Fifteen months in, Maxwells Trading has reached its “late adolescence,” in the words of chef and co-owner Erling Wu-Bower. When he and his team opened the ambitious spot, they ignored a lot of conventional wisdom and dining tropes, and as a result, its infancy was a handful. Wu-Bower (Avec, Pacific Standard Time) and executive chef Chris Jung (PST, Momotaro) wanted the menu to hold a mirror up to Chicago in all its multicultural variety and messy excellence. In particular, they leaned into their Asian heritage (Chinese and Korean, respectively) to create technique-heavy dishes, like claypot rice cooked over an open flame and pompano in Cantonese egg sauce, served alongside ones that skewed classic French and red-sauce Italian. Early on, the food was mostly very good but also uneven. If the rice was a little sticky or if a spicy Thai curry sweet potato seemed forlorn next to lamb Bolognese, you chalked it up to growing pains.

Creating dishes usually prepared in woks and over open flames in street stalls in a standard restaurant space had proved more problematic than anticipated. “The hardest part was a physical figuring out of the kitchen,” says Wu-Bower. They began to look at menu items as problems to be solved. They learned to parcook the claypot rice and to poach fish fillets skin side down in dashi to recreate the profound flavor of a bones-and-eyes whole steamed fish. They tweaked the menu so the dishes played better together. These days you sense a low-key brilliance afoot as they develop the kinds of techniques and flavor profiles that other chefs will soon enough emulate. One prime example: a helix of stuffed pappardelle filled with leeks and set atop crawfish étouffée.

This is complemented nicely by a beverage program, headed by Kristina Magro, that understands today’s cocktail and wine zeitgeist. You can sit at the bar with a gorgeous 50-50 martini while enjoying the sounds of Dusty in Memphis spinning on the Technics turntable, or you can let Magro or Wu-Bower, who relishes his role as a wine steward, turn you on to a bottle that not only jibes with the flavors but appeals to both natural wine enthusiasts and traditionalists. All of which makes Maxwells Trading my favorite new restaurant. I look forward to watching it grow up. —  L.H.

There are plenty of Mexican marisquerías around town, and they generally offer some combo of ceviches, tacos, tostadas, and big platters of fried fish for the table. Mariscos San Pedro does all of this and more, staying true to form while infusing the menu with a no-boundaries roster of creative dishes that wander deliciously off script. You’d expect no less from the trio of chefs behind this venture: Marcos Ascencio, the driving force at the late, lamented Taqueria Chingón; Oliver Poilevey, a scion of the Le Bouchon family who opened 2022's best new restaurant, Obélix; and mad pastry genius Antonio Incandela, who finds a sweet-savory pitch in his desserts that seems to turn them inside out.

Set in the sunny, blasted-open space that was formerly the brooding gastropub Dusek’s, this restaurant all but insists you ask a group of pals or another couple to join you so that you can try a bunch of plates. Go ham. Start with a tostada draped with fresh sardines over a pistachio mole. Crunch on crispy tacos dorados cradling the French salt cod and potato whip brandade. Then feast on a whole fried snapper to share. It hits the table with fresh salsas and handmade tortillas to rival any in Pilsen. Brunch is even better, because it’s here that Incandela’s pastries, such as a guava cream cheese doughnut and a stack of corn cakes with piloncillo syrup, shine.

So many other restaurants use familiar formats, like the French bistro or the American steakhouse, as a jumping-off point for originality. Those are time tested; Mariscos San Pedro, however, engages the Chicago of today. —  J.M.

A meal at Feld, like those at many tasting-menu restaurants, is a scrupulously spieled course-by-course affair, daunting in its sheer volume and length (up to three hours). So why does the time seem to fly by? Because — dare I say? — it’s so much fun. Jake Potashnick and his team of cooks take pride in their handicraft and stop by your table so often that you get to know them. The theater-in-the-round design of the room gives every guest an opportunity to view the central kitchen and one another. And though the choreography of this 25-to-30-bite meal, priced at an expensive-yet-reasonable-for-its-kind $195, looks easy, it’s an intricate dance suite worthy of Balanchine.

