a swimming hole, but the vibe is more lean against a rock and read. When happy hour comes around, check out C. Cassis. You might associate cassis with old-timey France, but C. Cassis is doing it differently. Here, the blackcurrant liqueur isn’t sticky sweet, and you can enjoy it in fun applications like a piña colada, while learning more about the ingredient from friendly bartenders.

Dinner

Waiting for your table at Stissing House is actually part of the fun, because if you come sans reservation, you’re offered a seat and a drink in a living room-like space with candles and serve-yourself peanuts. I happily sipped a martini there, humming music from The Testament of Ann Lee (it’s very that vibe, honestly), awaiting a dinner of ham and pickles, fish pie, and steak. Skip dessert here (it’s fine, but I have a better plan). Back in the Accord area, hit Cherries Roadside; it’s classic Americana in a way that I have to say speaks to me. There is ice cream, sundaes, and milkshakes, but I always go with vanilla soft-serve — enjoy while marveling at the fact that you didn’t have to wait in one of the absurdly long froyo lines back in the city.

Honorable Mentions (and Where I Want to Hit Next Time

 Harana Market makes some of my favorite Filipino food in the United States; they no longer have a dining room, but watch for pop-ups or takeaway opportunities (or if you have a big enough group, get catering!). Eng’s Chinese in Kingston is a slice of local history; I’ve so far only gotten (great) takeout, but I want to check out its dining room next. I recently had a head cheese sandwich from Cafe Mutton, in Hudson, that rocked my world. And if you are wine-inclined, Kingston Wine Co. sells some of the coolest bottles in the state, and Mirador, also in Kingston, is a great spot for sherry and pintxos. I’m also dying to check out the Oaxacan food scene in Poughkeepsie.

There are too many places to fit in one weekend, so I made you a list of more favorites in the Eater app. Follow me for more of my curated picks from the Northeast. (Subscribe to our travel newsletter, too!)

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You can tell a lot about someone by the way they talk about ranch dressing. Do they express Midwestern passion for the condiment, or coastal-elite distaste? Do they limit its usage to crisp iceberg lettuce salads, or do they become a jester of pairings, drizzling the sauce over steak, pasta, and even cereal?

“I love ranch, but I’m also one of those nostalgic [kids] of the 1990s,” says chef McKenna Lelah of the Los Angeles Korean Italian restaurant Lapaba, where the yuzu kosho ranch that accompanies the fried chicken has been quickly gaining fervent fans. “I almost removed ranch from the menu after [hosting] a friends and family night,” she laughs, “because some of my colleagues weren’t sure if it made sense on the menu. But we kept it, and it’s been a hit. Kismet.” There are classic ranch elements — such as dill — in Lapaba’s ranch, which is served alongside its lollipopped fried chicken wings, but it’s made with creme fraiche for extra tang, yuzu juice for the acid component, and yuzu kosho for a hit of citrusy heat. “When I’m eating ranch,” says Lelah, “I’m mostly using the food as a vehicle to get the ranch to my mouth, you know? But I also don’t see it as a condiment. I see it as a main.” 

Lelah’s not alone. Across the country, chefs have been transforming ranch from an underdog condiment to a marquee menu item — often, one with a culturally specific spin or deeply personal flair. At Bistro Amasa in Santa Barbara, California, chef Julian Martinez consistently serves dishes that riff on Y2K comfort and snack food classics; at the moment, that includes a Cool Ranch Dorito-inspired crudo in which delicate cuts of hamachi are dotted around a buttermilk-lime creme lake with garlic oil, masa, cilantro, and crunchy serrano pepper slices. As Eater reported in 2024, creative takes on ranch have been popping up all over the Bay Area, from San Francisco seafood destination Popi’s Oysterette’s “fancy ranch” (dill, chives, rice vinegar, and black pepper) to the wasabi ranch at Prubechu, the city’s only Chamorro restaurant. Meanwhile, at the Thai restaurant Crispy Gai in Portland, Maine, diners can dunk their fried chicken into Nam Jim Seafood Ranch sauce, which has the creamy, buttermilk base of classic ranch, but the kick of garlic, green chile, lime juice, fish sauce, and cilantro in a nod to traditional nam jim seafood sauce. 

Ranch dressing was first invented in 1954 by a contractor named Steve Henson, with the original recipe consisting of buttermilk, mayonnaise, and various herbs and seasonings. Initially, Henson served the dressing to his workers to help liven up their salads; as its popularity soared, he began serving it out of a rustic, 1800s-stagecoach-turned-restaurant called Cold Spring Tavern in the Santa Ynez mountains of California, where it’s still served to this day. Early DIY packets of the sauce, which were whipped up at Henson’s Hidden Valley Ranch (yes, a real place), were marketed as a party dip — a foreshadowing detail of its crowd-pleasing talents. 

With the exception of some competition from Italian dressing in the 1990s, ranch’s popularity has been consistent ever since, and experienced an upswing post-COVID lockdowns. According to the consumer research firm Mintel, condiment consumption went up in the pandemic — a time, if ever there was one, for shelf-stable products to shine — and simply never went back down. The current Rancheissance rides that wave, alongside that of the Great Chickening, a term writer Bettina Makalintal coined last year for diners’ increased appetite for comfort foods such as rotisserie chicken and chicken tenders, which, of course, beg to be dipped in ranch. One of New York City’s buzziest reservations this summer has been at Cleo Downtown, a rotisserie-chicken-focused restaurant, and the latest endeavour from the co-owners of Montague Diner and Margot (the latter of which famously hosted a Charli XCX afterparty). The Lebanese-inspired restaurant serves up twists on comfort food such as cornbread, harissa honey butter, and, notably, a labneh ranch.  

