The 2026 edition of the North America’s 50 Best Restaurants list will be announced live tonight at an awards ceremony in New Orleans, where the best chefs from across the U.S., Canada, and the Caribbean will gather to compete and celebrate. The event is produced by the World’s 50 Best Restaurants organization, which also produces lists for Latin America, Asia, and the Middle East and North Africa region.

You can watch the live stream of the announcement ceremony, which begins at 8 p.m. Central, here.

Last year, in the inaugural edition of the list, Atomix in New York was named the No. 1 restaurant in the region, while Mon Lapin in Montreal earned the No. 2 spot and Restaurant Pearl Morissette in Jordan Station, Canada, came in third. The top ranked Caribbean restaurant was Buzo Osteria Italiana in Barbados, which clocked in at 41. 

It seems safe to anticipate the top of the list will look pretty similar this year (especially since No. 1 winners can repeat in the top spot, under the organization’s rules), although there are sure to be some shakeups. Kabawa, one of Eater’s Best New Restaurants in 2025, didn’t make the 50 Best list last year despite a slew of accolades, and based on early indications, that could change this time around. Also, in 2025, all five North American restaurants that appeared on the World’s 50 Best List reappeared in the North America list later that year; that cheat code isn’t available this year, since the regional list will be announced before the official reveal of the World’s 50 Best list, which will take place in November in Abu Dhabi.

We’ll update this story with the winners as they’re announced this evening, so stay tuned.

Eater’s coverage of the North America’s 50 Best Restaurants event was produced with assistance from the World’s 50 Best organization. All editorial content is produced independently. Read more about Eater’s ethics policies here.

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When I have friends visiting Los Angeles and I ask where they’d like to eat, of all the incredible restaurants that the city has to offer — old Hollywood steakhouses, elite sushi counters, taco trucks, bustling Korean barbecue spots — there’s one place that always comes up these days: Erewhon. 

Best known as a wonderland of intriguing specialty products with prices that feel like performance art — $24 coconut yogurt, $75 matcha, $18 bottles of camel milk — the health-focused grocery store opened in LA in 1969. But in 2011, it fell under new ownership that rebranded it as an ultra-premium food destination rather than a hippie-food depot, and in 2022, all hell broke loose when Hailey Bieber’s $21 strawberry smoothie debuted and became an instant phenomenon, bringing national, even global attention to the once-lowkey chain. New Erewhon locations opened one after another in Silver Lake, Culver City, Beverly Hills, Pasadena, West Hollywood, and Studio City, with several more planned for the future. Its reputation is now both aspirational and polarizing; it’s known for its elaborate Tonic Bar beverages (including a never-ending series of celeb collabs), upscale hot bar, high concentration of influencers, and adherence to a particular mushroom-supplement vision of West Coast wellness. 

Despite becoming more and more omnipresent, the store seems to show no signs of waning interest from the public. I’m consistently fascinated by how many people in LA can afford to make the high-price-point chain their everyday grocer. A friend once casually told me she spends $2,500 at Erewhon every month. “On what?!” I asked, incredulous. “Oh, you know — food, my supplements,” she replied nonchalantly, as though spending $30,000 annually on groceries as a childless adult was perfectly normal. That exchange should perhaps have been a canary in the coal mine for what came next: the elite membership tiers that Erewhon announced in mid-April. 

Erewhon’s long had a membership program that can be joined by anyone for a $200 annual fee, offering 10 percent cash back, exclusive offers and discounts from “leading lifestyle brands” (examples include Lululemon, Cadillac of Beverly Hills, and a variety of five-star hotels), and a free smoothie each month. But it recently unveiled significantly more exclusive membership tiers, including the Premier tier, automatically granted to those who spend $5,000 or more per year at the store, and the Reserve tier, for members who spend upwards of $15,000 annually. These new tiers offer priority checkout, free delivery, “Your Drink Made First” privileges at the smoothie counter, and for Reserve members, a free daily coffee and pastry, butler-like assistance (carrying your groceries to the car; saving you a table in the cafe area), and most intriguingly, access to a “personal in-store concierge.” 

When Eater reached out to Erewhon for more details about the new tiers, its reps declined to give much comment but offered something even more illuminating: the opportunity to let us try Reserve membership perks for ourselves. I volunteered immediately. I am largely a Trader Joe’s regular, but I also patronize the three Erewhons within a 15-minute drive of my house when it feels reasonable (aka more often than I like to immediately admit), usually for canned adaptogenic beverages or a visit to the sushi case. The temptation to experience the Erewhon princess lifestyle in the name of journalism was simply too powerful. 

When you’re granted Reserve status, your rewards are visible through the Erewhon app. There’s a tally of how much money you’ve spent at the chain since starting or renewing your annual membership, as well as a list of amenities available to you at your tier. A button appears on your home screen that says “Concierge Check-In,” which allows you to request your complimentary refreshments, a personal shopper, curbside service for pickup orders, the ability to chat with a store director, and a table in the dining area. Unsure of what would happen, I selected my nearest location, hustled over with my friend Jamie in tow as an emotional-support human, and smashed that check-in button. 

