This review contains spoilers for the film You Can See Everything.

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I saw You Can See Everything — the new documentary about disgraced Theranos founder Elizabeth Holmes, co-directed by Nathan Fielder and Lance Oppenheim — on Thursday, and I still feel like my brain is trying to punch its way out of a bag, or like I’ve just awakened from an Inception-esque dream within a dream. It’s difficult to describe the winding, twisting, nearly three-hour film to someone unfamiliar with its many layers of context, from Fielder’s Dadaist, boundaryless approach to his subjects to Holmes’s hypnotic affect, which is either highly effective gaslighting or blinding, self-deluded earnestness. (Which is it? I still don’t know.)

What happens when you take two unreliable narrators — make that three, if you include Holmes’s partner, Billy Evans, whose on-camera persona morphs from protective, naive tech bro to unscrupulous grifter — put them in a jar, and shake them? The result is that the more questions are asked, the further the truth drifts out of reach. It’s like staring at a Magic Eye image, slightly crossing your eyes, desperate to make out the hidden 3D subject but never quite managing to see it. Eventually, you start worrying your eyes might get stuck that way.

The discourse surrounding the film is already abundant, but we’re here to talk about the eggs.

If you’re familiar with the hallmarks of Fielderian programming, you know that Fielder is prone to hyperfixating on seemingly mundane details that later return to completely upend viewers’ expectations. In You Can See Everything, one such detail is observed in an exchange between Holmes and Evans as they make eggs. How much can be gleaned from watching someone make breakfast? A lot, apparently.

In the first half of the film, Fielder is fully embedded in the rental home of Holmes and Evans, who have invited the filmmakers to document the final weeks before Holmes reports to federal prison. (How and why they agreed to this arrangement is incomprehensible if they knew anything about Fielder’s work.) During this time, the narrative takes a surprisingly sympathetic turn for Holmes, who seems intent on convincing the filmmakers — and Fielder specifically — that she is actually a sweet, misunderstood victim of circumstance, not a Machiavellian con woman who defrauded investors. Frankly, aspects of this claim feel convincing at times. Viewers are invited to witness her ostensibly less guarded moments, including a scene in which she makes breakfast with Evans. As Fielder interviews her, Holmes somewhat unenthusiastically and limply beats a bowl of eggs with a fork. The camera lingers on her feeble whisking technique. Then, after a few seconds, another set of hands enters the frame: those of Evans. Without a word, he takes the bowl and fork from Holmes and begins whipping the eggs with considerably greater fervor.

Now, backseat driving in the kitchen is hardly uncommon among couples, though it feels like a fast track to bickering. (Evans tells Fielder that he and Holmes “never fight”; Holmes is also emphatic that she’s never lied in her life. Again, unreliable narrators.) What’s less common — or at least generally considered pretty rude and aggressive — is grabbing something out of your partner’s hands mid-task to take over. Fielder points this out, asking Evans why he felt the need to grab the eggs; Holmes explains that Evans doesn’t like the way she mixes them and thinks he can do it better. 

It’s a tiny interaction, but a remarkably revealing one. Evans feels comfortable taking control of something Holmes is doing, without so much as asking, and seems largely unaware of how his behavior might come across on camera. Holmes, meanwhile, appears accustomed to the intrusion, offering an explanation rather than an objection. (Granted, unlike sustained and unblinking eye contact, beating eggs does not appear to be one of Ms. Holmes’s strong suits. Typically, one does so vigorously to aerate them and make them fluffier for an omelet or scramble.)

But with this being Elizabeth Holmes, we must also ask: Could it be a case of weaponized incompetence? Is it possible that, not wanting the task of beating the eggs, she intentionally does so insufficiently to make Evans take over? Is she being controlled, or is she getting someone else to do her work for her? Or is this evidence of her “different” way of thinking, that she truly doesn’t know the “right” way to beat them? 

In interviews in the film, Holmes portrays the Theranos years as a period during which she was manipulated by her former boyfriend and business partner, Sunny Balwani, and maintains that her intentions were ultimately good for humanity, regardless of the consequences for investors and patients who received unreliable test results. Whether she actually believes this account of events, or simply knows how to sell it, remains one of the film’s central mysteries — as does the extent to which her romantic relationships lead her to take the fall for the actions of bad worse men.

These questions reverberate in the second half of the film, when — with Holmes now in prison — we learn some unsettling things about Evans. He has power of attorney over Holmes, and has been using her X account to post odd, profanity-laced remarks that seem entirely incongruent with her own manner of speaking. Suddenly, the eggs scene looks like an early indication that Evans is far more domineering than the protective-partner persona he’s been presenting. His ostensible vigilance toward Holmes may be genuine on some level, but it’s difficult to reconcile with his willingness to license her image for billboards promoting another (bizarre-seeming) entrepreneur’s Theranos obsession, or his apparent acceptance of the possibility that her AI-generated likeness could be used to create pornography or other content antithetical to her interests. 

And yet, even as Evans emerges as an increasingly unsavory character, Holmes remains inscrutable. Does she know what he’s doing? Does she approve? Is he exploiting her circumstances, or are they working toward a shared objective — reputational, monetary, or otherwise? The film offers kaleidoscopic evidence for competing interpretations, including that even if Holmes is being dominated, she may be content with that dynamic. 