Then came the 2026 FIFA World Cup, which gave ranch a refreshed international stage. Hype around the condiment was rekindled amid a general increase of interest in American food and cultural cliches; amongst them, the German soccer fan who went viral for his Waffle House experience (“Great food, great prices, and friendly staff. 10/10, we will be coming back”), and the Scottish tourist who vlogged about the perplexing joys of cream soda. Most of all, however, there were the my-suitcase-overfloweth-with-ranch videos. Interestingly, the BBC called the bluff on the supposedly organic rise of the tourist ranch obsession, reporting that the virality of the condiment was ballooned by users harvesting and reposting older ranch videos. Still, that virality had material consequences: Kraft created special TSA-compliant mini bottles of Hidden Valley Ranch, and Buffalo Wild Wings launched Poppin’ Ranch, a Pop Rocks-style candy meant to recreate the sensation of crispy, ranch-covered wings. Suddenly, the condiment wasn’t just raising eyebrows on personality-heavy menus, but making headlines in major news outlets that declared “ranch won” the summer. 

Nonetheless, ranch remains a culinary punching bag. Ranch consumers on Reddit talk about its potential as an economic flavor savior, albeit with visible embarrassment; “It goes with everything savory and helps to make up for the complete lack of flavor that most foods have,” one user responds to another in this post who questions their taste in food, adding, “If I weren’t broke…” In another Reddit post, a user writes, “I have a thing called ‘dressing theory’ where I can predict people based on their preferred dressings. In my ‘studies’ ranch users are base-line people.”

Lelah thinks the enduring duality of ranch’s reputation can be explained two-fold, and brings up the fact that she grew up in a house where some condiments were simply on the table every night, regardless of what was being served. “As a chef,” she says, “you want to [innovate], and you can deal with a lot of insecurity. But nostalgia is important. What people feel tied to is important.” For many people, ranch clearly makes eating more enjoyable. Easy. Perhaps the admission to loving that ease has always been the problem, especially in a country with foundations in a morally-imbued, self-flagellating Calvinist work ethic. 

“There’s a weird shame around ranch,” Lelah says, “But, ultimately, you don’t really have anything worth keeping on your menu unless it resonates with your diners, right? That’s the whole basis of the restaurant business. Of why we do it at all.” 

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All this week, the Eater Today newsletter is dedicated to editor Hot Takes, a way to release the pressure valve of crankiness that comes with sweating your way through the end of summer. This story was previously published as part of that series. Subscribe to Eater Today to see more of our editors’ boldest opinions about dining culture writ large.

Filtered tap. Please, just bring filtered tap. 

More and more often, my meal — even at ostensibly casual restaurants — begins not only with an attempted upsell, but with a question I’ve come to dread because of the weird stigma attached to my inevitable response. 

You sit. Your server materializes. The question arrives: “Still or sparkling?” A beat. “Or filtered tap?” 

Ninety-nine percent of the time, my fellow diners and I want filtered tap. We do not want to pay $11 for Evian, which tastes worse than filtered tap in most major cities (I’ve always thought it tastes vaguely like water from a hotel pool) and reaches room temperature at an alarming rate, and should one of us yearn for a bottle of Pellegrino, we’re well aware that it can be summoned at any point during the meal. But it’s the framing of the ask that troubles me, suggesting that filtered tap is the inferior, lowly choice, like I’ve asked the server to go out back and fill our glasses with a hose in the alley. (Cheers to Khushbu Shah — cookbook author, Eater reporter, and former Food & Wine restaurant editor — who named her newsletter Tap Is Fine!; a perfect name, and I am jealous.)

It’s a strange way to begin an experience ostensibly centered on hospitality. Before I’ve had a chance to look at the menu, order a guava mezcal margarita, or even fully settle into my chair, I’m being asked whether I’d like to turn the most basic necessity on the table into a line item on the bill. Restaurants have plenty of opportunities to sell me things — that is, fundamentally, why I’m there — but surely the first sip of water can remain outside the machinery of the upsell.

The growing prevalence of this question feels suspiciously like we are wriggling under the thumb of Big Sparkling Water. While I occasionally partake in a Spindrift, I have not personally fallen victim to the seltzer fixation sweeping the nation, but I see the squeeze of its fizzy grip. One of my former colleagues told me that he drank a case of La Croix every single day. While it’s hard to make a case that drinking lots of sparkling water is bad, aside from maybe resulting in a lot of gassy people who have to keep an eye on their dental enamel, the mania for it irks me.

Admittedly, some of my annoyance may come from the fact that I’m bothered by people who think they’re above tap water. A Brita in the kitchen? Great. At home, I exclusively drink the filtered tap from my fridge. But about a decade ago, I lived with a friend who would drink only Smartwater, which she insisted had a preferable taste over tap and better nutritional value. Our tiny Brooklyn apartment’s garbage can filled rapidly with empty plastic bottles day after day, and she did not seem especially interested in taking out the trash more frequently as a consequence. Frankly, after a harrowing incident in which I was attacked by rats near our dumpster, neither was I. Between the single-use plastic and her unwavering (and unsubstantiated) belief in bottled water’s superiority, Smartwater became a persistent source of tension in our household. In America, most tap water is fine. In New York City, it’s basically the nectar of the gods. In Los Angeles, its reputation, which I find accurate, is that it is sometimes unpleasant straight from the tap (although I was surprised to find that a couple of decades ago, it used to win awards for its flavor) — but that is what the filter is for.

Here is my radical proposal: Just bring filtered tap, ideally with ice (this isn’t Europe!). For the bottle experience, put a carafe on the table, fill everyone’s glasses, and let us begin our evening without making hydration our first purchasing decision. If water conservation is a major concern, as it is in some regions, ask simply, “Would you like some water?” without any implication that it should be bottled. List mineral and sparkling water options on the menu with their respective prices. 

Nobody is deprived of Pellegrino. Nobody is being forced to drink municipal Ninja Turtle sewer water — I am definitely an advocate of the filter. And nobody has to sheepishly say “tap is fine” with any ounce of embarrassment, regardless of the restaurant’s level of prestige. If you are part of the seltzer cabal, order it as you would any other beverage. 

In fact, filtered tap isn’t merely fine. Modern plumbing and filtration are wonders of civilization: I turn on a faucet and clean, potable, decent-tasting water comes out. Free us from the water upsell. I would be delighted to have filtered tap.

