THE LAST GREAT TASTE OF PORTLAND FOOD HISTORY.
Greg Higgins in the Icon, the OG. The guy who envisioned our farm-to-table future, then gave it voice and direction. It’s hard to imagine life without Higgins’s timeless cuisine, world-class charcuterie, formidable beer list, and Shakespearean waiters—unwavering since 1994. Then came the restaurant’s shocking Bat Signal last summer: Higgins was in financial trouble, on the brink, HELP. The response was swift; reservations soared. Forest mushrooms, mind-blowing salumi, and boisterous cassoulets are dancing again. Customers swap stories. Hugs are everywhere. Lunch or dinner, the vintage back bar remains a treasure. The grass-fed beef brisket pastrami on grilled sour stout rye bread will make you cry. We did it. —KB

Vodka magic, Euro disco, sour cherry dumplings.
Can you hear it? Maybe it’s the irrepressible backbeat unce-unce-unce of Euro-disco, or the old-school Estrada pop of the 1930s—either way, the ever-present Kachka soundtrack sets the tone for the revelry ahead. Like a dacha dinner party masquerading as a restaurant, Kachka draws on a panoply of pan-Soviet influences to create its own jolly universe. With Georgian shila plavi, Armenian çiğ köfte, and Ukrainian sour cherry dumplings, this is resolutely not “Russian food.” It’s the Iron Curtain transformed into a discotheque, fueled by a dozen seasonally flavored vodkas, chased by pickle juice and salt-lick splashes of creamy Borjomi mineral water. Don’t fight it, feel it. —JM

Sushi and sake, just for you.
Sellwood’s 16-seat sushi bistro is entirely run by married couple Shinji and Izumi Uehara. Shinji slices sushi behind the counter, while chef Izumi covers the hot stuff in the kitchen. No rushing; it’s just you, them, small plates, and sushi. While once Kaede served an à la carte parade of nightly nigiri specials and saba battera (mackerel-pressed sushi), now, it's all centered on a tasting menu, featuring rare finds from Tokyo, delicate silver halfbeak fish to golden-eye snapper, plus elegant starters like a fresh-faced chawanmushi with fava beans and sweet corn. Sake is carefully selected to pair with seasonal ingredients. Heads up: Max group size is two, and reservations are required. —Katherine Chew Hamilton

AMERICA’S MOST DECORATED HAITIAN RESTAURANT.
Kann is more than a restaurant; it’s a force field. Reservations? Even famous names are turned away from this Haitian hot spot (pro tip: nab a 4pm rez). Chef Gregory Gourdet is a wrecking ball of drive and vision, with back-to-back James Beard awards for Best New Restaurant in America (2023) and Best Chef Northwest (2024). If only the Blazers could draft him. Kann has its own food language: spice rumbling, a home for soursop and Oregon berries, and free of dairy and gluten. Vegans feel at home and carnivores get a bestial steak glazed in Kann coffee BBQ sauce. Feast on all the starters, warm sweet potato bread to the titanically crunchy akra fritters. Revelations include the peanut creamed collards, dumpling-bobbing soup joumou, and hearth-charred jerk cauliflower. Multifaceted desserts nearly steal the show. —KB

The French-American school.
On the second floor of a converted house, this clandestine space bumps like a supper club on a good night. It’s a Frenchish project from chef Joel Stocks, formerly of mod-cuisine darling Holdfast. His cooking here fits the homey room but maintains a cheffy rigor. Onion soup bubbles under a fan of Gruyère-crusted bread pudding slices. A rotating crepe entrée sometimes wears a crispy skirt of brûléed cheese. Confit duck leg, cleverly deboned and rolled into a neat parcel, could redeem any botched Thanksgiving. And you certainly don’t need to bring your own wine to this dinner party: Partner Jeff Vejr (Les Caves) quietly steers a global wine list that goes as deep as you want to follow it. —Matt Trueherz

THAI TASTING SUPERSTAR.
Charcoal grills blaze. Adventurous bites appear, one after another. Craft cocktails shake, hand-picked wines flow. Playlists swerve from Esan folk to chef-rapper Action Bronson. No doubt about it: Langbaan is the country’s most original Thai food experience, with the 2024 James Beard Outstanding Restaurant award as proof. It hails from the Akkapong “Earl” Ninsom and Eric Nelson school of Portland dining (see also: Eem and Yaowarat). Expect changing menu themes, historical dishes, modern touches, pastry-chef desserts, and a strong nod to local ingredients, reservation only. Think of Phuket Café as its charming roommate, with à la carte dishes big and small, lunch or dinner. Standouts there include the euphoric fried pompano salad and outdoor seats in a colorful Thai “train car.” —KB