What’s extraordinary about Fielder and Oppenheim’s documentary is its optical-illusion-like layers of “truth.” Despite the film’s many harrowing close-ups of microexpressions, there is what Holmes and Evans say, then there is what they do, or have done, or plan to do (launch a Theranos 2.0 called Haemanthus, apparently). There is also Fielder’s own history as a provocateur, a faux-earnest magician who will go to virtually any lengths to actualize a concept, and who seems remarkably capable of keeping a stone-cold straight face through any scenario. 

We know enough about Fielder to question his sincerity, too. There are several moments in the film where I — and the several friends I went to see the film with — wondered if there was palpable sexual chemistry between him and Holmes, and whether Fielder would act on it. If he did, we couldn’t agree on whether it would be genuine or an act of performance art, or whether he has any barriers between those things. 

The film’s most revealing moments are the ones that feel off-script for everyone involved: a fleeting facial expression, an odd word choice in an otherwise emphatic statement, a series of gestures exchanged over a bowl of scrambled eggs. The subjects, who have invited themselves to be watched, have few moments when they seem to forget that; those instances are when we ostensibly have the clearest insight into their reality. Frankly, it’s still murky, and that seems to be both the point and the irony in the film’s title.

You Can See Everything elevates Nathan Fielder’s reputation far beyond simply a master of cringe humor; there is, here, a glimmer of genius. This story feels almost fateful in its ability to showcase his gifts, illuminating the bottomless strangeness, the infinite complexities, of how humans interact with one another. Even when an idea is big, it’s the little things that matter the most. And in a documentary that promises you can see everything, we learn that it’s up to us to look closely — and even then, what we see might look different in another light.

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In the suburbs of Chicago where they both grew up, it was just pizza, according to Brittany and Brennan Grosvenor, the couple behind Proof in Portland, Oregon. Ordering came down to the question of “thin-crust, deep-dish, or double-dough,” Brittany recalls of her family’s Friday night tradition. The Grosvernors sell the former at Proof, though the language of “thin crust” has given way to the more nationally familiar phrasing of “tavern-style,” the pizza trend that has swept from coast to coast in recent years. 

Outsiders might associate Chicago with its famous, tourist-beckoning deep-dish pizza, but Brittany says that’s just not reflective of reality, citing deep dish as a much less frequent treat than the Midwestern, thin-crust style that’s gaining popularity. “The pizza you get every week, or if you go to a kid’s birthday party, it’s always tavern-style,” she says.

“Tavern-style” pizza — which is prevalent  across the Midwest, with Chicago, Milwaukee, Minnesota, and St. Louis touting similar pies — is known for its thin, cracker-like crust, cut into a lattice instead of triangular slices. Depending on the region and the pizza shop where one’s nostalgia lies, the sauce might lean sweet or spicy. Lightness and crispness, though, is the style’s unique sell. Writing for Esquire in 2023, Omar Mamoon called the variant, which was then still on the rise, “a foil” to famously thick Detroit-style pizza, which had its big moment in the late 2010s. 

The beauty of the tavern-style pie is its shareability. A pizza yields more slices when cut into a grid than into triangles, explains Bradley Shorten, who’s behind both Kim’s Uncle Pizza in his hometown Chicago suburb of Westmont, Illinois, and the recently opened La Merna in Washington, D.C. Pizza cut into little squares makes for great drinking food, especially since it fits on a cocktail napkin. What makes a good pie, according to Shorten, is that every square has a little of every ingredient; the toppings go to the edge. And while the four, small corner slices might not be the “best” ones, Shorten says, they’re the ones “everybody goes for,” especially if they’re from Chicago.

Over the past few years, as “taverns” have become growing fixations for a cadre of restaurateurs, the “party cut” pizza and tavern-style pizza spots have also become ubiquitous, with openings like Keepers in New York city; One Trick Pony in Forth Worth, Texas; Tillie’s Tavern Pizza in Wheat Ridge, Colorado; and Zarella and Dimmi Dimmi Corner Italian in Chicago, where the style has always been abundant. For some Chicagoans, these openings across the country are an opportunity to correct the record about their city’s pizza culture, and for other Midwesterners to claim their stake in the region’s pizza, too.

When Mike Fadem opened the second location of his popular NYC pizzeria Ops — known for its wood-fired Neapolitan-esque pies with leopard-spotted crusts and pliant dough — he wanted to offer something new. Fadem is from St. Louis, where the city’s namesake pizza is super-thin. Despite his love for it, “it’s maybe not the best version of tavern pizza,” Fadem admits, noting the iteration’s many critics, some of whom take issue with its use of the gooey processed cheese called provel. The trajectory of tavern-style pizza has been like a game of telephone, he explains: St. Louis pizza is derived from thin-crust Chicago pizza, which itself came from Neapolitan pizza. Divergence has accompanied each jump.

One of Fadem’s employees at Ops, meanwhile, is from New Jersey, which claims its own thin-crust, tavern- or bar-style pizza tradition. (The bar pies of the Boston area also have their own devoted following.) Accordingly, “I had this interest in ‘can we make an Ops version of this?’” Fadem says. With Ops known for sourdough, Fadem also wanted to highlight the rich flavor of whole grains. And he wanted it to be really crispy, a quality he says draws in New Yorkers. Fadem’s take is on the menu as the regionally agnostic “tavernetta.” Though St. Louis and New Jersey served as initial inspiration, the best pizza from his research was actually in Milwaukee. The Tavernetta hasn’t displaced the other pies at the restaurant; it’s ordered in addition to them, with most groups getting at least one.