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All this week, the Eater Today newsletter is dedicated to editor Hot Takes, a way to release the pressure valve of crankiness that comes with sweating your way through the end of summer. This story was previously published as part of that series. Subscribe to Eater Today to see more of our editors’ boldest opinions about dining culture writ large.

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I love the unspoken rules around dining out; admittedly, even more so when they make me feel like I’m earning a gold star for good decorum. I like dressing up for the occasion; I like waiting obediently at the host stand (See? I’m not pushy like other diners); and I enjoy the martyrdom role of reorganizing the table’s contents as the meal unfolds (distributing food if we’re sharing small plates, consolidating finished plates, pouring carafes). 

My adherence to a certain kind of behavior around the rituals of dining, however, goes out the window when it comes to seating. Specifically, when the option arises for one kind of seating arrangement that’s usually deemed corny: dining side by side.  

“Oh, so you’re side-by-side people” a server at a cocktail bar recently remarked when my partner and I opted to sit not across from each other, but next to each other at our table. Maybe the observation was harmless enough, but it scratched at the unspoken shame around the act of sitting next to your dining companion, whether romantic or platonic. Naysayers may call it cringe, or perhaps even codependent dining — a perceived act of PDA, one or two tiers short of fully making out at the bar (which — surprise! — I am also a fan of). 

To the haters, I’d ask: Haven’t you ever given in to the corniness of love? And not just love with a person, but with the liberating idea that maybe you shouldn’t care what other people think (or how they sit, for that matter), really, and that you deserve to imbue the most routine of dinners with the same romantic energy as a couple feeding each other spaghetti alle vongole on a beach in Positano?

I recently had the pleasure of checking out Cynthia, a seasonal tasting-menu restaurant in New York City’s West Village, where I was seated at a side-by-side table with my Eater colleague Nadia Chaudhury. The settee was plush, the couch and table just big enough for two, and chic curtains were suspended from the ceiling to half-obscure the sides of the table for even more privacy. “My partner and I try to sit side by side in any restaurant we can,” Cynthia’s founder and general manager told me by email about the design choice, “so it was really a merge of the constraints of the space, while also trying to build the perfect table that I would want to sit at […] for those unique little cubbies [in the restaurant’s layout].”    

To my surprise, a good number of my own colleagues also stood up for side-by-side dining when I surfaced the topic in Slack (“Is it really that corny?”). We talked about how nice it is to actually be able to hear your friend in a loud restaurant without shouting. Eater editor-in-chief Stephanie Wu also brought up the fact that your dining companion (meaning: their H&R Block 2009 Team Building Picnic T-shirt) also won’t be in the background of any food pictures, if you’re sitting next to each other and are the type to document each dish.  

Somewhere in all of this, I’m convinced that the steely, buttoned-up pilgrim roots of this country are to blame for the side-by-side shame, because this certainly isn’t as big of a taboo for the French, for example. When I sit next to my friend or partner at a restaurant, I am no longer a one-woman island of propriety. I feel more like part of a team, like the two old man Muppets that serve as the Greek chorus for every Muppet movie. I’m having dinner, but most of all, I’m in cahoots. And isn’t that better?

In the words of Coolio, “Life is too short to not have fun; we are only here for a short time compared to the sun and the moon and all that.”

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All this week, the Eater Today newsletter is dedicated to editor Hot Takes, a way to release the pressure valve of crankiness that comes with sweating your way through the end of summer. This story was previously published as part of that series. Subscribe to Eater Today to see more of our editors’ boldest opinions about dining culture writ large.

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There was a time, long before we’d ever conceived of the phrase “shoppy shop,” when I loved nothing more than going to a specialty grocery store. “Bougie grocery store” was a phrase I said with love and not an ounce of judgment. I loved the delightfully corny graphic design of the products on shelves at little chef-beloved markets, the rare locations where one could reliably find locally made, small-batch, niche products that weren’t yet available elsewhere.

I went to Eataly when bored, trusting that I’d find something new there to drum up some impulses of desire and inspiration; even if I didn’t buy anything, I could be shaken from the doldrums of daily life by picking up a small piece of obscure cheese, a jar of something I’d never seen in a jar before, or a fancy bag of chips. I loved the curiosity these shelves inspired; they felt like capsules of the world. Here were products I’d never seen at the regular grocery store and which transported me into a vision of a different self — one more learned, more cultured even without traveling, more artistic simply by virtue of having an interesting ingredient to play with.

Something has happened. Today, I enter fancy grocery stores — a category that now seems larger and easier to find than ever — and, often, I feel something closer to disdain, sometimes even going as far as legitimate disgust. In the place of earnest specialty shops with heart and character (and lovingly ugly Comic Sans labels) is a slew of ripoff Erewhons: sleek, streamlined, and moneyed. What I take issue with is less the “shoppy shops” than the “luxury grocers.” They sell premade food and precut vegetables at prices that have prompted me to audibly gasp. Their shelves are a tasteslopped barrage of buzzword-y products like “microplastic-free salt” and tallow-fried tortilla chips.

The fancy grocery stores in whose aisles I’ve found respite in the past felt like places for food lovers, where burly, bearded cheesemongers sang the praises of ultra-funky washed-rinds as though they didn’t smell like actual feet. What I see on these postmodern shelves, though, is food less driven by curiosity and creativity than by fear. Fancy grocery stores have become a nexus for laundering conservative ideology under the compelling guise of pantry goods that are nice to look at. Sourcing, here, seems to matter more for the granularity of what a product does not include (i.e., seed oils), rather than any real investment in agriculture or farmers or local economies; the value of the small farm becomes the fact that it’s more likely to sell raw milk.

These grocery stores feel winnowed of passion and even self-involvement. They are places where a handful of Brussels sprouts, cut for you and placed into plastic, costs $17, for people who see food primarily as a form of “optimization,” social status, or table decor for a TikTok Day in My Life. I want food to feel fun, hedonistic, and pleasurable, not fraught and neurotic in the way these stores inspire. They feel like one-stop shops for orthorexia. Fancy grocery stores and I now feel like a couple who have been together forever but who inch further away from each other in the bed at night. Our lived experiences, future goals, and senses of self have diverged too much. 