You’ll hear a lot about a Maine scallop harvester, a Minnesota duck farm, and a Swedish chocolate factory. You’ll take the worst food photos of your life because everything is simply presented to foreground the ingredient and many dishes are little more than a blop in a bowl. And yet you’ll fall into the rhythms of this meal, laugh a lot, and lean in to taste the loveliest ingredients supplied by the folks Potashnick has chosen to invite to his world. And with new dishes rotating in and out each day, you can keep coming back, deepening your own relationship with this special place. —  J.M.

Norman Fenton prepares the biggest wow of a tasting menu to hit this town in years at his six-table restaurant, where you feel like you’re eating in a fine-dining diorama. The dozen or so artfully plated dishes are an ode to coastal Latin America and Mexico, where Fenton runs another spot, Wild Tulum, and where his wife and child live. Reserve it for a special night (dinner is $200, or $220 for a seat at the chef’s counter and a couple more courses) and revel in the technical mastery of a chef at the peak of his craft and in flavors that can tug at your heart like a canción ranchera. If you melt in the presence of Fenton’s plump corn and huitlacoche ravioli set in a cumulus of fried corn silk, you won’t be the first. That said, the best move is to snag one of the seven counter seats for Cariño’s 10 p.m. taco omakase ($125 with two drinks) — it’s a fast-moving and novel meal that celebrates the house’s remarkable fresh masa, which starts with dried heirloom corn. Look for a blue corn tetela, a lamb tartare tostada, a quesadilla buried under shaved truffles, and a trio of unforgettable tacos. The suadero, made with beef belly and a dab of salsa verde, is the simplest and by far the best bite of the evening. —  J.M.

When more than a million members of the Kuomintang party retreated to Taiwan at the end of China’s civil war in the late 1940s, they brought with them a taste for hearty soups from the north, spices from Sichuan, and soup dumplings from Shanghai. In the modest noodle shops of the villages and urban quarters that soon sprang up, a new Chinese fusion cuisine was born. Rich Wang, who moved to the United States from Taiwan as a teenager in 1998 and went on to work at Boka and Fat Rice, opened Minyoli (named for his Taipei neighborhood) as an ode to the style of cooking his grandparents’ generation created as they adapted to their new home. The dishes themselves tell the story, particularly the signature niuroumian, a spicy Sichuan-inflected soup filled with red-braised beef and hand-rolled noodles in a broth laced with chiles and broad bean sauce. There are plenty of traditional Taiwanese drinking snacks (and fun cocktails to go with!), such as corn riblets and fried chicken nuggets dusted with sweet plum powder — for many immigrants, a taste of pure nostalgia. I love Minyoli’s version of lu rou fan, the iconic rice bowl topped with braised meat (or mushrooms), pickled veggies, and a tea egg. If you need a guide, search out general manager X Wang, Rich’s cousin, who is one of the city’s great hospitality pros and an avid spokesperson for their homeland’s cuisine. —  L.H.

If money is no object, then there’s no more impressive spot than this dining aerie, where you can indulge in great steaks, pastas handcrafted in a showcase lab, and an outstanding Italian wine list where the by-the-glass program bests others around town in both quality and priceyness. (A glass of Antinori’s famous Tignanello will set you back $74.) A collaboration between Lettuce Entertain You and Los Angeles chef Evan Funke, Tre Dita looks like the fanciest Tuscan steakhouse in Wakanda. Designed by London’s David Collins Studio, this dynamic space is amber toned and leathery here, soaring and futuristic there, with views of the lake and river. While pastas can be uneven, I liked a bowlful of spinach gnudi bobbing in brodo, and I loved a hard-seared rare filet with a glass of aged Barbaresco. Reservations are tough, but the full menu is available at the first-come, first-served bar, including a bistecca alla Fiorentina that's "three fingers" thick, giving the restaurant its name. (It looks smashing, but we chose not to shell out the $290 for it, particularly when the filet is a deal at $59.) If you do book the dining room, ask for corner table 205 for a view more breathtaking than the prices. —  L.H.