In June, Los Angeles cocktail spot Bar Next Door celebrated its third anniversary by adding food to its menu. Previously, the bar had allowed customers to bring in pies from Prince Street Pizza next door since Prince Street co-owner Lawrence Longo is a partner in it. “But, you know, after having a slice, sometimes you get a little full and you’re like, I want to go to bed,” says owner and bar director Brynn Smith. “That’s the whole goal for us: for people to stay a little longer, drink more. We thought the tavern-style pizza would be perfect.” The fact that the pizzas — they’re technically listed on the menu as “bar pies,” to better go with the establishment’s name — are exclusive to the bar just adds another reason to go out, Smith says.

The idea of the tavern as a social and convivial space is inseparable from the tavern-style pizza. Shorten’s goal with La Merna — which he runs with his wife Meg Schmitt, who grew up in St. Louis — was the feel of a Chicago dive bar or a Wisconsin supper club: a place with wood-paneled walls and checkered floors, where people could slide into a red leather booth for pitchers of beer and pizza and hang out for a while. As my colleague Francky Knapp wrote last year, the rising appeal of the “tavern” vibe across restaurants nationwide is rooted in the sense of providing somewhere homey and lived-in. At taverns, diners are beckoned to sprawl out and stay awhile; to free themselves of pretense and to tap into something welcoming in its familiarity. This, for so many people, is exemplified by the archetype of hometown pizza shop, which is forever tethered in our cultural imaginations to the trappings of a previous, simpler era.

It’s for this reason that, in Oregon, the Grosvenors have started serving their take on Bosco sticks, the stuffed breadsticks of Midwestern cafeterias, and Italian beef with giardiniera. While they could find certain Midwestern hits around Portland, it sometimes frustrated them that they couldn’t find everything in one place. According to Brennan Grosvenor, “We’re just trying to embody the feeling: If you went into a tavern in Chicago, what could you order there?”

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Chef Eric Sze, the owner of NYC’s Wenwen, shows us the bakeries, pizzerias, and restaurants he visits weekly for everything from simple baguette sandwiches to oversized wontons.

Sze starts his day off with a sandwich at Bakeri; his go-to order is honey, apple, and brie layered on a crunchy baguette. Then he heads to The Meat Hook, Wenwen’s meat supplier, to get a specialty cut of steak and dry-aged short ribs for dinner. Next, he grabs a whole, crispy, NY-style pie at Chrissy’s Pizza (chef Chris Hansell has been perfecting this pie for years). The jalapeño and garlic pie has perfect proportions of each ingredient, all on a doughy, yeasted crust.

For his final stop, Sze goes to Maxi’s Noodle 2 in Flushing for the nostalgic Chinese food he’s craved since leaving Taiwan. Owner Maxi Lau-O’Keefe teaches him how to make her iconic wontons, filled with shrimp and pork before being expertly folded. After being humbled by the complex folding process, Sze settles in for a soup full of thin noodles made with duck eggs and those classic wontons, alongside beef soup.

Watch the most recent episode of Chef’s Day Off to see how chef Eric Sze spends his day off at his favorite restaurants, bakeries, and butcher shops around New York City.

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Ah, a perfectly made martini. When in the right mood, is there anything better than its bracing crispness? Then there’s the saline hit of the brine, should you take yours dirty, and the yield of an olive’s flesh between one’s teeth while your dining or drinking companion commiserates, flirts, or reveals gossip as juicy as your vodka- or gin-soaked Castelvetrano. (If you’re a twist person, respect, but we’re different.)

Sipping on an icy martini really conveys a feeling of glamour and mystery— there’s really no other cocktail that quite embodies elegance and timelessness that same way, nor that hits quite the same (did I mention they’re very strong?). No wonder a martini is the drink of choice for everyone from James Bond to Jay Gatsby to Brian Griffin from Family Guy (yeah, the dog). In fact, the martini is the second most popular drink in America after the margarita, with some bars in New York making more than 1,000 martinis each night. 

Once considered an old man drink by Gen Xers and millennials, the martini’s popularity has been majorly revived in recent years, and being a martini-lover has become something of a personality trait. In my early 20s, when I discovered the appeal of the dirty martini, it quickly became my go-to drink at the San Francisco dive bars that occupied that time of my life in the late aughts — I was fine with well vodka as long as the martini was extra, extra dirty (some drinkers, as you’ve likely noticed, revel in saying “filthy” to their bartender). Nowadays, my taste is a bit more dignified and I’ll call my spirit (Tito’s, Belvedere, or Ketel One, depending on my mood) and ask for my drink with only a whisper of brine and, instead, a couple of extra olives. This is the thing about becoming a martini person: This simple drink suddenly becomes a blank slate for your micro-preferences, in the same way espresso does for coffee snobs. 

Martinis are having a reawakening, no doubt, and there’s an unprecedented array of martini-centric bar gear, accoutrements, and even merch out there, from jewelry to martini-specific insulated tumblers to high-end olive brine. If you’re hunting for the best gifts for martini lovers, look no further — I’ve skipped the corny stuff and reached straight for the top shelf. 

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A proper setup for making martinis at home — shaken or stirred

The gear you need to make a perfect homemade martini depends on that (frankly worn out) adage: shaken or stirred? The truth is that most bartenders will recommend stirred, but most people in casual bar settings are fine with shaken, and may even prefer it if they like each sip icy. If you’re making martinis at home (or know someone who likes to), a great cocktail kit sets the stage for a better drink.

This classic Williams Sonoma set is top of the line; yes, it includes everything you need for a Ritz-caliber martini, but will also come in handy for any other cocktail your recipient wishes to whip up.

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For something a bit more affordable but still luxe-feeling, this stirred martini cocktail kit from Barfly comes with an etched 24-ounce mixing glass as well as copper tools that make handsome additions to a bar cart.