How else is a food lover supposed to feel when fancy grocery stores have become, primarily, places for people with means but not very much taste nor sense — that “microplastic-free” salt literally has plastic packaging — to flex their ludicrous levels of disposable income? The fancy grocery store today is a place for $32 ice and $45-per-pound tuna salad from a cold case. 

Not to be dramatic, but I think there is some moral rot involved in normalizing this cultural shift, especially when many Americans are, simultaneously, simply buying fewer groceries because they can no longer afford to buy as much as they once did. Of course, as with buying a Birkin, the exclusivity is the point; we live in a world that has seen $250-a-jar, limited-edition celebrity honey, single-sourced from the gardens of Will Ferrell or Ai Weiwei.

The funny but also illuminating thing here is that the Erewhonification of fancy grocery stores comes at the same time as the democratization of Whole Foods. For so long and for so many people, the latter once represented the pinnacle of unnecessarily luxurious grocery store spending. While this shift is obviously a factor of the company’s new Amazon ownership (and certainly the quality of both the goods on offer and the overall shopping experience has suffered because of that), there is something jarring about the fact that the store once nicknamed “Whole Paycheck” now offers the cheapest everyday grocery option near me (in New York City) in multiple categories. The whole situation feels sinister, as though people with ample means needed a more exclusive option as a result of Whole Foods having become “too accessible.” 

I do not hate Erewhon. For that matter, I have found myself transfixed in its aisles, wondering how water could become $12, and inevitably fantasizing about the dewy, optimized, supplemented self that might be brought about by developing an Erewon-enabled kelp noodle and cold-pressed juice habit. I think fondly of the vacation I took to Los Angeles, when, slurping a Hailey Bieber smoothie and feeling entranced by its hyper-concentrated strawberry flavor, I remarked to my husband, “I don’t know, maybe $21 for a smoothie isn’t that ridiculous, when that’s just what cocktails cost, and those are bad for you.” 

I understand the lure, but I also want to resist its ubiquity. Let Erewhon be Erewhon. Can’t everywhere else just be normal? 

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We’re excited to invite you to Eater Off Menu, a night dedicated to tasting what’s trending and what’s next in food and drink at our biggest Los Angeles event ever. From the current British food invasion and steakhouse boom to Korean salt bread, tinned vegetables, attention-grabbing pancakes, and loaded spice bags, the event translates Eater’s tastemaking, trendspotting, and reporting into an unforgettable, had-to-be-there night of bites and experiences from the biggest names in dining.

Now in its second year, Off Menu brings together the chefs, restaurants, and bars at the forefront of the culinary conversation. Guests can expect:

• Steak house riffs from James Beard Award winner Dave Beran and team at Pasjoli
• Mariscos from the always swarmed, Michelin-loved Holbox
• Punch-approved cocktails from Thunderbolt and Night on Earth
• The longest sheet cake you’ve ever seen from Hannah Ziskin of Quarter Sheets 
• A one-night-only Caribbean creation from chef Gregory Gourdet of Portland’s Kann
• Internet-famous ricotta pancakes from Café Telegrama
• British revival dishes from New York’s pub-inspired hotspot Dean’s
• Plus many more big names, exclusive dishes, and special surprises

Off Menu takes place at the century-old, iconic Tam O’Shanter restaurant, where guests will get the chance to explore the storied landmark’s meandering rooms and patios like never before, with hidden surprises behind every corner. In the garden and atrium, Cathay Pacific will present a gateway to Asia where guests will enjoy yakitori from Sumibiyakitori Kidori, Peking duck from Ji Rong, and flutes of champagne.

It all goes down on Saturday, September 19, at 6 p.m. in the legendary Tam O’Shanter. Tickets start at $125 and include access to all of the dishes and drinks. All ticket proceeds go to World Central Kitchen.

We look forward to seeing you there! 

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In Los Angeles, Tea at Shiloh describes itself as a “late night teahouse.” Here, visitors can reserve slots from 7 to 11 p.m. to sip unlimited amounts of tea — at this hour, all herbal, with blends made by each day’s staff — and sprawl out in nooks of plush cushions, in a warmly lit loft with tall ceilings and exposed brick, while jazz musicians play in a corner. “I was looking for soft spaces in the evening,” says founder Shiloh Enoki, who opened the eponymous teahouse in 2022. 

Enoki previously worked in the music industry, and her experience with nightlife was often loud and centered on the more performative aspects of dating (“being perceived by guys,” she says). For her new venture, “All I wanted to do was drink tea, listen to jazz, be cozy, and still have the opportunity to meet strangers.” Tea felt like a conduit to an alternative space. While coffee shops tend to encourage a practice of grab and go, or of work or hustle culture, “that’s not the energy of tea,” according to Enoki. “Tea is like, I’m gonna sit here for hours and I’m gonna have a deep conversation with the person sitting across from me, and that’s so rare in our culture.”

Despite tea’s astounding popularity globally, the United States has long lagged behind many other countries when it comes to tea consumption, and that conception of tea has mostly been limited to iced black tea. This, however, appears to be changing, with the U.S. importing far more tea — in the hundreds of millions of dollars — this decade than it did 30 years ago, with millennials in particular the most likely to be tea drinkers. Matcha is, obviously, everywhere; according to the New Consumer, it usurped chai as the leading specialty tea drink in cafes. A lot more tea, it seems, is about to follow, as new tea-focused businesses sprout up across the country and as tea sees increased applications as a flavor element in food, desserts, and cocktails in addition to its consumption as a standalone drink.

Across the country, teahouses with a similar ethos to Enoki’s are catering to the desire for another kind of space: one that feels slower and more intentional than the average coffee shop, and which offers a different experience than yet another restaurant or high-end cocktail bar. In July, “tea salon” Han Cha opened in Chicago, serving a selection of nine teas from Chicago-based tea company Spirit in the format of British high tea. Over the course of the two-hour-long booking, guests might sip Taiwanese black tea with notes of quince and orange blossom alongside bites of English cheddar and Korean-style quick pickles, or Thai white tea with Japanese curry pimento cheese sandwiches. 