Foolishly, I first attempted to use the concierge service at the Silver Lake Erewhon. Some Erewhon locations read as safe spaces for being as unapologetically entitled as you wish, but the Silver Lake location — perhaps because it sits near roughly 7 billion thrift stores and 4100 Bar, the Union Pool of the West — retains a faint air of anti-snob humility. Even if the customers ultimately retreat to gated Spanish villas in the hills (there are still plenty of celebrities in this Erewhon’s aisles), it’s still considered gauche to openly behave like a rich asshole in Silver Lake, so one major obstacle was my own embarrassment. I typically avoid valeting my car or allowing a hotel bellhop to carry my bags because I find it somewhat mortifying to outsource labor I can easily do myself. When I envisioned an Erewhon employee following me around and retrieving products I was fully capable of finding and reaching on my own, I feared it would seem pompous and self-infantilizing. 

Nonetheless, I committed to the bit. Before arriving, I designated my “daily beverage” in the Erewhon app (a double iced espresso with oat milk and a creamtop), selected my complimentary pastry (the chocolate banana bread; it’s good!), and for good measure, I also put in an order for a smoothie (The Madwoman) and eyed the little checkbox ensuring that “my drink was made first” and that I was cutting the line of commoners who don’t spend $15,000 a year at Erewhon. 

I half-expected a Jeeves-esque butler to approach me using facial-recognition technology and predict that I might want liposomal sea moss supplements, $55 sour apple creatine gummies, and a shot of Germ Warfare, a tiny bottled wellness tonic that tastes like medieval poison and is a signature Erewhon creation. Instead what happened was (at least at first) … nothing. My smoothie did arrive unusually quickly — just seven minutes instead of the common 20 — but when I asked about my coffee and banana bread, employees looked at me with visible confusion. “You ordered it through a concierge?” one asked cautiously, as though I might be hallucinating. It was via this interaction that I learned I was the first person ever to request concierge assistance at the Silver Lake Erewhon.

After being redirected to a white-tableclothed folding table that appeared to be newly erected in the store’s former adjacent wine shop, where I found myself lingering with growing embarrassment and a strong urge to take my smoothie and run, I was approached by two very lovely Erewhon employees named Justin and Fernando, both of whom were extraordinarily kind and patient as I attempted to understand what, exactly, the concierge service was supposed to do. Was this a personal shopper? Could be! Perhaps a meal-planning consultant? “Not necessarily at the moment,” Justin said, though he quickly added that it was “a good idea.” The concierge service, as it currently exists, appeared less geared toward radically transforming one’s shopping excursion and more toward smoothing out its friction points. Reserve members can bypass checkout lines, coordinate with store leadership to check stock before arriving, request specific employees to assist them, and generally receive what Justin described as “the best guest experience.” The service adapts itself to each customer’s comfort level… or ego level. He was quick to emphasize that the program is still so new they are “figuring out the ebbs and flows of it.”

Elite as it might seem, it turns out there are plenty of Reserve members — even at the Silver Lake store. “You’d be shocked how many people spend enough to get Reserve,” Justin told me. “When I’m ringing people up, I see, ‘You’re a Reserve member, you’re a Reserve member, you’re a Reserve member…’” Justin said. Still, they may be too timid to actually use the concierge service or find it unnecessary. “I think other stores have definitely seen more of it,” he added. 

Soon, Jamie and I were being absorbed into the gravitational pull of Erewhon hospitality. We asked for recommendations for snacks that might be enticing, and were directed to Erewhon’s kale chips (honestly, best-in-class), Buffalo-cauliflower-flavored popcorn, and Hot Girl Pickles, which I unfortunately hated the moment I actually tried them at home, but were a nice idea. Justin enthusiastically walked us through the hot bar offerings with the reverence of a Michelin sommelier describing vintage Châteauneuf-du-Pape. The cauliflower was beloved. The sliders were wildly popular. The hot wings, a new addition, had “the perfect sauce ratio.” Samples were offered of “anything we want.” “Our chef is one of the best,” he assured us before passionately recommending the butternut squash tagine, which Jamie sampled and immediately exclaimed was delicious. I thanked Justin and Fernando for their services and apologized for taking up so much of their time, despite their unshakeable positivity and friendliness. 

The Studio City and Grove stores seemed more lubricated for concierge activities; at one point, I was scolded by an employee at the Studio City location for reaching for my own iced espresso from the new pick-up fridge, which is manned to protect the preordered goods of members. Over the next week, I returned multiple times to collect my free coffee and banana bread, occasionally adding a smoothie, some pesto kelp noodles, or one of the wildly expensive combo plates I’ve unfortunately become addicted to. 

Eventually, I decided that the only way to get the truest version of the concierge service would be to go to the location that must, ostensibly, have the most concierge-ready customers: the Beverly Hills Erewhon. I entered to find a sea of Balenciaga and Alo, as well as a high number of free-range tweens at the smoothie bar. Once again, I checked in to the “concierge” on my app and hovered by the door, waiting for my coffee. Upon realizing that No One Was Coming to Get Me, I asked a friendly-looking employee whether I could use the concierge service. She retrieved a smiley, unflappably chill store representative whom I proceeded to grill about the lives of the Beverly Hills stores’ Reserve members. 

How many are there? “Many. Lots. So many,” he said, adding that the pastries now sell out much earlier than before on account of all the Reserve members snagging their free croissants, breads, and muffins. “And then there are the black card members…” 

My ears perked. What’s the black card?! “Oh yeah, it’s not online. You get that if you spend, like $25,000 a year.” (When I reached out to inquire about the “black card” membership, Erewhon declined to comment and neither confirmed nor denied its existence.) 