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On the more whimsical side, this best-selling set from Mark & Graham nests into a cute boat, so it’s ornamental even when not in use. If you know anyone with a yacht, well, perfect gift for them.. and we’re not jealous at all, but maybe they should extend an invitation for us to all drink martinis on the deck.

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The perfect dirty martini brine and olives

There is an argument to be (convincingly) made that “soggy, splintered, deflated” “bottom-shelf bulk olives”actually make the best brine — the cheapo Manzanilla and Queen olives that culturally preceded the now ubiquitously trendy Castelvetrano. To be real with you, I adore all olives — the fancy newcomers and artisanal beauties but also the Mezzettas that have been living in the door of my parents’ fridge for my entire life. That being said, this is a story about gifts, and the thing about gifts is that a good one should feel a little bit special, curated, lesser-seen, harder-to-acquire, thoughtful, more premium than what you’d typically buy for yourself.

I recently became a big fan of Quincy olives; the olive-to-brine ratio is specifically formulated to make 14 dirty martinis with no waste (of fruit or liquid). The brine itself is just the right level of salty and umami; I’ve made a few friends dirty martinis with it recently and they all commented on how excellent their drinks came out. The recipe is right on the label, so it’s foolproof.

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Another great brand for both brine and olives is Filthy; a friend of mine who works at a high-end Hollywood cocktail bar said that Filthy brine is the fave of both staff and customers. Filthy also makes standalone brine as well as a variety of stuffed olives; some dirty-martini-drinkers really love a blue-cheese-stuffed olive for a more creamy, complex experience, and they are a smart offering for a host gift or housewarming present.

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Forever-solid gift idea: nice glassware

Cocktail glasses have never been more personality-forward than in the present, with elegance, eccentricity, and whimsy all equally playing into the current renaissance of Very Interesting Glassware. Half the fun of drinking a martini is doing so from a smart, snazzy glass, whether minimalist or over-the-top decorative. I am addicted to collecting cocktail glasses and so have a half-dozen different options at home, should a guest arrive or the need for a martini strike. In recent years, restaurants and bars have begun thinking outside the box in terms of how to serve a martini; the only hard rule in my book (and that of many others) is that the glass should have a stem or at least a foot to help it stay cool as long as possible.

Here are a few special-looking martini glasses that have caught my eye recently…

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Martini-centric jazz and pizzazz

Cocktail napkins and picks are truly underrated gifts — they’re small, easy to transport and store, and in that category of home goods that feels a little frivolous to buy for yourself but that is well-appreciated in ownership. I like these jeweled Joanna Buchanan cocktail picks for the martini-sipping diva in your life or the Archer stainless steel picks for a more Don Draper type.

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Plutonia Blue is a New York City-based artist and jewelry designer whose sterling silver cocktail picks are dripping with iridescent keshi pearls. According to the designer, the string of pearls was first envisioned as the “the tresses of a woman dining alone (one of my favorite pastimes, how scandalous!).”

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Founded by New York-based caterer Stephanie Nass, the brand Chefanie is behind these entertaining-ready olive napkins.

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Another cocktail napkin I’m a bit obsessed with right now: this set of Polo Bear napkins from Ralph Lauren Home — they’re preppy (which I am decidedly not) but I appreciate that they seem self-aware. No, they aren’t emblazoned with any martini-specific imagery, but something about them does feel perfect for being the resting surface for an ice-cold Belvedere martini.

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Martini-drinker pride merch

Being a martini drinker is now akin to being a huge fan of the Philadelphia Eagles or something; it no longer seems to be enough to just really like martinis. One must make it known that martinis are one’s thing. The market is abundant with ways to do so, from jewelry to hats to phone cases to sweaters.

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Above and beyond

Attention: true martini lunatics only! This section is for you.

A tumbler designed to keep a martini cold for 12 hours

Brümate is known for its functional, colorful water bottles, coolers, and other vessels — and for a martini-lover who needs to take one on the go (perhaps to the beach, a picnic, or the upcoming Wicker movie) and keep it chilled, there’s the MargTini, a tumbler made specifically for transporting cocktails. It has a splash-proof lid and slip-proof base, is made of double-walled steel so it doesn’t get condensation on the outside, and it keeps your drink cold for 12 hours. As one gin-drinking reviewer notes, “It even fits in the cupholder on the golf cart.”

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An insanely realistic martini candle

I did a double take at the sight of this wildly lifelike handcrafted candle that uses gel wax for its doppelgänger of a frosty ‘tini, complete with extra olives. A fun accent piece that you’ll probably want to keep around instead of burn — but should you want to light it, its made with premium unscented wax.

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Martini-themed designer bag charms

I’m not advocating spending $565 on what’s essentially jewelry for your handbag, but I will note that if you’re, as noted above, a true martini freak, you should probably be made aware of the popular Loewe olive bag charm.

A slightly more reasonably priced option would be Chloe’s martini bag charm, although purists like myself may raise an eyebrow at the lime wheel on the side of the glass. Not a classic martini garnish; just saying!

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A candle that is actually scented in homage to the dirty martini

If the trompe l’oeil candle above didn’t do it for ya because it’s unscented, I present this alternative: a candle from Rewined that “captures [a dirty martini’s] essence with the crisp, briny hint of olive and the fresh, piney aroma of juniper pays homage to the gin at the heart of this storied drink — rounded out with a touch of amber, evoking the luxurious ambiance of a high-end cocktail lounge.” Alluring! It has an 80-hour burn time for many evenings spent in the aura of a dirty martini right in your very living room.