Heiji Black, who partnered with artist Theaster Gates (in whose Stony Island Arts Bank building the concept is located) on the venture, is compelled by the way tea “makes people slow down and savor the experience.” She cites the teahouses she grew up going to in Korea, which were “really about being social and meeting with people and connecting with them,” as inspiration for Han Cha. 

At Tea at Shiloh, Enoki also tries to emphasize being in the moment. While the cafe welcomes co-working, especially during the day, she says she wanted to design the experience at night such that people “don’t want to be on their laptop or their phone.” Rather than enforce a hard no-laptop policy, Tea at Shiloh offers other things for people to do with their hands, like games, clay, and watercolors. The dim lighting and communal seating also offer “subtle cues” that the space, at night, isn’t a place for being lost in a screen, she explains.

Even teahouses that don’t serve matcha, like Tea at Shiloh, cite its importance in the current teahouse moment. In May, the artist Juno Shen opened Soft Hours, a teahouse in Manhattan’s Chinatown. (A laptop-free space, it draws inspiration from the Song dynasty, which Shen describes as a “culturally rich era” in which scholars “built rituals around slowing down and shifting your attention.”) “Matcha and boba have done something really important in making tea culture relevant to a younger generation, and I think we’re reaching a point where people are asking, What else is there?” Shen says. At Soft Hours, there is no matcha whisked in front of you, poised for a TikTok video. Likewise, “we don’t do boba; we don’t do cold foam. We moved away from all the performance that a trendy tea place would have.” 

Instead, Shen’s menu hews toward a selection of Chinese teas: streamlined but still showing range. There’s green tea fragrant with jasmine; two kinds of oolong, one oxidized in a way that gives it notes of plum and the other roasted over charcoal until it evokes toasted nuts; black tea with a honey-like body; and a deeply woodsy fermented pu’erh. Perhaps the main concession to trends is that every tea can be ordered as an iced latte as well, which Shen considers a way for people to “softly get introduced” to tea. “I’m not presenting something that’s extremely traditional, so I think I’m just the next step of [people] exploring a little bit more about tea,” Shen says. “I think the next stage of tea culture in America should move beyond individual ingredients becoming trendy [and into] the understanding of tea as this incredibly diverse seasonal category.”

Tian Tea House opened in Kansas City, Missouri, in late 2025. Matcha drinks are far and away the most popular, according to co-owner Saranya Hubbard. “I really don’t have to advertise anything that much — it already sells itself,” she says. But similarly to Shen, Hubbard, who grew up in Thailand surrounded by the tea culture in Bangkok’s Chinatown, sees her teahouse as an opportunity to showcase the wider variety of Asian tea culture. Tian brews and offers classes on Chinese gongfu tea and serves lesser-known Thai tea, including one made with hibiscus and bael (a fruit that’s sometimes called golden apple or stone apple). To make the most of the space, the teahouse turns into Moon, a cocktail bar, at night. Tea bridges the gap between the two concepts: There are highballs infused with tea and whisky drinks made with matcha.

Further proof of tea’s rising moment can be found in Heytea’s current expansion across the United States. The Chinese chain got global attention when it popularized cheese tea in the late 2010s, but it didn’t enter the U.S. market until 2023, when it opened its first store in NYC; now, it has more than 40 locations nationwide. With drinks like milk tea boba, fruit teas with inclusions, and black teas finished with fluffy toppings, the chain sits at the intersection of the growing cultural fixations on bubble tea, matcha, and highly customized specialty beverages of all kinds, including coffee and dirty soda. The chain describes itself as offering “new-style” tea, which senior PR manager Yinnan Shen explains to mean “experimenting a lot with what tea can become.” Some of its beverages, Shen says, take the approach of crafting a cocktail: What botanics can be added to the drink? What layers of texture and flavor? McDonald’s Sweet Tea this is not.

In June, Heytea also opened the first U.S. location of its Teabar offshoot. The concept — which serves dine-in only pots of tea as well as tea ice cream and elaborate beverages like jasmine milk tea topped with a “matcha cloud” — rapidly drew massive crowds. Unlike Heytea shops, which offer a more grab-and-go feel, Teabar was, like some of those independent teahouses, intended to be more of a place to slow down. Together, the interest in Teabar in addition to the original Heytea concept, represent what Shen calls tea’s “continued evolution.” “What Heytea is trying to do is find the most accurate contemporary interpretation of people’s needs around tea,” she says. That seems especially pertinent in the context of the U.S., where the tea culture is nascent compared to China. 

Now, according to Nethra Rajendran, a beverage experience developer at Oatly, black tea, jasmine, and oolong are starting to “re-emerge in new formats,” particularly in mainstream chains. Instead of boba being the medium for these flavors, they’re increasingly popping up as part of the growing “refresher” category,” she explains.

Of course, the interest in tea is no longer limited to the teahouse or tea bar alone. “We can see a very real application of tea beyond a [drink] base in the 2025 resurgence of Earl Grey,” wrote Rajendran, noting the popularity of Earl Grey syrups and creamtops for use in matcha and coffee drinks. Tea is no longer a standalone drink, but, increasingly, a freeform flavor element. When NYC’s ambitious new soft serve shop Unnecessary opened this summer, it launched with a “not-so-plain vanilla,” enriched with osmanthus oolong. Oolong also appears as the grounding basenote of its watermelon-mint flavor, which it developed to be more refreshing than what people might expect from typical milk tea.

The argument has been made that we, as modern society, are on a hedonistic hunt for more flavors, our tastebuds “spoiled” by the glut of “maple-matcha-blackberry-thyme-yuzu-miso-caramel everything.” Every drink is involved in a way that only the early days of the Starbucks Frappuccino could have foretold; every dish is a referential mashup of a handful of other dishes or other cultural fascinations. Perhaps tea, with its global breadth barely tapped in the U.S., can provide further flavors to mine. Nearly every culture has a tea to explore, Rajendran adds: the osmanthus and oolong of East Asia, the masala chai and Assam teas of South Asia, the rooibos and kineliba of Africa, the hibiscus in the Caribbean and Latin America, the sweet tea of the American South.