The representative told me that only a handful of people had actually requested concierge assistance so far. “But I don’t mind when people ask,” he said. “We’re here anyway. I like talking to people here.” He recommended some ashwagandha beverages, pointed me toward his favorite yogurt flavors, and told me interesting observations from his time working there (apparently the Beverly Hills store has a very active singles scene). He also offered to carry my groceries to my car, which I politely declined.

The most interesting thing that happened at the Beverly Hills store, other than the potential reveal of a mysterious “black card” membership tier, was that while I was checking out at the priority lane that’s exclusively for high-tier members, a woman in gigantic, face-obscuring Moncler sunglasses approached, stood right next to me, and put her items next to mine as though I was invisible. The woman working checkout gently informed the woman that I existed and asked her to please wait a moment until my transaction was complete. Her phone, glowing at full brightness, displayed her Erewhon membership dashboard directly in front of me. I glanced down. She had already spent almost $15,000 at Erewhon this year alone, meaning she was already on track to qualify for Reserve status again next year. Her lifetime savings totaled nearly $3,500, which meant she had likely spent roughly 10 times that amount — about $35,000 — at Erewhon in the past two years. Apparently, she’s far from the only one. 

Initially, it was thrilling to receive free drinks and pastries every day, but over time, the novelty began to wane. I realized that the appeal of Erewhon Reserve has less to do with the monetary value of the perks themselves than with the fantasy they represent: ascension into a more exclusive echelon and access to frictionless, flawless consumption, akin to the feeling one has in a high-end airport lounge. The flex isn’t really in the pastry; it’s in the feeling of becoming the sort of person who never has to think about paying for pastries at all. These days, VIP treatment often means less human interaction, not more. 

A few days later, I — unrelated to Erewhon, and very related to attending a densely populated karaoke night — came down with a rendition of the flu that I have come to describe as “an evil entity that escaped a bog.” Lying on my sofa for days, immobile and sweaty, I found myself taking advantage of the Reserve-member free delivery to obtain a steady stream of juices, soup, and Germ Warfare. As much as I tried to will myself into a state of self-flagellating guilt for spending an ungodly amount on luxury wellness goods, I was mostly grateful to receive a bit of edible and drinkable respite from every other awful feeling in the world — and to not have to pay delivery fees on it.

Overall, the Reserve membership, while a bit shameful to qualify for in terms of necessary spending, is not some absurdly decadent billionaire service, despite how it may sound. In practice, it’s mostly a gratifying set of convenience perks for Erewhon’s ultra-regulars. But if there’s one thing Erewhon understands better than almost any other modern retailer, it’s that today’s version of luxury is mostly about reducing inconvenience for people already accustomed to abundance. 

And perhaps more importantly, the brand understands how to transform grocery shopping into a lifestyle — one with an ever-raising ceiling for extravagance. So… who has the black card?

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On June 15, the culinary world will descend on Chicago for the James Beard Awards. For the uninitiated, this esteemed ceremony, hosted by the James Beard Foundation, recognizes the country’s best chefs, restaurateurs, authors, and journalists — the people dedicated to cooking, sharing, and celebrating life’s greatest pleasure: food. 

Whether you’ve just landed at O’Hare or Midway Airports in preparation for the event, are looking for a beloved restaurant for your friends, or need a late-night bite after your own party, these are the spots the nominees (and future winners) are sure to hit. Don’t miss out, as these are some of Chicago’s hottest spots — and a big reason why the food world’s biggest night takes place in our great city.

This content was produced in partnership with Chicago O’Hare & Midway International Airports, two award-winning airports that boast more than 270 restaurants and shops. Learn more at flychicago.com/midway/eatshopmore and flychicago.com/ohare/eatshopmore and follow @fly2ohare @fly2midway.  

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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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This is the final installment in our series about the people behind some of the most welcoming, innovative, and accessible food businesses operating today.

As Jaya Saxena pointed out last year, “third space” as a term is both fraught and loaded, and has in some ways lost its meaning when we are all in search of different things—not to mention the fact that the cost of merely existing in such spaces continues to be on the rise. Perhaps the goal shouldn’t be to make the ultimate third space, then, but instead to make more spaces more accessible for more people, even if they aren’t perfect solutions.

“We recognize we’re working within the system that we’re working within,” says Noah Wolf, one of the people behind Sea & Soil Co-op, a sandwich shop which just reopened in a new location in Brooklyn with a mission to serve affordable, quality food while fairly compensating the team who makes it. “We’re trying to come up with solutions to make it a better world for as many people as we can.” Sea & Soil operates as a cooperative, where Wolf is a worker-owner alongside Gabby Gignoux-Wolfsohn and Nilda Ortiz. I chatted with him about how it all works. Read on to see how it all works.

Did you always know you wanted to operate a worker-owned restaurant?

[Around 2007 in Los Angeles], I was working in a restaurant, and I had a realization that that’s what I wanted to do for the rest of my career. But I also saw a lot of issues with exploitation [in the industry]. The person who ran the restaurant [I worked at] was somebody I generally respected. You often hear the owners of restaurants saying, “There’s no way we could have better conditions. The margins are just too thin.” You hear that over and over again. The way that I came to see it was that, whether or not that’s the case, that should be determined by the workers. The people who are doing the labor [should be able to] determine if there’s enough money to give everyone a raise, if there’s enough to provide better conditions to work in, if there’s enough flexibility to have a schedule that works for everyone. People should make those decisions for themselves, as opposed to just hearing it in a top-down format.