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A martini to call your own

For the martini-drinker who has it all — the cocktail picks, the carefully selected olive — we must ask: Do they have their very own signature cocktail? If not, another great gift option remains. Wonderbly will customize and print a cocktail book for your recipient of choice that includes 29 recipes for both classic and newfangled cocktails, but most importantly, its main attraction is a drink named for your friend and formulated specifically with their tastes in mind. Might we suggested a drink that includes gin or vodka, a touch of vermouth, and perhaps some olive juice? Just an idea.

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Cheers.

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Plenty of resorts across the country have excellent restaurants, but travelers seeking more should explore the hands-on side of culinary resort experiences. From New York’s Hudson Valley to the South Texas Coast, adventurous food lovers can partake in workshops and experiences that get them out of the dining room and into the kitchen, garden, farm, or ocean. Whether you’re looking to forage or fish, these excursions will introduce you to local people, ingredients, and techniques, and ultimately offer a true taste of the destination.

At these properties, it’s less about what’s on your plate and more about how it got there. Big Sur is the perfect place to forage for edible botanicals and aromatics, and on Chesapeake Bay, harvesting and shucking oysters is woven into the community’s cultural fabric. Those wanting to escape the hustle and bustle of New York City can head up to the Hudson Valley for focaccia-making, while a desert oasis on the outskirts of Scottsdale, Arizona, teaches you how to craft pasta like a pro. 

No matter your level of expertise, these resort experiences are designed to connect curious travelers with an impressive network of chefs, farmers, ecologists, mixologists, and bakers. For a vacation that will also quench your thirst for knowledge, head to these exciting culinary resorts.

Catch your own dinner

Head down to the South Texas Coast for a true catch-to-table culinary experience. Local guides at La Pesca Lodge take guests to prime spots throughout Baffin Bay, offering everything from fly-fishing and wading to drifting and sight casting. Though you’re welcome to bring your own gear, the lodge provides spinning rods, lures, and live bait if needed. 

Expect to reel in an array of speckled trout, redfish, flounder, and black drum. Your catch will be cleaned and bagged for you to take back to the lodge, where chefs transform your bounty into ceviche, grilled fillets, and more. Just remember that you’ll need to purchase your own Texas fishing license in advance. Those more interested in old-fashioned hunting can partake in dove, duck, or nilgai shoots.  

Learn to make pasta like a pro

The Andaz Scottsdale Resort & Bungalows is a retro, palm-tree-lined oasis with a premier spa, unique art collection, and the on-site restaurant Weft & Warp. Every Thursday, guests can beat the desert heat with a hands-on pasta class in the restaurant for $65. 

You’ll learn a variety of techniques while crafting a few different pasta shapes. You might make agnolotti filled with a chive and shrimp paste; and you will also learn simpler pastas, like classic linguine or fettuccine. Once you’re done, enjoy your finished product with an optional wine pairing on the patio. If you’ve got dessert on the brain, book the Sweet Escape truffle-making workshop (hosted every Friday) and elevate your pastry skills by learning the basics of chocolate tempering.

Harvest, shuck, and slurp oysters

Virginia’s Tides Inn gives travelers the chance to live like a Chesapeake waterman for the day. This signature activity pairs guests with a resident ecologist who takes you out to oyster cages via boat for an educational experience that’s all about shellfish. You’ll haul up your own oyster cages and sort through the very best bivalves, all while learning about the region’s longstanding history with oystering and the positive impact it has on the local ecosystem. Oysters harvested during the excursion need to be refrigerated for at least 24 hours, so when you return to the inn, enjoy a shucking how-to with the previous day’s haul while sipping on local wine and beer. The Chesapeake Gold experience is a similar outing, but includes a visit to one of the inn’s very own oyster farms, meaning you get to consume the same ones you collect. Once back at the inn, enjoy them both raw, grilled, and topped with your favorite seasonings.  

Set off on a tasty farmstead tour

Located in the foothills of Tennessee’s Great Smoky Mountains, Blackberry Farm is a working estate that maintains a strong connection to Appalachian agriculture. A twice-daily farmstead tour is available all year long, giving guests an in-depth look at the heirloom gardens, heritage livestock pasture, and dairy barn. These manicured, bright green gardens create a scenic backdrop to your itinerary, which includes sampling of farmstead cheeses, cured meats, preserves, and a rotating seasonal beverage. Those wanting a more formal culinary experience can book a three-hour artisan cooking demo with a three-course educational lunch and a glass of wine to pair.

Pick your own herbs and — and put them in a cocktail

Located about an hour and 20 minutes away from Phoenix, Castle Hot Springs is a picturesque desert resort with a thriving agricultural operation. The 3-acre garden yields more than 150 seasonal fruits, veggies, herbs, and flowers, supporting a dynamic farm-to-table ethos across the resort’s Relais & Châteaux-approved restaurant, Harvest. 

Start your day with a one-hour farm tour, tasting your way through a variety of crops as you learn about the fertile soils supported by the area’s natural geothermal hot springs. In the afternoon, test your skills with a hands-on mixology class using produce and botanicals straight from the property grounds. 

Take your cooking skills to the next level

The Osthoff Resort & Spa is about 150 miles north of Chicago, right along the shores of Wisconsin’s Elkhart Lake. It doubles as a professional cooking school, hosting a plethora of gourmet classes fit for any season or holiday. The culinary curriculum is overseen by chef Rodney Schulz, with courses changing week to week. October’s schedule features everything from paella- and pasta-making to creepy themed cocktails for Halloween. November sees hearty soup demos and holiday pies, while December embraces a festive spirit with Christmas libations and cookies. There is plenty of hands-on instruction, and you’ll be returning home with a new set of skills that are far more useful than any souvenir.