Tea has been around for thousands of years, but perhaps we’ve yet to see how far it can continue to go. As Heytea’s Shen says, “Tea is a living culture, and living culture changes.”

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There are two types of biopics: those that unconventionally show, and those that exhaustively tell. Thank goodness that Tony, the highly anticipated A24 biopic about the late Anthony Bourdain, takes the former route. “When we are writing a biopic,” screenwriter Todd Bartels told me, “[co-writer Lou Howe and I] are allergic to cradle-to-grave narratives. We like to pick a window on someone’s life that serves as a microcosm for their longer journey.” In this instance, that window is the summer of 1975, when a young Tony first cuts his chops in a Provincetown, Massachusetts, kitchen. “[It’s] more a movie about the relatable arc of knowing who you want to be but not quite knowing how to get there and raging against that,” writes Eater’s Bettina Makalintal in her review of the film, and “it happens to be a movie about someone we all loved.” 

Then again, successfully pitching a Bourdain biopic to his estate was always going to be a big swing. I spoke with Todd Bartels and Lou Howe about what made that swing possible (for one: bringing on Kimberly Witherspoon, Bourdain’s literary agent and friend, as an executive producer); which cast member demonstrated the best culinary chops; and who they could imagine playing an older, more seasoned Anthony Bourdain. 

Eater: How did you strike the balance between making a movie for the passionate Anthony Bourdain fans, and viewers who may know very little about him? 

Lou Howe: I was anxious about that [laughs], especially at the very beginning. But [we] just [tried] to make a good movie, and hope that the entertainment factor and emotional engagement hits the target well enough. We started this whole process as fans, so in that way we felt relatively comfortable servicing fellow fans. You want to write a good story that people can plug into no matter who the character is. Of course, there are some Kitchen Confidential Easter eggs. 

Such as? 

LH: The bride story, the time he picked up a hot pan and [naively] asked for burn cream…

How did you manage to tap into the emotional, and not just factual, truths of Bourdain’s story? 

Todd Bartels: As [Lou] mentions, when we work on a biopic we’re very allergic to cradle-to-grave narratives. We prefer to focus on a window in someone’s life. The biography written by Laurie Woolever, who was Bourdain’s longtime assistant and collaborator, was essential at helping us answer questions like, How did this person “in need of a good ass kicking” — as Bourdain famously wrote about himself as a young man — become this enlightened figure for so many people? He wrote that he treated the world like his ashtray, that he was narcissistic and insufferable. How do you go from little shit to guru? 

How did you gain the trust of Bourdain’s estate? 

LH: That was a multistep process. We knew we had to go to the estate first, and our executive producer, Emily Rose — who is also a big Bourdain fan — chased down Kimberly Witherspoon, Bourdain’s literary agent and someone who helped build his career as a writer. Witherspoon and Ottavia Busia-Bourdain are the executors of the estate, and [Rose] was finally, after much chasing, able to get us a meeting with them. 

What was the elevator pitch?

LH: That it would be a love letter: a Provincetown summer coming-of-age story that ends in a clambake. [Witherspoon and Busia-Bourdain] were kind of like, “Well, that’s different from what we’ve been getting pitched,” which was a lot of stuff focusing on his later years, and trying to understand his death. We rejected that consciously. They liked that idea, but basically said, “Prove it,” so we then went back to them when we had a script, and A24 involved, and [co-writer and director] Matt Johnson and Dominic Sessa; those two kind of came on board as a team. [Witherspoon] also came on board as an executive producer and was very creatively involved throughout everything.  

Was anyone else considered to play Bourdain? 

LH: It was always Dom. 

Who do you think could play an older version of Bourdain?

TB: That’s such a fun thing to think about, and no one has asked us that yet. I have two thoughts, amongst many, but a friend once suggested Bobby Cannavale. I can see it. 

LH: And [Cannavale] would really have the voice down. 

TB: Yes, but then another friend — and I love this [casting] even more, suggested Eric Bogosian. 

Kim Witherspoon knew Bourdain so well. How did her input impact the film? 

TB: She’s really one of the keepers of his legacy, and would help us to gut-check these moments where we’d be like, “Okay, does this feel like your friend?” We were always surprised at how she wanted us to get even darker. She’d say, “No, don’t make him so nice. [At this stage] he was a punk.” We were showing the devil and angel on his shoulder, as represented respectively by the characters Sal, who was played by Leo Woodall, and Ciro, the chef played by Antonio Banderas. She insisted that we really not sanitize that [journey].  

LH: She didn’t want him to look like the innocent little victim of bad influences. The whole idea of having Eric Ripert make a cameo was also her idea. 

What was Eric Ripert like on set? That must have been emotional. 

TB: Well, Ripert is a Buddhist, always wearing his mala beads, and was extremely humble and just curious about the acting process. At no point was he swaggering around like the grand chef from Le Bernardin that he is [laughs].  

LH: It was such an honor. With him and [Witherspoon] being involved, it really just felt like we had the people who loved him honoring him the right way. 

Can you tell me more about the on-set food logistics? 

TB: Christine Tobin was our food culinary consultant, and was there every day making all the food in a little shack behind the kitchen. I think Dom [Sessa] ate like, eight lobster rolls at a time [laughs]. Leo Woodall also became unbelievable at shucking an oyster. He made it look effortless, which is also such an important aspect of his character. 

LH: Antonio [Banderas] is also a restaurateur. Leo [Woodall] and Dom [Sessa] trained beforehand in kitchens, but [Banderas] didn’t need any help. In fact, during a lot of scenes, he’s actually off to the side making paella. 

Wait, Antonio Banderas was literally just always making paella on set? 

LH: Yeah! Incredible, right? He just loves to do it — which, again, was also so perfect for his role as the chef as well. 