How did the idea for Sea & Soil come to be?

During the pandemic, I had become friends with the co-founder of Sea & Soil, Gabby, when we were doing court support for a friend. For a lot of people, with all its tragedy, the pandemic gave a chance to take a breath and think through where everything was at. Gabby and I developed a bond, and we both had backgrounds in food and a similar ethos in life. I just asked them, “Do you want to do a worker-owned bakery with me?” They had been wanting to do something for a while themselves, and they said yes. We started selling sandwiches in Prospect Park for like $5, and little by little, we took steps [to move the project forward]. We moved to Grand Army Plaza, where we sold sandwiches at a price that was a little more sustainable for us, but it was still just a passion project. 

We had no capital, and rent is so crazy [in New York]. We were both working in food justice. We were able to find a spot in Carroll Gardens/Red Hook that was renting for less than $3,000 a month for a tiny space, and that was within the ballpark that we could afford. We moved in there in July of 2023. When that lease was up, we realized we were outgrowing the space and we couldn’t do everything we wanted to do there. We really loved that neighborhood and built a community there, but it was a tough location. So we reached out to The Working World, whose raison d’être is to fund worker-owned businesses, and they accepted us for a program to give us what they call a “non-extractive loan,” which means we don’t repay it until we’re profitable. We made that agreement back in December 2024, closed the [Carroll Gardens] shop in April 2025, spent a year getting [the new space] built out, then reopened here [in Downtown Brooklyn] in April 2026.

I’d love to hear more about that loan. Was that a program you applied for and pitched yourself to, or did they approach you?

Someone who was a project manager at Working World was eating at the shop and was like, “I’m from The Working World, if you’re ever looking to do something and need money, this is what we do.” It wasn’t an offer, but they said that they could potentially help us. We sat on that for a little while, then when we realized we needed to expand, I reached out to them. They have an application process [for funding], and we applied.

When we talked to them, they were like, “Actually, we just bought this building on Atlantic Avenue, and there’s this old cafe space. It would probably be a lot of work for you guys because [the former tenant] wasn’t doing any real cooking, but it could be a good space for your new location.” So, not only are they our lenders, they’re also our landlords. Those things are split into different tranches, legally speaking, but it meant we were negotiating on different levels, which is a little different [from how they usually work]. We are on the first floor of their headquarters.

What did that application entail?

They run themselves like a financial institution, just in a radical way. We had to make a business plan, say what we’ve been making, what we plan to make, and how other similar businesses in the neighborhood are doing and if there’s room for us. They also take a progressive notion—like, “Who is in your co-op?”—to look at it from a perspective of who has had access to resources in the past and how we can more equitably distribute them.

Did you have other co-ops or other people in hospitality that you looked to for inspiration?

There’s this place in Spain called Mondragon that was this worker co-op association, and one of the founders was this priest [José María Arizmendiarrieta]. There is a co-op bakery in the Bay Area that is named after him. Both Mondragon and the Arizmendi Bakery were inspirational to me. I also grew up personally going to some of the food co-ops that were founded in the ’70s in the D.C. area. I was inspired by any organization [I came across] that was doing things nonhierarchically and in a cooperative way. All organizations do things differently, so it was the general ethic of “workers should have a say in how their labor is used and the profit you create” [that inspired me].

Sea & Soil uses sliding-scale pricing. What inspired you to do that model?

I was always [asking myself]: How do you have just compensation for the people doing the labor, utilize high quality, locally sourced ingredients, and also be accessibly priced? 

Gabby and I liked the idea of sliding-scale because it puts a little more agency into the hands of people as opposed to the pay-it-forward system where you might buy a sandwich for someone else. Other places do that, where you pay extra for a piece of pizza, and there’s a sticker on the wall that says “A piece of pizza has been bought for you,” which feels a little bit like charity. This is not a judgment, just our opinion on it. For us, a sliding scale says, “You pay what you can. If you can afford to pay more, that opens up the possibility for someone else to make the choice to pay less.” That can change day to day, month to month, year to year for any given individual. We like it because it feels hopeful. 

For most customers in the shop, are you having a conversation about the pricing? Or are people mostly just ordering how they’d like and grabbing their food?

It differs from person to person. We want people to talk about it when they want to, but we [also] want people to feel comfortable enough that [ordering this way] feels routine. Of course, these things can be uncomfortable for people; sliding scale is not new, but for a lot of people, it’s their first time [encountering it]. Money—discussing it, thinking about what you have and don’t have—is uncomfortable for people. We’re always trying to create a space where it’s like, if you want to come and talk to us about it, absolutely. But if you want to take a sandwich and leave, that’s great, too.

We also have these sandwich order cards where instead of having to say something to us, you can take a card, write down how many of each you want, and at the bottom, you just circle how much you want to pay, so that keeps it a little more personal. We’re always messing around [with our ordering system] to see what works best.

Do you have a goal for the number of people you want to be paying each tier? And do you know how close to that goal you are?

I have an average [price that people are paying for one sandwich], which is around $16.40 right now. We’re basically at the average we’re hoping to hit. [Editor’s note: Wolf has yet to dig into the exact numbers regarding which tier customers most often select, but plans to in the future.]