Make a fluffy, possibly floral focaccia

Ready to hard-launch your sourdough baking era? Learn the basics with Ashley Napoli, also known as the Focaccia Flourist, at the Hudson Valley’s Wildflower Farms. This Auberge Collection property is about 90 miles away from New York City, which makes it an easy escape for city dwellers needing to touch some grass. 

The focaccia workshop costs $168 per person and starts by teaching you how to care for and maintain a living sourdough starter. You then knead, arrange, and shape your loaf, topping it with herbs, onions, florals, olives, and anything you’d like before baking. This particular workshop is being offered every Sunday and Tuesday through the end of October, but the resort typically hosts some version of a focaccia class throughout the year. 

Go foraging for delicious things in forests and meadows

In Big Sur, towering redwood forest meets dramatic, bluff-lined coast, creating a diverse ecosystem brimming with unique plant life. The serene 54-room Alila Ventana Big Sur is a wellness-focused resort that spans 160 acres of lush, open meadows, tree-lined trails, and shaded ravines, creating the ideal conditions for a plethora of fungi and botanicals. 

Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, the hotel hosts a complimentary foragers hike for guests, who will learn all about wild-food harvesting and spotting secret ingredients hidden within the local terrain. There’s also a year-round Foragers Cocktail class ($99), a more in-depth experience that begins with an outdoor search for various herbs and aromatics, and culminates in a mixology lesson where you craft small-batch bitters for a custom cocktail. 

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Do birthdays matter? Not really. But they are, at the very least, an excuse to do something you might not usually do as a middle-aged father of two. On this most recent occasion, my birthday was a reason to drag an assortment of friendship flotsam across the Los Angeles coastline, working our way down through a selection of Southern California beach dive bars. (It also marks the second time I’ve used my assignments for Eater and Punch to rationalize, or maybe subsidize, a birthday bar crawl.) I truly believe that these old, salt-crusted pubs are an essential, last-remaining stronghold of our regional culture, and that they demand both our respect and our money.

This crawl took place on a Saturday in September, filled with drinks and snacks (but mostly bites of bar burgers), working our way from Santa Monica to Manhattan Beach before wandering inland for dinner in Torrance, home to some of the best Japanese food in the United States.

The plan was to start relatively early, enjoying as much sunlit ocean breeze as we could, while also allowing me to get a normal amount of sleep at the end of the night before waking up at traditional dad hours. The great thing about a bar crawl is that it allows people to jump on and off as they see fit. I’m also a sucker for a brisk itinerary, moving quickly from place to place: the key is to not care who shows up when and where, simply telling someone to add the necessary ETAs to the group chat as applicable.

Stop 1: Chez Jay — Santa Monica — 3:25pm

Opened in 1959, and a roughly 8-minute walk from the beach, Chez Jay has remained a staple and a refuge in a city that has been rapidly pricing out old neighborhood bars and restaurants. It is a place to drink a martini or a beer, where the only rules are that you “take no pictures, and throw your peanut shells on the floor.” (I broke one of the rules.) The kitchen was not open yet, but the peanuts were plentiful and the pours were heavy. The red booths and red checkerboard tablecloths evoke an old Italian restaurant, though it is certainly more of a steak-and-seafood kind of place to have dinner. It started strong, with six people showing up, including my dad and stepmom.

Stop 2: Hinano Cafe — Venice Beach — 4:38 p.m.

Hinano Cafe has been operating on a busy stretch of Venice Beach since 1962. This perpetually packed place has become an iconic surfer hang serving beer and burgers (no full liquor license here) — and like a true surfer bar, it serves breakfast from 8 a.m. until noon. Our group swelled with more friends at our second location, where pitchers of beer were poured in a standing-room-only setting, alongside board-short-wearing day drinkers who were far too young and attractive for us to stay any longer than it took for this gaggle of graying dads to order and split a hamburger. At $12.50, this perfectly acceptable bar burger on a sesame seed bun was a pleasant enough edible intermezzo. I’d prefer to come back again at another time, like maybe 1975.

Stop 3: Prince O’ Whales — Playa del Rey — 5:30 p.m.

We had now crossed to the other side of the marina — something of a traffic dividing line in Los Angeles County — and settled into a perfect little three-bar-crawl that exists on a 0.2-mile stretch of this hidden, working-class LA beach community. The sun was starting to drop and the ocean breeze was relaxing our shoulders (although that also may have just been the drinks). We sauntered into Prince O’ Whales, which has been serving drinks under this name for over five decades, with another 18 years before under a different one (“The Bowsprit”). There are two indoor bars, though one was closed for the afternoon. Our bartender was the kind of grumpy you look for in a sailor’s saloon, and the room was crowded with some rather loud folks watching college football. (It turns out I’m getting old.) We took our drinks to the back patio, a serene little patch of cement, brick, faded paint and sun-withered wood. There was also a ping-pong table, and this round was highlighted by exactly the kind of late-summer weather that makes people live by the beach in Southern California.

Stop 4: The Harbor Room — Playa del Rey — 6:01 p.m.