Were there any other scenes or moments you would have loved to show in the movie? 

LH: I have one that comes to mind that was never shot. Bourdain’s favorite hot dog stand is this spot called Hiram’s in Fort Lee, New Jersey, and in earlier drafts of the script we see him head to this place — a real childhood favorite, and a true greasy spoon haunt — to see the amount of joy that it gives him. It’s a first insight into his relationship with food.  

TB: Provincetown’s history as this Portuguese fishing town, too, is also [front and center]. There’s a kind of melancholic, longing singing known as fado in Portuguese culture. If you pay attention, you can hear it in the background during the striper run scene and when Tony and Ciro are sitting by a bonfire. At one point, we were going to have an actual fado singer’s character who was perhaps the unrequited love of Antonio [Banderas’s] character. But we wanted his character’s backstory to be more mysterious. 

How did you familiarize yourself with that old-school Provincetown energy? 

TB: We hung out for the better part of two days at Bourdain’s favorite dive bar, the Old Colony Tap, which is still there on the main drag of Commercial Street, and covered in all of its maritime flotsam and jetsam, Red Sox [memorabilia] glory. I’d say it’s the best bar in America. 

LH: Totally. Put it on the Eater map! [Laughs] 

Tony is in theaters August 21, 2026. 

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After a Cinderella 2025 football season, the undefeated Indiana Hoosiers are National Champions. Magic has always been around every corner at Indiana University, but the cream and crimson and coach Cignetti proved to the world that anything is possible. Diehard fans held their breath, knocked on wood, and whispered hopeful words of a championship as the season Mendoza’ed on. Now it’s time to show the rest of the college football world what Hoosiers have known forever — Bloomington is special.

Take some time to walk through the university that has captured a place on “most beautiful campus” lists over and over again, setting eyes on the Sample Gates, Rose Well House, Showalter Fountain, the Arboretum, and the Centennial Patio at the Indiana Memorial Union. The stops in this guide to the best restaurants in Bloomington will help tell the story of a day in the life of a Hoosier. Welcome to B-Town.

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Columbus is always evolving. In the city, historical landmarks such as the Ohio Statehouse and tributes like the Columbus Museum of Art serve as a snapshot of the past, while the bustling streets of the University District and the Short North represent the future. No matter your taste, the city has something to explore. 

The people of Columbus define its sense of tight-knit community. Grand openings, local sports, and touring bands draw in crowds on a weekly basis. The city is also full of art exhibitions, flea markets, coffee shops, boutiques, and restaurants from independent and up-and-coming minds that foster city-wide inspiration and admiration. There is never a dull moment in Columbus. 

In a single day, visitors can go to an art museum, stroll leisurely through a park, shop locally, enjoy a rooftop dinner, see the Ohio State Buckeyes play at Ohio Stadium, hit up a jazz lounge or speakeasy, and make it home before dawn. In Columbus, every day is an adventure to be seized.

Before you go

When to visit: While beauty abounds in Columbus any time of year, the fall season is especially breathtaking. If you’re a nature enthusiast, consider planning your stay during mid to late October for peak foliage viewing. Autumn also brings football season back to Columbus, where the Ohio State Buckeyes will be returning to Ohio Stadium following an appearance in the 2025 College Football Playoff. If you’re torn on when to visit Columbus, the ‘ber months should be at the top of the list. 

Where to stay: Many neighborhoods within Columbus offer a variety of lodging. If you’re looking for a small town stay, consider the German Village Inn, located between the University District and downtown. The Short North and downtown Columbus are other top choices that offer great ways to pass the time, whether that be dining, shopping, or nightlife, and the AC Hotel is located just between the two. 

Getting around: Renting a car isn’t required for your Columbus stay. The city is highly walkable, there are e-scooters are available to rent along busy streets, and rideshares such as Lyft and Uber are at your disposal. The COTA bus also runs along fixed routes spanning major roads like High Street throughout the day.

Day 1: Get acquainted with downtown Columbus 

9 a.m. Slow morning at a local favorite: Start off your weekend of adventure with the early birds at Restoration Roastery in the heart of downtown Columbus. Its friendly staff and warmly-lit dining room will start your morning off the right way. Choose from a menu of crowd-favorite sandwiches and cinnamon rolls as you grab a coffee to fuel up.

10 a.m. Browse the North Market: Enjoy a leisurely stroll through downtown as you head toward North Market. Get to know the local vendors of the 150-year-old historic shopping center and farmers market as you browse quality baked goods, organic meats and produce, homemade souvenirs, and more. Check out great things to eat like Momo Ghar’s celebrated dumplings, tacos from Dos Hermanos, and Hubert’s Polish Kitchen’s traditional pierogies. 

11:30 a.m. Explore the Columbus Museum of Art: Get historical in the heart of downtown with a visit to the Columbus Museum of Art. With a recently-introduced free admission program for people 25 years old and under, young adults can explore the museum’s contemporary galleries and exhibits free of charge. Popular programs include 10 Minutes on the Dot, where CMA educators dive in-depth on singular pieces of art in 10-minute increments. 

1:30 p.m. Grab a hearty lunch: Get to know downtown even better as you head toward Wario’s Beef and Pork, known for some of the best East Coast-style sandwiches in Columbus. The stuffed chicken Caesar sandwich is a classic. 

2:30 p.m. Stroll through Goodale Park: As you enjoy your lunch, make your way toward some much-needed nature enrichment time. Pack your current read or some watercolors and let nature inspire you at Columbus’s oldest park. Enjoy the pond, trees, or simply people watch as you take a step back from the busy city life. 

4 p.m. Get creative in the Short North Arts District: If you’re feeling inspired, head north and meander through the nearby Short North Arts District. The neighborhood is home to indie boutiques, restaurants, and bars that line High Street. Stop by Flower Child, the award-winning vintage store, for some secondhand shopping. 

5:30 p.m. Rooftop dinner at Goodale Station: Venture back toward downtown to catch an early dinner and happy hour at a city-wide favorite. Take in skyline views of the city while you enjoy an elevated American menu and early-evening cocktails at Goodale Station, or opt for a later sunset-hour reservation. 

