NEW YORK
CITY

Slinging hand-carved pastrami since 1888. Grab a ticket at the door, tip your cutter, and don’t lose that ticket.

The gold standard of the New York slice since 1975. No frills, no seats worth mentioning, no notes.

Island heat with downtown polish — jerk from the grill, vintage reggae vinyl spinning all night.

Smoke pouring off drum grills on Flatbush Ave. This is the real thing — counter service, foil container, perfection.

Red-sauce theater with tuxedoed captains and tableside Caesar. The toughest table in the city — worth the hunt.

Eric Ripert’s temple of fish — three Michelin stars and arguably the finest seafood in America.

Maine lobster trucked down fresh, piled into buttered rolls in a Brooklyn shed near the water.

The Queen of Soul Food since 1962. Sunday gospel brunch is dinner and a show in one booth.

Tijuana-style tacos that ended the argument about whether NYC can do tacos. It can. Right here.

The cart that launched a thousand carts. Yellow rice, red sauce if you dare, white sauce always.

Four generations of appetizing — hand-sliced smoked salmon on bagels that need no toasting.

The tonkotsu that started New York’s ramen boom. The welcome shout alone is worth the wait.

Beer-hall gruff since 1887. Dry-aged porterhouse, thick bacon, and waiters who’ve seen everything.

Six ounces of molten cookie that ruined all other cookies. Still warm if you time it right.

This slice shop has turned pizza into an art form with its legendary Sicilian SoHo Squares and Neapolitan pies. Don’t miss the crispy pepperoni that practically sings its own tune with each bite.