After walking for about 90 seconds, we made it to a place known as “the smallest dive bar in Los Angeles.” It would feel like a California-themed yokocho in Tokyo if it weren’t so perfectly lived in, lined with old wood that feels like you’re drinking in the bowels of a turn-of-the-century vessel crossing the Atlantic. A drunk, nonthreatening stranger joined our group and asked a lot of questions. I ordered a vodka-soda and they gave me a gin and tonic, so I ordered a gin martini. It came with a “sidecar” that was, incredibly, just a rocks glass with a splash of rapidly warming gin in it. I curiously wandered into the adjoining Italian restaurant and was convinced by some very friendly women to order some food. I told them to pick their favorite dish and near the end of my martini, a foil container of steaming hot ravioli was dropped at our table. If my wife divorces me, I could see myself paying rent on one of these barstools, living out my twilight years and wondering where it all went wrong.

Stop 5: The Shack — Playa del Rey — 6:27 p.m.

Looking back at my iPhone photo timestamps, I am incredibly impressed that we were able to have a round of martinis and a plate of ravioli in 26 minutes. We soldiered on, with an even shorter walk to our next location: the classic old surf bar and restaurant, The Shack. It feels almost set-decorated, with the perfect amount of wear and tear. This place was significantly more spacious and we found room at the bar, where we ordered the Shack Burger for all to try, as well as some wings. The signature burger comes, miraculously, with a butterflied Louisiana hot link on it, operating like juicier, snappier, spicier bacon. I, meanwhile, remained impressed with my ability to have five drinks (or was it six?) — a skill that rarely gets tested anymore.

Stop 6: Ercole’s — Manhattan Beach — 7:23 p.m.

Nearing its 100th year of operation (though not always as a bar — it opened during Prohibition), this could easily have been the last stop of the tour, the flagship bar you build a crawl around. Known among my friends as “the best dive bar burger in LA County,” this proud, defiant establishment has stood the test of time, surviving rapidly escalating real estate prices to remain the great neighborhood dive it has always been. It feels like a sacred escape from the rest of this wealthy beach community. The whole place seems to be made of wood and beer signs; there is one line for ordering and another for the bathroom; and every single patron — whether gray-haired in Hawaiian shirts or tatted-up bikers — seems to know how lucky they are to be there. There is a small grill behind the bar in the corner, under a yellow sign proudly proclaiming “no fries.” The cheeseburger is an exercise in simple chargrilled perfection, its meat sourced from the butcher shop next door, all served in a basket with a bag of potato chips. The menu also claims to have a teriyaki chicken sandwich, though I’ve never seen one there. I wished we could have stayed longer, or to have eaten a whole burger instead of just two bites, but such is the nature of a crawl. We quickly made our way out, calling our next restaurant to let them know we were running about 20 minutes late for our reservation.

Stop 7: Torihei — Torrance – sometime not long after 8 p.m.

We did a decent job of snacking rather than eating on our beach dive crawl, so after we settled into a long table adorned with sake and beer, there was perhaps no more comforting bite of food in the world than Torihei’s simmered slab of daikon radish, served in dashi and blanketed in katsuobushi (smoked, dried skipjack tuna flakes). It warmed my chest. This classic standby izakaya specializes in yakitori (grilled chicken skewers) and oden (simmered ingredients in broth). We sipped beers and crunched tender chicken cartilage alongside grilled chicken meatballs before finishing the night with some soborodon (a ground chicken and rice bowl).

I was home, showered, and in bed before 11:15. I think we nailed it.

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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.

Now Open is a yearlong series celebrating some of 2026’s most exciting new restaurants. Throughout the year, we’ll check in with teams in Chicago, New York City, and Washington, D.C., to hear what it’s really like behind the scenes of a buzzy opening. Then, we’ll host exclusive meals at these restaurants as part of Dinner Party, presented by Capital One. Read along for challenges, candid reflections, and advice from the proprietors behind some of the country’s hottest new openings.

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Zubair Mohajir is one of Chicago’s most prolific new chefs and restaurateurs, behind such openings as Lilac Tiger, Mariela, Mirra, Sarima, and most recently, Muhājir, a restaurant that traces historical spice routes to tell the story of global migration. I talked to Mohajir about how the opening is going, how he thinks about collaboration across his different projects, and why Muhājir is finally the restaurant that feels like home. 

Pre Shift: What did you want to explore with Muhājir that you hadn’t been able to do yet with your previous restaurants?

Zubair Mohajir: Muhājir is such a personal story for me, because my last name is Mohajir, and the meaning of “muhājir” in Arabic and Urdu is “one who migrates.” When the partition [of India and Pakistan] happened, the Muslims that were moved from India to Pakistan were named Muhājirs because they were migrated. In my family, we always wondered why that was our last name. When I started cooking [after working in finance], it really started to settle in. Our late maternal grandfather was obsessed with mapping where this family name came from. It comes from Southern Basra, Iraq, and that was so mind-blowing for me because it’s one of the biggest spice roads.

At Coach House for the past five years, I’ve been exploring ancient recipes in southern Spain and southern Portugal. [They] bring in pre-Crusade Muslim, Christian, Jewish [influences] that are also affected by the Southeast Asian traders coming on the spice road that shoots through the Mediterranean and hits North Africa and the Iberian Peninsula. I’m just obsessed with history and it started to become very evident for me that I really wanted to feed people, but with the context of where the food came from. 

At Muhājir, it’s all about riding the spice road that runs from Portugal through the Mediterranean, through the Levantine [region], and then hits out of Basra, Iraq, into the Persian Gulf, and the first landmass it comes across is southern India, where I’m from. We’re all muhājirs — you know, all of our families came from somewhere, and that really has been the driving force for me. 

