In a soaring, sunlit dining room framed with hanging plants, Francis and Dian Ang and the team behind the Filipino pop-up Pinoy Heritage make every dinner feel like a party, complete with pancit and lumpia, habit-forming barbecue sticks of beef tongue and homemade longanisa, and a series of platitos that change in step with Northern California’s seasonal seafood and produce. Look for a QR code that leads you to a “secret” menu of some of the Ang family’s favorite snacks, including balut and duck hearts. TEJAL RAO

When Tony Andiario and Maria van Schaijik moved from Phoenix to West Chester, Pa., in 2017, they landed in his home state and not far from her parents. The restaurant the couple opened the following year suggests other incentives. The peppery local radicchio, for instance, which Mr. Andiario sets in a tangle over sheer slices of porchetta di testa, atop a golden round of chestnut crespelle. Or Pennsylvania guinea hens coated in a cream sauce thick with local mushrooms. Italian restaurants are popular vehicles for showcasing regional ingredients. Mr. Andiario takes things a step further, persuading diners to believe, at least over the span of a meal, that there are few places better situated for cooking Italian food than this college town 30 miles west of Philadelphia. BRETT ANDERSON

Sean Brock brings every bit of his culinary, intellectual and history-loving self to this restaurant, which was named for his grandmother and is dedicated to interpreting and honoring Appalachian food. What does that look like? Some dishes come from a Noma-like lab where, for example, he extracts the essence of the dried snap beans called leather britches and turns it into a demi-glace, which he uses to slick a succotash built from nixtamalized hominy and a pickled version of the same bean. An ember-roasted lion’s-mane mushroom crowns the dish. Mr. Brock’s hand has touched every part of the restaurant, from the rare collection of outsider art on the walls to the meditation room for staff upstairs. KIM SEVERSON

Unlike a typical farm-to-table restaurant, Bacoa plants its tables right in the middle of the farm, in the rolling mountains about 30 miles south of San Juan. In truth, the property grows just a fraction of the ingredients that Raúl Correa, Xavier Pacheco and René Marichal transform, most often over fire, into dishes that are rustic and sophisticated in almost equal measure. But the sense of place is so firm you can almost touch it as you sit on the verandah eating thin, almost delicate bacalaítos on a stick with improbably good garlic ketchup; shrimp over smoky fideuà with the requisite crisp bottom crust; marinated rabbit left on the grill until it starts to char and served under crisscrossed leaves of flash-fried culantro. PETE WELLS

Restaurants that last a long time go through phases, and Brennan’s has gone through more than most. In the mid-20th century, it helped put New Orleans on the culinary map. It has been mostly a tourist destination ever since, and not always a recommendable one. That changed when Ralph Brennan, a descendant of the restaurant’s founder, bought it. Since reopening in 2014, the sprawling, opulent, coral-pink restaurant in the French Quarter has been on a roll. There is a clean-lined sheen to the chef Ryan Hacker’s shrimp rémoulade, turtle soup and blackened redfish, interspersed with welcome innovations like octopus étouffée. If the strategy sounds familiar — a historic restaurant with one foot in the past, the other in the present — that’s because it is. What sets Brennan’s apart? It’s fun.BRETT ANDERSON

The chef Tavel Bristol-Joseph made a name for himself in Austin with the pastries at Emmer & Rye and Hestia, which he co-owns. Here at Canje — an ode to his Guyanese roots, with a menu that also stretches across the Caribbean — he has switched gears, with brilliant results. The food is a tangy, spicy, bright, coconutty dreamscape. Tilefish soaked in tamarind and rum butter. Prawns brushed with a verdant green seasoning and smoked chiles. A tres leches cake drenched in coconut milk. What makes the jerk chicken so supercharged with flavor? Mr. Bristol-Joseph ferments his seasoning. And plan on at least one order of the buttery Guyanese-style roti per person. PRIYA KRISHNA

Back in 2017, Dante Datta and Suresh Sundas envisioned Daru primarily as a cocktail bar with some stellar bites. What finally materialized last August at the easternmost end of the city’s H Street corridor was a truly imaginative Indian restaurant, with dishes like a supple hunk of burrata submerged in a pool of fragrant black dal, and a sprightly moilee appetizer studded with scallops. Vestiges of the cocktail bar that never was remain in boozy concoctions featuring green cardamom, coriander and masala chai, as well as in the name: Daru is the Hindi word for country liquor, or hooch. TANYA SICHYNSKY

Ryan Brosseau and Lacey Irby know that French-Canadian cuisine is misunderstood. That’s why a message at the top of their restaurant’s web page warns, “No, we don’t serve poutine!” What they do serve is smooth duck liver pâté crowned by pink lemon marmalade and buckwheat granola; split pea panisse riding stewed mustard greens with housemade paneer; and beef-tallow-fried smelts from Mr. Brosseau’s native Ontario. Mr. Brosseau, the chef, and Ms. Irby are first-time restaurateurs. Thanks to the grace of its cooking and service, Dear Margaret feels like an old soul. BRETT ANDERSON

Mitchell Abou Jamra struck upon novel ways to make a splash with tacos in a city already rich with taquerias. The most ingenious may be the tortillas he fills with jalapeño tabouli, whipped feta and bacon-y crisp halloumi in a gloss of Aleppo pepper oil. If you choose to order the three tacos for $14 (as you should), you’re going to want to try the gyro and chicken shawarma versions as well. Take them to a windowside stool in the sunny little cafe Mr. Abou Jamra named after his Lebanese grandmother, and daydream of what could happen if the chef ever turned his talents to Middle Eastern enchiladas. BRETT ANDERSON

