I don’t live in New York City and am neither rich nor a foodie. Yet I’ve been to four of “The 100 Best Restaurants in NYC/2026” just laid out Sunday by the New York Times.
And I kinda dig that.
I hope this isn’t pure vanity — there’s too much of that going around — but a laudable embrace of enriching life experiences. I don’t seek out high-end dining establishments. But, given my circle, they sometimes find me.
While I realize I’m writing about Manhattan eateries that most Chicagoans can’t go to, the truth is that 99% of Times readers won’t eat there either. There’s a pleasure in reading about grub, or should be. The Sun-Times no longer has a restaurant critic. So I’m happy to step up and fill the void, occasionally.
The circumstances that placed me inside No. 14 on the Times list, Kono, in Chinatown, are more impressive than the meal itself. My son wanted to thank me for being such a great dad, agreeing to help him pack up his apartment and drive his wife and newborn to Washington, D.C.
The Times description begins like a Kurosawa movie: “Fire in darkness. This is one of the most seductive dining rooms in town. Chicken, ubiquitous and underestimated, is the focus of the yakitori omakase here, which proceeds from soul-cleansing broth to bronzed skin, pulverized livers, crunchy gizzards and creamy testicles…”
“Omakase” is Japanese for “you-eat-what-you-get.” Nothing as plebian as ordering off a menu. I don’t remember any creamy testicles. Maybe the shipment didn’t come in. The place served a lot of small food, delivered with a flourish. Dining at Kono is like watching close-up magic tricks where you eat the props.
The second restaurant, No. 48, abcV, is noteworthy for being inside a … I wanted to call it a “carpet store,” but that’s like calling Tiffany’s a ring shop. ABC Carpet & Home store on East 19th Street is a place… well, here is how I described it in 2020:
“New York interior space is given to weird combinations: kitchens with bathtubs in them, living rooms with sleep platforms. abcV is Jean-Georges’ vegetarian restaurant inside ABC Carpet, whose prosaic name belies a sprawling pillow and silverware emporium for Manhattan’s money set. A large, white room, filled with beautiful people. Friendly, attentive service. None of the pretension radiating off their mission statement: ‘Plant based, non GMO, sustainable, artisanal and organic whenever possible. Locally and globally from small & family farms. abcV is here to serve, inform and inspire a cultural shift towards plant based intelligence, through creativity and deliciousness….'”
And liberals wonder why red staters hate us. (“…every piece of lettuce is flawless,” the Times gushes. Really? Every piece? How would they know? Did they check? Maybe they assume that, at $20 for “crunchy gem lettuce,” it had better be perfect.)
Rezdora, No. 63, is where we took my son and his fiance to celebrate their graduation from law school. It’s one of their favorite places, so I should tread carefully. We got the $100 pasta tasting menu — $100 apiece — and the pasta was, well, the Times says “given the briefest boil.” Italians call this “molto al dente.” But I call it “hard.”
The truly memorable moment came after dinner, walking back with my wife, trying to absorb the shock of the check. “You know the drawback of telling someone you’ll take them to any restaurant they want, right?” I said. She raised an eyebrow, expectant. “You have to then take them to any restaurant they want.”
The last of the four, No. 92, Barney Greengrass, is the cheapest and, not coincidentally, the one we went to on our own volition, without kids. My wife and I share the deep cultural aversion to wild expense when eating. It’s odd. If I said we went to a Bears game, you wouldn’t blink — sports is a universal shared value. What’s $300 a head if you get to watch men agitate a pigskin?.
Barney Greengrass doesn’t belong on the list. Yes, a satisfying plate of lox, onions and eggs, eaten outside, watching the Upper East Side stroll past on a spring day. But also a small, clangorous deli. Calling it one of the best restaurants in New York is like nonaming New York Bagel & Bialy on Dempster one of the best restaurants in Chicago.
Which it is. Okay, it’s in Skokie. But close enough for baseball. And if I had to pinpoint the single most delicious thing I ever put in my mouth, it would be the warm New York Bagel & Bialy bagel, pulled out of its brown paper bag in the car and split with my younger son. Everything I’ve eaten since then is in second place.