Why did you decide to build the restaurant around live fire?

I’d never cooked on live fire, but we’re cooks, and it was going back to core things. I remember growing up in my grandmother’s house back home in India, and it’s not like there were gas stoves everywhere. When I decided that I was going to do Muhājir, it became so obvious to me that it couldn’t just be a sauté pan on a stove. The story that we wanted to tell had to be told through wood fire.

Is there a dish that feels especially representative of Muhājir?

We do a duck that is inspired by a 927-year-old recipe we found from southern Spain that is influenced by Roman garums, Muslim origins, and Jewish origins. We do this duck “experience,” where we take a whole duck, butcher it, and have the crown dry-aging for seven days. We take the wings and make a jus [and] take the legs and make a confit. We blast that duck crown over the fire when we start service every day, and then it gets finished in the brasa. If you’re sitting in the restaurant, you can see the ducks hanging over the fire. 

When we present it, we have this beautiful ornate Turkish platter. There’s black raspberry achaar, the duck jus in a saucier, the duck rice next to it, the duck skin cut in these beautiful medallions on top almost like duck chicharrón, and then we’re also presenting the duck breast itself that has a very crispy skin. The top of that duck breast is the spice mix from that exact recipe that’s more than 900 years old, with cumin, coriander, cardamom, toasted pine nuts, red wine vinegar, and fish sauce. It’s a story of cross-cultural collaboration.

You have a bar called Bobo behind the restaurant. How do the two spaces complement each other?

Bobo’s really inspired by Jacob Dela Cruz, who’s my partner here. We built Sarima together, and it became very important to me to highlight his upbringing and his background as well. He was one who said, “You should name the restaurant Muhājir.” His point was that we’re all immigrants. I was like, “That’s such a simple statement, but such a profound statement.” It was kind of vice versa when we were talking about the bar: Jacob’s father is an amazing person and his name is Bho, and “bobo” in Tagalog means “silly” or “stupid,” as a term of endearment. We always say that as Spice Road-driven and transformative the food experience at Muhājir is, we still like to have fun. 

If people are early for their reservation, we take them back to Bobo, or they stop by after dinner. You can’t get to Bobo without walking through the restaurant, so the spaces contribute to each other. If you came to Bobo, you might be like, “I want to eat there.” And if you come straight to Muhājir and see people walking back constantly, you might be like, “What’s happening back there?” 

What has it been like to run Muhājir so far?

I wouldn’t say it’s easier [than my other restaurants], but now I don’t freak out. I’ve created a methodical way of approaching issues or problems head-on and figuring it out as a group or with the people that support us. We don’t have investors who are private equity firms; our investors are our guests. When it comes to managing expectations and navigating obstacles, you get better with repetition. 

I’m living a dream. Sometimes, when you’re building restaurants with others, you’re not necessarily in the kitchen. [At Mirra, I] was like, “I’m helping create and build this concept, but that’s [chef Rishi Kumar’s] kitchen to run.” Here, it’s the home that I’ve been yearning for and working toward my whole career. I plan to be old in this place. Things have been so crazy and wild and amazing, but slowly, every day, I sit more and more in that moment where I’m like, “This is home.”

This interview has been edited and condensed.

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Roman cuisine is a reflection of the city itself — layered, deeply rooted in tradition, and full of contrasts. After years of eating my way through Rome, I’ve found the best meals are shaped as much by history as the hands that prepare them. Family-run trattorias have served the city’s defining dishes for generations: cacio e pepe, carbonara, roasted lamb, and offal-based specialties, many of which trace their origins to Rome’s historic slaughterhouse economy. While these places remain essential, a wave of neo-trattorias constantly reinterprets the classics, and the broader dining scene continues to shift too. The influence of Rome’s immigrant communities and cuisines, from Ethiopian to Venezuelan, is stronger than ever.

Rome in February and March can feel like a damp intermission which pivots quickly toward spring. One day you’re ducking into bars to escape the downpour and the next you’re scanning patios for a table in the sun. If recent years are any indication, high season now revs up well before Holy Week, and by late March the city is already moving at full tilt. This is the narrow stretch to lean into artichokes simmered with the first peas, favas, and lettuce into vignarola, Rome’s definitive spring stew. Blink and you’ll miss it.

Eating and drinking well in Rome isn’t just about knowing where to go; it’s about knowing how to navigate the city’s idiosyncratic dining culture. Travelers often book tables months in advance, making last-minute reservations tough. While online booking is becoming more common, many places still rely on the phone, and it’s best to call at the very start or very end of service, when the staff actually has time to pick up. Plan ahead — but leave some room for spontaneity too.

We update this list regularly to make sure it reflects the ever-changing dining scene in Rome. Our write-ups include insider tips from our experienced writers and editors, 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 euros), to $$$$ for places where entrees exceed $30.

New to the map in October 2026: In San Giovanni, Beppe e I Suoi Formaggi has moved beyond its former Ghetto shop, with a larger space where Beppe Giovale’s selection of Italian and French cheeses shares the table with dishes like tajarin with alpine butter. Near the Pyramid of Gaius Cestius, third-generation family-run Taverna Cestia serves Roman classics, seafood, and wood-fired pizza alongside a thoughtful wine list. In Prati-adjacent Della Vittoria, Vetro pairs natural wines with small plates that borrow freely from Roman and wider European traditions, making it as appealing for dinner as for a drink.

Katie Parla is a Rome-based food and beverage journalist, culinary guide, and New York Times best-selling cookbook author. Her latest cookbook, Rome, is available now.

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