When I moved to the Midwest nine years ago, I learned there was a certain kind of easy-to-overlook restaurant in these parts that registers as cool. It’s partly old-school Italian American, partly Wisconsin supper club, and partly dive bar. Such places usually develop their swagger over time, acquiring knickknacks and favorite menu items over the decades it takes for a lived-in patina to settle over the room. But friends and partners Pat Ray, Dani Kaplan, and Tyler Hudec saw the ready-made potential for just such a joint in Moe’s Tavern, a venerable watering hole with a 22-seat bar extending nearly the length of the deep room. They apparently raided David Lynch’s favorite thrift shop to bring in such items as Tiffany lampshades, straw-covered fiascoes for candles, and paintings of owls, random people, and the Last Supper. Kaplan and Hudec’s playful menu leans hard into nostalgia and wit. We’ve all heard about the Spaghetti Uh-O’s (al dente pasta ringlets, tiny meatballs, and creamy tomato sauce, dished out tableside from a whimsical hand-arted can), but the platter-size half-chicken parm and the shrimp scampi toast featuring whole shrimp atop the Chinese restaurant staple are just as canny. Don’t miss the seasonal sundaes; the version served last fall with cinnamon gelato and cranberry cider sorbet tasted weirdly, wonderfully like fairground candy apples, a flavor I’d almost forgotten. —  L.H.

If you squint hard, you can maybe see the whole “1930s Los Angeles supper club” theme in these concrete-walled rooms, former home of the high-end Acadia. Or you could just enjoy this restaurant for what it really is: a showcase for a talented chef primed to make his mark on Chicago. Alex Carnovale, who has a fine-dining résumé to rival Carmy Berzatto’s, can arrest your senses with the layering and laser focus of his flavors. Simple-sounding dishes — such as a roast chicken in a cold herb sauce, a green salad piled as high as a '60s updo, or a plate of toast and butter — have a lot more going on than the menu suggests. The last one, for instance, consists of Publican Quality Bread sourdough that has been dipped in egg and griddled in beef fat, then paired with caramelized shallot butter for a turbocharged flavor. Luke DeYoung's cocktails, like a London dry gin martini with a relish tray and a gin fizz brightened with strawberry, reinforce the sophisticated sensibilities at play. —  J.M.

Set across the street from the turreted 99th Street Metra station in Beverly, this picturesque spot looks like a whistle-stop café. As soon as you open the door, though, and line up by the cleanly tiled kitchen set with cheerful blackboard menus, any thoughts of coffee and pie turn to brisket and ribs. Chef-owner James Sanders and pitmaster Nick Kleutsch do a fine job of keeping the meat tender and nicely fatty under its peppery crust. The star of the smoker is surely the short rib, nearly bigger than a breadbox and wobbly on its long bone — a thing you want to pick up and attack like prey but know you should share. Excellent sides include porky collards in their potlikker and a wedge of pebbly sweet potato cornbread with a caramel glaze that you may want to save for dessert. —  J.M.

This new restaurant from the Alinea Group has set up shop in the space that housed its previous concept, Roister, and centers all the action on the room’s centerpiece live-fire hearth, which draws your eyes the moment you walk in. Flames lick the grates, while branches of green herbs, bunches of leeks, and whole pineapples hang from above, wallowing in all that sweet smoke. It all looks like a whacked-out still life, both medieval and strangely modern. Yes, we have here that ol’ Alinea razzle-dazzle, but — surprise! — the attractively priced tasting menu ($115) makes for a relatively accessible entry point into Grant Achatz’s fertile culinary mind (interpreted here by executive chef Adair Canacasco). The opening menu plays with fire’s transformative power in novel ways. Watch an antique iron, plucked from the flame, sizzle a cluster of maitake mushrooms on your plate; discover a fillet of cured halibut under an enormous (and fragrant!) sheet of burnt kelp; taste the perfection of smoked apple against a fire-flashed sweet potato slicked in funky, gooey cheese. It’s a good show. —  L.H.

If you have never before experienced a Georgian meal, then your first visit to Stumara will conjure a dream: the one where you discover a secret room in your house. Has this been here all along? A fertile land on the far side of Europe, Georgia has for centuries been making khachapuri flatbreads, wines aged in clay pots buried underground, and khinkali soup dumplings that rival xiao long bao for their sheer juice-bursting pleasure. Owner Tamta Sanodze and chef Giorgi Gambarashvili take you on an exhilarating trip to their home country at this smartly turned-out northwest suburban restaurant. While you’re there, make sure the tour bus stops for pkhali — colorful pâtés made from ground vegetables and walnuts — and an Adjaruli khachapuri filled with molten cheese and a raw egg yolk to swirl into it. Everyone on board should end the meal with a tiny glass of chacha distilled from grape must. It’s the perfect last stop. —  J.M.