The sandwich game is definitely not a quantity-over-quality game, but it is a quantity game in terms of survival; we’ve got to sell a lot of sandwiches. We make everything from scratch. We’re pickling, we’re fermenting, we’re making jams, we’re making the bread, and there’s a lot of labor that goes into it. But it’s a sandwich, at the end of the day. We can’t charge $40 for a sandwich—like the famous half-chicken—nor would we want to. So there is a real cap on it. That’s why $16-$17 feels like a good place. The higher it is, of course, is great, because we can be more sustainable. 

We feel we launched really successfully, and we feel really happy, but after all that, we’re still barely breaking even, if that. It takes a lot. When you take something complicated like financing a restaurant and add another layer like this, there are of course complications to it, but I absolutely think it’s going well.

Did you consider not making everything from scratch, and maybe sourcing cheaper ingredients?

But that’s the whole point! I say that only to express how important it is to us. There are plenty of places we love [that don’t make food entirely from scratch], but for me, why have a sandwich shop and not make the bread? This is the core of what we’re doing, and what’s more core to sandwiches than the bread? For us, that’s the fun part. It’s work, but we want to do the fermenting, we want to do the pickling, we want to make the bread. That’s where the labor joy is, even if some days we’re like, “Ugh, we’ve got to make the pickles.”

The “growth” tier of your pricing scale says that the higher-end cost of a sandwich can help you get closer to providing certain benefits for staff. What benefits are you hoping to secure?

The thing about worker-ownership is that if we come to those funds, we’ll debate what to do with it. With a place as small as ours, we’re probably not going to be able to get an amazing deal from a health insurance company; we wouldn’t get bulk discounts. So there’d be a question of, “Do we want to go in on a healthcare plan or do we all want to take a larger dividend at the end of the year?” In terms of what we think [the benefits we’ll discuss are], there are three main things: higher wages, healthcare, and paid vacation time.

No one’s making a lot working here. I always tell people my goal is that everyone’s making what works out to $40/hour. And people think that’s crazy for food work. But if you actually said that wage—that’s like $75,000/year or something—to a lot of people in New York who are not in the food world, that’s the minimum they would take for a job in New York City in 2026, especially if you look at the rents, healthcare, [the costs of] having kids. It’s a basic cost of living so people can have a decent life.

You have three worker-owners, but also other workers who are on the path to worker-ownership. What does that path look like? 

It’s a one-year candidacy, or if someone is working part-time, it might be up to two years. We do monthly check-ins, just like you would at other workplaces. We check in with each other through reviews, and then at the end of the year, if someone doesn’t want to be a worker-owner, then they don’t stay at Sea & Soil. We don’t want to become a place where it’s like three worker-owners and 10 [non-owners]. Then that would be just a partner-owned business. We know it’s going to be a little more lopsided right now, but after the first year, we’ll come out of it with a few more worker-owners.

In the hiring process, did that mean you looked for people who had worked in highly collaborative environments or had management experience?

[Hiring] mostly came down to finding people who expressed interest in working at a worker-owned business. We didn’t want to exclude someone who seemed like a great candidate who didn’t have experience in those realms; we figured they could learn. We’re learning all the time.

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Andrew Rea, also known as “Babish,” will be joining the Vox Media Podcast Network with In the Booth with Babish, a new podcast series in collaboration with Eater. Premiering on Tuesday, May 26, with new episodes dropping every other week across platforms, In the Booth with Babish will see Rea joined by chefs and celebrities to make a meal out of chit-chat. Each interview will be structured as a menu, putting a unique spin on the traditional talk show format. For the premiere episode, Rea sat down with Peabody Award-winner and chef Alton Brown.

Rea is a chef, filmmaker, and YouTube personality with a global audience of more than 10 million burgeoning chefs and food lovers across multiple channels. In the Booth with Babish joins his slate of other series including Binging with Babish, his flagship YouTube channel where he recreates iconic dishes from film, TV, and more; and Beyond Babish, a companion YouTube channel where Rea taste tests and ranks everyday staples. In addition to his YouTube channels, Rea is a New York Times bestselling cookbook author, and a winner of the Streamy Award, Webby Award, Adweek Brand Genius Award, and Streamy Social Good Award.

“Andrew informs and delights millions through the consistent curiosity, craft, and ease he brings to everything he makes. He has built one of the most devoted and expansive audiences in food,” said Lillian Xu, Vox Media’s vice president of the podcast business. “We are so excited to partner with him to grow the Babish Culinary Universe and broaden our slate of top food shows with In the Booth with Babish, where he’s creating a fresh format to host conversations with the leading voices in food.” 

“Vox Media is a huge innovative force in the industry, and Eater is one of my very favorite publications for food media,” said Rea. “Together, they represent the perfect creative partnership and platform where my podcast can thrive.”

“Food is at the center of the Babish brand, and Andrew has cultivated an extremely loyal audience with his insightful and entertaining cooking videos,” said Stephanie Wu, Eater’s editor-in-chief. “We’re thrilled to partner with Andrew on this new series, which aligns with Eater’s mission of connecting audiences through dining and culture. His distinct perspective, alongside Eater’s expertise in the restaurant industry, will undoubtedly lead to meaningful conversations with some of the most notable names in the food world.” 

In the Booth with Babish will publish every other Tuesday, starting May 26, on YouTube, Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or wherever you get your podcasts.