The presentation of the food here is as thrilling as the flavors, and a meal can quickly turn into a party. Bánh bèo chén, or water fern dumplings, arrive open face and in individual bowls topped with crackled pork and shrimp, with nước mắm on the side. Bánh bột lọc comes in the form of chewy tapioca sheathed in banana leaves that you unwrap like a gift. A catfish hot pot is housed in a tureen with tomatoes and okra bobbing at the surface of the tangy, sweet broth. The restaurant is minimally decorated — perhaps because the food does all the talking. PRIYA KRISHNA

Lien Ta and Jonathan Whitener’s quirky little restaurant on the edge of Koreatown reopened this year, buzzing with energy, noise and new ideas. It’s one of the restaurants that define the culinary moment in Los Angeles, as it continuously reshapes itself with dynamic dishes that are easy to love and hard to categorize, like frogs’ legs with salsa negra. TEJAL RAO

At Kann, Gregory Gourdet realizes his long-gestating vision for a restaurant that treats the food of his Haitian forebears with the seriousness he learned to apply to Asian and European cuisine as a young chef working for Jean-Georges Vongerichten. With a staff led by the chef de cuisine Varanya J. Geyoonsawat, Kann leans into the lapel-grabbing power of dynamically spiced, live-fire cooking. If you didn’t know walking in that akra, griyo and legim were staples of Haitian cuisine, you’ll learn it soon enough, along with the history of Haiti and its food, both shaped by slavery and colonialism.

It’s hard not to admire a restaurant serving food this special, that dares to take so much more on its shoulders. BRETT ANDERSON

This is the kind of place where a customer announces, “I think I’m going to keep it light today” before ordering a cheeseburger and fries. But the pork sandwich is really the reason you should not visit Kansas City without visiting Kitty’s. Charley Soulivong, the owner since 1999, uses the recipe passed down by Kitty Kawakami, who founded the restaurant in 1951 with her husband, Paul. Those Japanese American roots survive in three tempura-battered pork cutlets that come stacked with julienne iceberg, raw onions, pickles — crunch layered with crisp — and dressed with a hot sauce that eats like spicy ketchup. Kansas City is known for destination barbecue. It ought to be better known for the Kitty’s sandwich. BRETT ANDERSON

While the phrase “summering in Maine” might inspire visions of split-top buns bursting with lobster meat, it may soon conjure memories of Leeward’s conchiglie tossed with sweet Jonah crab, softened tomatoes and chiles and then showered with bread crumbs. Or perhaps the tomato and zucchini panzanella, pleasantly fishy from pops of trout roe, or the remarkable corn gelato — though dishes less tethered to summer’s peak, like clams and fregola in a spicy, fennel-tinged broth reminiscent of the finest hot sausage, shine just as brightly. The owners, Raquel and Jake Stevens (who is also the chef), have managed to capture the essence of a season on the water, where everything feels like golden hour. TANYA SICHYNSKY

It may seem like a cheat to open a plant-based restaurant in the Sonoma Valley’s cradle of organic abundance. But it would almost be a shame not to open one, if you had not only a 24-acre farm nearby but also the cooking brain trust of Single Thread, Little Saint’s sibling restaurant with three Michelin stars. The food here, like the space, is bright and inviting. Chilled strawberry borscht levels up with a spike of curry and coconut yogurt. The smashed cucumbers with XO sauce and crispy rice lightly scorch and then refresh. And the crust on a chocolate tart will make you wonder why anyone uses anything but coconut cream as shortening. Most important, the preparations revel in the produce, rather than just ratcheting up the umami in a quest to conjure animal flavors. BRIAN GALLAGHER

That this perfect oasis in Atlanta’s glitzy Buckhead neighborhood was named after Lucian Freud, the renowned British painter and grandson of Sigmund, is only one indication of its sensibilities. Here you’ll find creamy omelets with caviar spooned over the top and French fries exactly the way you want them: crisp with hot, tender interiors, served with herbed mayonnaise. A roasted duck leg with crackling skin sits atop lady peas and cherry tomatoes. Ricotta gnudi might show up dressed in morels and English peas or cherry tomatoes and basil. All in a warm, light-filled cafe with about 40 seats, a small bar and a towering arched walnut bookshelf of art, fashion and cookbooks for sale, selected by Katie Barringer, who owns the place with her husband, Jordan Smelt, a gifted wine director. KIM SEVERSON

Lao food was once hard to find by name in American restaurants. But the chef Jeff Chanchaleune is one in a class of Lao American chefs boldly asserting their identity through food. And he is doing it on an artsy street in Oklahoma City. His cooking is unapologetic. Ground, roasted Thai chiles coat each grain of crispy rice in the nam khao. The moek paa — steamed catfish seasoned with two kinds of fish sauce and cooked in banana leaves — releases a pleasantly pungent fragrance when unwrapped. Coconut milk, galangal, makrut lime leaves and garlic weave eagerly through the food, and Mr. Chanchaleune wields these flavors with finesse. PRIYA KRISHNA

In a petite tasting menu restaurant down an alley in downtown Ashland, Josh Dorcak is creating what he calls Cascadian cuisine as a series of Japanese-influenced, picturesque miniatures of memorable poise. Salty plum-cured rockfish with fermented blueberries and compressed pluots; chawanmushi built from a corn dashi mixed with goat milk, enriched with king crab and finished with preserved roses and fresh marigolds. His eye-opening cooking requires almost no heat, is paired often brilliantly with sake and will leave you feeling as if you’ve drawn a breath of Technicolor mountain air. This summer, Sarah Cook became chef at Nama, the attached izakaya, giving southern Oregon yet another restaurant to brighten its star on the culinary map. BRETT ANDERSON