The chef Brooks Headley relocated his tiny veggie-burger joint to the larger East Village space that had housed the Odessa Restaurant for decades. The original joint offered just six dishes, plus specials and desserts. All of it was vegetarian; a lot was “accidentally vegan.” On recent visits, I was delighted to find that Headley is keeping the focus tight. New dishes are few but powerful, such as a stuffed cabbage, filled with sticky rice and mushrooms, draped in a sweet-and-sour tomato sauce.

On a summer evening at Laser Wolf, a woman zipped dutifully from table to table, pausing at each. “We clap for the sunset,” she announced. “Don’t panic.” For a moment, service seemed to halt. The rooftop patio offers an unimpeded view of the Manhattan skyline. With a vista like this, food and drink could easily be secondary. At Laser Wolf—an outpost of the beloved Philadelphia restaurant of the same name—it’s the setting that feels negligible.

This beloved Cantonese restaurant closed for a few months in 2022; when the gates were finally raised again, there was rejoicement. The food was as good as—if not better than—anyone remembered. The lo mein with ginger and scallion, a mass of thin, curly noodles, activated taste buds on the back of my tongue that I wouldn’t otherwise know were there. What a pleasure it was to be reunited with that sensation, and to be served a bowl of fragrant broth dense with wontons bobbing like jellyfish.

The most obvious thing to eat at JUQI is a Peking duck. First, a chef removes a strip of skin and cuts it into the size of postage stamps; each is placed atop steamed bread and finished with a pile of caviar. From what looks like a royal chest, a server pulls out hoisin, scallions, cucumbers, pickles, honeydew—then shares a technique for wrapping meat and garnishes into bing pancakes. My favorite iteration of the duck is when it's dunked in a savory soup, with silken tofu and tender greens.

Even in the best circumstances, a trip to Staten Island from any other borough is a commitment. For Zara Forest Grill, in Graniteville, it’s a commitment I’m willing to make. For breakfast, there is gozleme, a flatbread folded around potato, spinach and cheese, or ground meat. Lunch and dinner are best begun with the balon bread to swipe through meze, such as a labneh or aci ezme. Standouts among the entrées include the Iskender kebab, with shavings of perfectly seasoned lamb gyro.

Thai Diner’s menu is partly inspired by the way co-owner Ann Redding’s mother, who emigrated from Thailand, adapted her cooking to the U.S. Some of the dishes were transplanted from Uncle Boons, the couple’s first, more strictly Thai restaurant, that closed in 2020. I particularly enjoyed the superlative phat Thai (a.k.a. pad Thai), and a cut-crystal coupe of minced peanuts, dried shrimp, raw onion, and ginger, to be wrapped with toasted-coconut sauce in peppery betel leaves.

The restaurateurs behind gertrude’s pulled inspiration from N.Y.C. spots such as Prune, Diner, and Minetta Tavern, as well as from their own Jewish backgrounds. The result transcends expectations. The half chicken is brined in dill-pickle juice before it’s roasted. The excellent hamburger is sandwiched on a shiny braided challah roll. All entrées, including a whole trout—stuffed with lemon rounds and covered with chopped green olives and herbs—come with a choice of fries, greens, or latkes.

I can think of no better summer meal than naengmyeon, a cold Korean noodle soup traditionally eaten after a meal of barbecue. Noona Noodles, a stall run by a mother-daughter duo in a food court in Koreatown, offers two varieties: mul and bibim, rebranded as Icy and Icy Spicy. Both feature an intensely flavorful broth, made by boiling brisket with fresh pineapple, Asian pear, apple, lemon, and daikon, and are finished with big hunks of slushy ice, which soak up the sweet, sour, savory liquid.

Eric Finkelstein and Matt Ross, the sandwich experts behind Court Street Grocers, have taken over the restaurant formerly known as Eisenberg’s and proven themselves to be gifted preservationists and savvy restaurateurs. The menu has been pared down, but it still feels encyclopedic in the tradition of a short-order diner, featuring roughly 36 sandwiches. Some of my happiest moments have been spent marvelling at dishes I’ve taken for granted—like a half cantaloupe filled with cottage cheese.

If anyone objects to the union of two types of anchovies in the pintxo matrimonio al ajillo at Ernesto’s, a Basque-leaning restaurant on the Lower East Side, speak now and I will eat yours for you. The matrimony of a boqueron (plump, meaty, and white, pickled in wine vinegar and olive oil) and an anchoa (a dark, skinny, salt-cured umami bomb) is holy indeed, made holier by the kitchen’s decision to mount the pair on a rectangle of delicately crisp, buttery pastry.