7 p.m. Get a glimpse of Blue Jacket culture: Take a walking tour of the nearby Arena District to catch Columbus’s hockey tailgating culture in action. The Columbus Blue Jackets’ regular season begins October 1 at Nationwide Arena; tickets are often affordable and can be purchased through Ticketmaster. 

10 p.m. Post-game celebration: Head to Jeni’s Splendid Ice Creams for a taste of one of Columbus’s most famous hometown brands. Fan-favorite flavors include Brambleberry Crisp and Gooey Butter Cake.

Day 2: The Ohio State orientation

9 a.m. Mimosas and brunch at Fourth Street: Start your morning off at Fourth Street Taproom & Kitchen, an Ohio State student favorite known for the campus-adjacent location and beloved karaoke nights. Indulge in a mimosa tower and weekend brunch, and be sure to request patio seating for a premier Midwestern cornhole experience. 

10:30 a.m. Pick up your Buckeye gear: Make a pit stop at High Street’s Clothing Underground for the best deals on vintage Ohio State merchandise ahead of the evening’s big game. From cropped tees and tanks to jerseys and windbreakers, everything in the shop is repurposed and recycled. Don’t forget to browse their extensive Buckeye-themed sunglass collection. 

11:30 a.m. Get a boost from a late lunch: Grab a gourmet bagel or sandwich from the Lox Bagel Shop and pair it with a cold brew or lemonade to jump start your lunch break. Popular menu items include the signature Lox sandwich with capers, onion, cucumber, cream cheese, and egg, or create your own bagel of choice with a savory spread. 

12 p.m. The Ohio State walking tour: Explore the home of the Buckeyes in the heart of Columbus and the University District ahead of the big game. Be sure to walk through the Oval on your way to Thompson Library (the largest of the university’s 15 libraries, with 11 floors), Mirror Lake pond, and the Ohio Union, where you can snap a selfie with Brutus, the legendary buckeye mascot. 

2 p.m. Tailgate season in full swing: Make your way toward Ohio Stadium, affectionately nicknamed the Horseshoe, to get a glimpse of Ohio State’s gameday atmosphere. Watch the ‘Shoe buzz to life as thousands of Buckeyes come together to grill, drink, and sing along to signature songs from the Ohio State University Marching Band ahead of the night’s festivities. 

4:30 p.m. Grab dinner ahead of time: Make a reservation at Marcella’s in the Short North to fuel yourself with an Italian delicacy before your evening plans. The pasta and pizza are famous around campus, and happy hour runs from 4 to 6 p.m. 

6 p.m. Head toward the ‘Shoe: Foot traffic can get hectic around campus on game days, so make your way to Ohio Stadium earlier rather than later to soak up the Buckeye atmosphere while keeping on schedule. Enjoy the hustle and bustle of the Ohio State community as you walk through campus’s busiest pathways. 

7 p.m. Let the game begin: Enjoy the show at the ‘Shoe as you watch a game with the National Championship-winning Buckeyes on their home field. Don’t miss the halftime performance from the justifiably self-confident Best Damn Band in the Land. 

10:45 p.m. Post-game celebration: Nightlife and going-out culture always follows an Ohio State game day. Take a more upscale approach to this college tradition with a stop in the Short North at Pint House if you’re looking to keep it sophisticated but fun, or check out Good Night John Boy if you’d rather spend your night on the dance floor or enjoying a rooftop view. 

12 a.m. A late night bite: End your jam-packed day of celebration with two Ohio State staples. Grab a signature hot dog from Dirty Frank’s Hot Dog Palace and a beloved sweet treat from the 24-hour Buckeye Donuts. You can never go wrong with a buckeye, red velvet, blueberry, or classic frosted donut.

Day 3: Small town feel in the city

9 a.m. Recovery breakfast: Enjoy a restorative cafe-style breakfast in an eclectic Latin American-inspired package at Katalina’s. Seat yourself and order the famous pancake balls filled with Nutella, dulce de leche, or seasonal pumpkin-apple butter, or opt for a savory sandwich or taco with a side of the signature sweet and spicy bacon. 

10:30 a.m. Wander around German Village: Discover the historic district’s brick streets, homey architecture, gardens, and local businesses. This neighborhood is perfect for anyone searching for small town fall energy. Take a pit stop at Stauf’s Coffee Roasters to caffeinate yourself ahead of a day of exploration. 

11 a.m. Village shopping vibes: Stop at the essential Book Loft of German Village, a famous 32-room independent bookstore. If you’re seeking out your new favorite boutique, browse handcrafted pottery, jewelry, and home decor at Helen Winnemore’s, explore Vernacular’s selection of clothing, Urban Sundry’s home goods, and the Red Stable’s German imports and artwork. End your adventure with treasure hunting at the Greater Columbus Antique Mall, which offers five floors of thrifting.

1:30 p.m. Brown bag it for lunch: Make a stop at the Brown Bag Deli for a signature sandwich. Popular menu items include the Mohawk Stroller, with turkey, peppers, and pesto, or the Village Addiction, with turkey, havarti, and cranberry mayo. Before leaving the German Village neighborhood entirely, take a walk through Schiller Park to eat on a bench and get to know Columbus’ homey tree-lined paths and gardens.

3:30 p.m. Explore Franklin Park Conservatory and Botanical Gardens: Wander through indoor conservatories and see tropical rainforests, desert landscapes, and seasonal floral displays at Columbus’ idyllic nature escape. 

6:30 p.m. Dinner in the heart of it all: Continue your stay in the German Village with a reservation at Lindey’s. Enjoy a sophisticated American menu, and request a courtyard patio table at this upscale-casual restaurant. 

9 p.m. Live music and drinks: End your night with a visit to Ginger Rabbit Jazz Lounge, where you can enjoy live jazz and craft cocktails in a retro setting. Or opt for the Marmont at Forno Speakeasy, currently featuring a tiki-themed pop-up. 

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