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A decade after opening beloved Soho bistro King, chef and owner Jess Shadbolt and co-owner Annie Shi just opened a classic British pub right next door. Dean’s serves standout British dishes like stargazy pie, a pot pie with a whole fish head gazing up from crust, as well as classics like crispy fish and chips. And, of course, there’s plenty of Guinness being poured, not only in pints but also in shot glasses as an oyster chaser.

Two and a half weeks out from opening night though, the casual spot, which needed to be fully rebuilt inside, was still very much a work in progress. “Well, what do they say: good things come to those who wait,” Shadbolt remarks as they discuss how they had to prep the space to make a pub they could keep open for the next ten to 15 years. With the original fall 2025 opening date pushed back to spring 2026, Shadbolt also gave birth about seven weeks before the opening. She jokingly calls her son a “restaurant baby.”

Now open, Dean’s is already a popular spot for dinner. For the stargazy pie, Shadbolt uses Spanish and Boston mackerels. The Spanish variety are confit in olive oil, herbs, and spices before being flaked through the filling and the Boston ones become the playful head and tail sticking out of the top. The filling also includes some leftover trim from the hake and cod used in the fish and chips. The bechamel sauce filling includes leeks, carrots, and corn, plus that flaky confit mackerel. After being topped off with the iconic fish parts, the pie bakes for 25 minutes before serving.

Next, airy, grilled-to-order crumpets are made in house with plenty of yeast and fermentation time to make them the perfect texture, like a griddle cake. The crumpet batter is carefully poured into ring molds, turning golden on a vintage AGA stovetop. The crumpets are then topped off with a light crab salad and sorrel leaves before being whisked into the dining room.

Pan-seared bay scallops are another signature dish from the new pub, with incredibly fresh scallops gently removed from their shells every morning for prep. They are seared with a vinegar sauce before being plopped down on a salsify (a heirloom root vegetable) sauce on the scallop shells and topped off with bacon lardons.

“It has been a real journey, but to be able to open your doors on the first night feels like a real achievement,” Shadbolt remarks.

Watch the newest episode of Now Open to see how Shadbolt and her experienced team make the thoughtful pub fare at Dean’s.

from Eater https://ift.tt/8ihzY3N

The story of the London food scene is one that includes dim sum, Sunday roasts, curries, pizza, sinasir, rarebits, banh mi, udon, pepper pot, sweetbread suya, and natural wine. Across cuisines, neighborhoods, and price points, all these dishes and drinks place London among the very best and most diverse places to eat in the world.

This guide, which I’ve been compiling and iterating on for the better part of the last decade, aims to reflect the best food and most important restaurants in the capital. I want this map to help you navigate a city in which it is all too easy to eat poorly, but in which it is increasingly inexcusable to do so. It will showcase a mix of over three dozen restaurants, which have all done outstanding things in extraordinary times: emerging, surviving, thriving, and continuing to enrich the city and its food culture through more than half a decade of unprecedented change and tumult.

We update this list regularly to make sure it reflects the ever-changing London dining scene. Our write-ups include insider tips, 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 pounds), to $$$$ for places where entrees exceed $30.

New to the map in May 2026: Impala, the new North African-inspired restaurant from the Super 8 group (Kiln, Brat, and Smoking Goat) has arrived in Soho — it was four years in the making, but Meedu Saad’s stunning grill is worth the wait; Vincenzo’s Pizza brings outstanding New York-style slices and grandma pies to Bethnal Green from Watford; and it’s a return to the 38 for one of London’s most celebrated Indian spots, Gymkhana: The two-Michelin-starred Mayfair restaurant is a celebrity favorite for a reason.

Adam Coghlan is a writer and editor based in London. In 2017, he launched Eater London and ran the site until it ceased daily publication in 2023.

from Eater https://ift.tt/X952TkV

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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Something I’ve noticed about third spaces—loosely defined as accessible community hubs—is that they tend to take a hybrid approach, like all-day cafes or bars centering an activity, whether it’s playing cards or line dancing. For operators, retaining regulars this way is obviously a win. But as Eater editor Nick Mancall-Bitel wrote in his piece about category-defying restaurants, maintaining the community feel also requires “negotiat[ing] their spaces and offerings with their customers.” Will Mester, from Baltimore’s The Wren, is quoted in that piece saying that “you have to turn it over to the public at some point, see what it does, and then see how you can succeed with it.” 

I was reminded of that when chatting with Joeleen Ng, who operates Bivy in Brooklyn and Georgie’s in Manhattan, two cafes in New York climbing gyms that have thrived off of adaptation. Ng took over Bivy, which caters to climbers on the roof of Vital Brooklyn, with little hospitality experience, figuring out how to prep at a high volume and how to manage a team along the way. When she opened Georgie’s a few years later, she hadn’t anticipated how the cafe would become so important to non-climbers; now, after it’s become a popular remote working spot shared on TikTok, she and the team continue to experiment with making the all-day format the best that it can be. I chatted with Ng about the balance between being a reliable spot for people glued to their laptops and being a gathering place for the community. 

How did you start operating a cafe in a gym?

I started climbing at the gym a little bit after it opened in 2021. I was spending a lot of time there, and I was working in corporate at the time. I was doing pharmaceutical advertising, so, completely different. Post-pandemic, I was not really sure what I wanted to be doing with my life.

I had started cooking and baking a lot during the pandemic, experimenting with recipes. I first did a pop-up in Vital during one of their community days; they’re really good with all the ways that they are able to touch the community and create outlets for people. I did a few pop-ups, and after the gym’s first year, the original operator of the Bivy space decided not to continue, so they had a sign up in the window saying, “If anyone is interested in operating this space, send us an email.” I sent a picture to my partner and was like, “Do you think I could do something like this?” He was like, “Just try!” So I did. 

I pitched an idea for the cafe space, and for some reason, they picked me, with very little experience. From there, it was just a whirlwind of learning. Getting set up without any background and trying to learn all of these things was a challenge. It was a little bit of a rough first year, but we somehow survived, and it did well enough that I think when they were getting ready to open [the gym in] LES, they knew they’d have a cafe space there and they asked me if I’d be interested in doing that as well. That was an exciting opportunity for me to be able to get involved from the start and to have some say in how the space is built out and all that.

Without much of a hospitality background, how did you learn how to operate your own cafe?

Unfortunately, it was a lot on the fly. When we first opened, it was just me working back there, and it got to the point where I was like, “This is not sustainable; I can’t do this on my own.” So I hired three people at first, but then I was like, “Oh, now I have to come up with the processes to make sure everything stays as consistent as possible,” and “Oh, now we’re going through five times as many sandwiches, so now we have to keep up with that production and prep.” It was a lot of realizing there were [more and more things I] had to do.

I used to work random waitressing and catering jobs in college, so I reached out to some old managers, too. A lot of what I was talking to old bosses about was managing a staff. I had never worked with so many people. When I was in corporate, I had one person reporting to me, so now to have a team of 15, 20, it felt very different. It added a bit more complexity that so many of our employees started off as climbers before wanting to work at the cafe. So everyone has this level of comfort and familiarity with the space that, now, when making it a work environment, you have to separate your relationship as climbers and friends versus an employee-employer relationship.

For me, a lot of the difficulty was letting go of some control, realizing that I can’t do everything myself. But also at the same time, [to let go, I had to] come up with the standards and procedures to make sure things can be as consistent as possible. Thankfully by the time we got to open Georgie’s, it had been two and a half years of Bivy, so I had a better framework of how I wanted things to run, and it was easier to get started.

Did the gym have stipulations about how it had to go?

They are great partners in that they give me free reign in terms of what to serve and how we want to do it. We have a management agreement with them, so we pay out a portion of what we make every month as our license fee, but with that, there’s a lot of freedom in how we run things.

Georgie’s, your second cafe, is on the Lower East Side, very close to Chinatown. Did the neighborhood factor into the menu?

Definitely. I grew up in Long Island, but we would come out [to Manhattan Chinatown] every Sunday for church, and we’d pick up our grandma to stay with us. She lived a 10-minute walk from the gym. I spent a lot of time over there. So I knew I wanted to make it a kind of space that was an homage to the neighborhood and the area I remember growing up. We source the pastries from [Manna One,] a bakery that I went to every single week growing up. A lot of the Hong Kong [menu items] are an ode to my grandma, who immigrated from there in the ’60s. I was very, very excited to get to introduce people to some Hong Kong-ish cuisines.

There’s a stereotype of a climber—like a white, granola-type person—but it’s obviously a diverse sport. Do you think about Georgie’s role in that at the gym? Are there people who come in for the pastries and drinks and then also get an introduction to climbing?

It was really interesting coming from Bivy, because Bivy is only open to climbers, and it serves gym folks. I thought Georgie’s would be like that, but then [we were featured on] a couple of TikToks, and we blew up. 

Now, most of our customers are not climbers. It’s really funny to watch from behind the counter while people are waiting for their drinks, and they look over the railing and you see them pointing, like, “Oh, wow! Look at those guys!” It’s really cool to be able to introduce people to that community. But sometimes people don’t even realize that there’s a gym underneath.

They’re so locked in!

Yeah, a lot of people are glued to their laptops. But we’re trying to think of ways to get people to sign up for a yoga class or try the gym or something, just because I feel like there could be a lot of synergy.

You’re also operating as an all-day space, with coffee and pastries in the morning, and beer in the evening. Do you have any strategies for that day-to-night transition?

We’re still figuring it out, honestly. I am constantly surprised by how long and late people will work. We’re trying to get a handle on our bar menu and how we want to roll out. When we first opened, I had an idea for draft cocktails and a low-maintenance bar situation. I still want to do that, but the vibe of the space has taken on this whole work-from-home or study spot feeling, which continues on until 8 p.m. or later. People are hanging out on their laptops, which is not ideal for a bar situation, where you want people to be chatting and socializing. So we’re still trying to figure that out.

And maybe that’s where events come in. Can you tell me about the ones that Georgie’s hosts?

We do small business markets, pop-up events, trivia. CPG brands that are starting out do samplings in the space, too. An old friend is one of the founders of Green Tile Social Club, and cultural events like mahjong nights are important to me because it’s a way to get back to the culture and introduce people to it as well.

I knew when we opened that I wanted it to be a gathering space. I don’t think there’s any cafe in lower Manhattan that has as much space as we do. For me, it was really important to use it well [and to be a] good steward of the space. I also wanted to create opportunities for small businesses and people trying to get their footing—like how I got my start—to do the same. 

This interview has been edited and condensed.

from Eater https://ift.tt/np1FO5m

Amid a stretch of red-brick buildings, the Brooklyn restaurant Margot, right at the corner on a busy intersection, stands out. It’s blue: very blue, its two-story exterior painted the color of a pair of Prue Leith’s glasses, a chore coat worn by a server at a trendy natural wine bar, or a Molly Baz cookbook.

During its tenure, Horses, the now-infamous Los Angeles restaurant, was similarly eye-catching: a shock of glossy Yves Klein blue on Sunset Boulevard, the color named for the French artist who made it famous. Across the city, Electric Bleu — which gets its name from the 1987 song by Australian band Icehouse — features a towering panel on its exterior in the same shade, thanks to its owners’ similar affinity for the artist. It projects upward above the restaurant’s entrance, looking, at the right angle, like a lightning bolt has struck life into the otherwise gray-and-brick building. 

Abroad, some restaurants have taken this very blue trend to its ultimate conclusion. The exterior of Patio, a wine bar in Brighton, England, is painted a blue so saturated that it almost looks fake in pictures. The same goes for the interiors of Berlin’s Cafe Gentil, monochromatic Yves Klein blue from moldings to baseboards. And at Singapore’s Punch Room, everything that isn’t wood, glass, or metal is the same color — a true example of monochromania. (New York City had a place like this, too: the short-lived Only Love Strangers, all cobalt and chrome.)

Are restaurants in a blue moment? Absolutely, says Anna Polonsky, who runs the hospitality-focused branding and design studio Polonsky & Friends. Those blue boxes holding NYC’s statusy Ceres pizzas? Her studio’s work, as are the cool blue accents at seafood spot Penny. While there is some variation in these blues — Yves Klein blue isn’t the same as Majorelle blue, though the two might look identical to the untrained eye — there is indeed a bias toward a certain kind of bold blue right now. “A lot of clients do ask for blue,” Polonsky says. It’s gotten to the point that her studio is now “actually trying to steer [clients] away from it” for fear of oversaturation.

The mid-to-late 2010s were dominated by millennial pink, a trend that swept restaurants as much as it did the broader culture. Restaurant design during this period was dominated by earthy, graphic-design-informed flourishes like terracotta blobs and textured plaster walls, and wabi sabi, muted, and neutral aesthetics reigned, Polonsky explains. Eventually, the all-millennial-pink restaurant, like London’s Sketch, became notorious “Instabait,” as Laura Fenton wrote for Eater in 2019. As the world began to open up again in the wake of the pandemic, candy-colored, vacation-inspired vibes emerged, filling restaurants with millennial-pink-adjacent pastels.

Now, the tide has turned toward saturation, hence all the blue restaurants. “I do feel, as always in design, it’s a reaction to that era: We wanted to go back to more primary colors,” Polonsky says. That blue won out of the three primaries shouldn’t be surprising. Blue, Polonsky notes, has a cool factor that red and yellow, which are now so strongly associated with fast food, do not; still, the blue on the Domino’s box was a reference point for Ceres.

Restaurants are reflecting what’s happening across the culture: The major fashion publications have identified primary colors as one of this year’s dominating clothing trends, while Vogue deemed Yves Klein blue “undoubtedly” the “winner of the night” at the most recent Met Gala. In Polonsky’s estimation, sky blue is ambient, more background energy than the main event. Navy blue is institutional: the color of banks, old New England, and the Ivy League. But in restaurants, this shade of blue — the family of cobalt, electric, royal, ultramarine, lapis lazuli — “feels intelligent and design-forward, but it’s also dynamic enough that it works on social media and it just can’t be ignored.”

In 1960, the artist Yves Klein patented the formula for the intense blue that now colloquially bears his name, though it’s also known as International Klein blue. According to France’s Centre Pompidou, “In his pursuit of pure, luminous blue, the artist sought a way to preserve the intensity of raw pigment in his monochromes.” The color is so saturated it almost vibrates with energy, as though it can’t be contained to the canvas. For some restaurant owners, the color echoes the feeling they wanted to evoke. 

If Margot, the restaurant, was a person, she would be “this whimsical, hedonistic eater who loved eating and drinking and dining,” says owner Halley Chambers, who worked with designers Matthew Maddy and Nico Arze on the restaurant. “That shocking blue color felt representative of that ethos.” Still, moderation mattered: Despite its bright exterior, Margot’s interiors are subdued, with white walls and red accents. 

Similarly, Mai Sakai and Craig Hopson of Electric Blue drew inspiration for their restaurant from the neobistros of Paris, they explain. “The food is always amazing, and it’s a little rowdy and a lot of fun. That’s the sense we wanted our restaurant to have,” Sakai says. The color felt “fun and like we didn’t take ourselves too seriously,” Hopson adds.

At Cafe Gentil, which is in the process of also becoming an art gallery, the immersive use of blue was a way for founder Christophe Collado to combine his interests in both art and hospitality, “while also breaking away from the idea that art has to feel elitist or inaccessible,” he says. To sit inside Cafe Gentil is to be a part of Yves Klein blue. According to Collado, “I wanted the cafe to feel open, welcoming and alive, a place for everyone.”
In The Devil Wears Prada, released in 2006, Meryl Streep as Miranda Priestly famously uses cerulean blue to explain the trickle-down of colors from niche artistic choices to overarching mass-market trends, with which everyone interacts whether they care about the source material or not. Twenty years later, the movie is back; the same example could be made with another shade of blue.

from Eater https://ift.tt/7cOWkrL

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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