PORTLAND’S ENFANT TERRIBLE IN TASTING-MENU MODE.
Since 2007, Gabriel Rucker has reigned as Portland’s premier French gastrobasher. These days, the two-time James Beard medalist is a proud dad and sober chef. The punk-rock vibes have given way to Crosby, Stills, and Nash and a quasi-elegant cool. But the tasting-menu dishes, meat or meat-free, still look like stoner Miró. Chatty chef Dana Francisco holds fourth most nights, adding his own ideas. France is a trampoline to spring forward into the unknown. Sweetbreads, a cornerstone of French cuisine, might crash into buffalo wings territory—crisped up, hot sauce soaked, and set over roquefort-parsnip puree. Somehow, figs factor in. Duck l'orange hides little pockets of chicken mousse, and broccoli finds happiness with...grape chutney? Andy Fortgang’s astute wine list brings it all home. —KB

THE FLOWER-POWER QUEEN OF PORTLAND PIZZA.
Great traditional pizza is everywhere. But there is only one Lovely’s Fifty Fifty. Flavors you don’t associate with pizza prance across the chewy sourdough crust. A seasonal pie mingled taleggio cheese and stinging nettle leaves, which bike-riding owner Sarah Minnick foraged that morning in, of all places, Forest Park. A diner once spotted her milling about the urban park’s bushes: “Is that you, Chef Minnick?” No wonder Italian pizza master Franco Pepe is a fan. This is pizza on its own mountaintop, in its own conversation, with a distinct taste of place. Throw in some wildflowers and Portland weird. Netflix’s Chef’s Table: Pizza devotes an entire episode to the Minnick way. The ice cream is just as good. —KB

The littlest Italy.
Luce (pronounced “LOO-che”) means “light” in Italian. This is the Vogue Italia kind of Italian restaurant, almost (almost!) as much about what’s not here as what is. Instead of overelaborate presentations and pumped-up twists, there’s lemony cappelletti in brodo, panna cotta sauntering in pine syrup, simple pastas (offered as whole or half orders) like rabbit pappardelle and shrimp linguini. The house wine is good and comes in little tumblers. Order the octopus with potatoes and olives. Get some little wedges of farro and Parmesan pie and a few salt cod crostini. The room fits the menu, too: Checkered tile, floor-to-ceiling windows, and retail shelves cluttered with jarred and bottled things give the look of a mini-mart from when mini-marts could be beautiful. —MT

Filipino with a cheffy twist.
Chef Carlo Lamagna serves the city’s most polished Filipino food at Magna Kusina, but the setting is comfortably convivial. Staples skew traditional: charcoal-grilled skewers, longanisa (sausage) to pork intestine; killer classic lumpia comes with Lamagna’s sweet and sour. Others twist recipes, nostalgia, and cultures, like Mom’s Crab Fat Noodles—squid ink spaghetti in sarsa, the funky-hot coconut sauce, with a heavy ration of Dungeness. Industry advocate Lamagna is also a major mentor to upcoming cooks, particularly those with Southeast Asian heritage. —MT

THE FRENCH-NORWEGIAN LUNCHEONETTE OF YOUR DREAMS.
Måurice is one woman’s ode to the art of eating. Kristen D. Murray’s pastry luncheonette is charming, super-rigorous, and sweetly elegant. The kitchen occupies half the room, bordered by a marble counter. Here, Murray is ever-present in a pork pie hat, stirring her Le Creuset pots. The daily à la carte menu is her short story: French techniques, Grandma’s lefse, and exacting seasonal excitements. Even a rosemary currant scone looks (and tastes) like a million bucks here, with spoonfuls of fresh jam and crème fraîche. Portland’s most finicky eaters come for pristine fish, a true French quiche, and Danny McGeough’s startlingly delicious wines. The iconic black pepper cheesecake and lovingly fragile tartes are a reminder: Murray is a New York–trained pastry chef. Don’t miss them with tea in black iron kettles. —KB

Old-school sushi through an Oregon lens.
Not much changes at this wonderfully retro, elegantly understated sushi bar and restaurant, owned by the same family since 1988—except the daily specials board. For my money, this is the most important fresh fish sheet in town, a sighing surfeit of impossibly fresh seafood: Oregon abalone and Japanese firefly squid, Hokkaido uni and Puget Sound oysters, miso stewed mackerel, coastal crab, and the list goes on. Murata occupies a beautiful duality—Japanese cuisine through a Pacific Northwest lens, served with uncommon grace and hospitality. The folks next to you at the sushi bar have been coming here for 30 years. Let us all hope to visit for another 30 more. —JM

FARMHOUSE BRUNCH GONE WONDERFULLY MAD.
In 2002, budding food philosopher John Taboada conceived a tiny eat spot with an “only what we love” mindset and a kind of lawlessness in the air, kicking off Portland’s east-side indie food revolution. It endures as a quirky candlelit marvel on NE 28th: the dim sum–like plates, the ugly-delicious farm vegetables, the abiding wine passion, some 80 glasses deep. The minimalist menus still arrive with a pencil, checklist, and clipboard. Sprawling dinner menu roams the world and our backyard; everything available in half portions, even the hangar steak. Weekend brunch is like a farmhouse gone wild—eggs 10 ways, a mountain of crusty bread, and some 20 specials, perhaps steelhead trout toast or braised turnips, roots, stems, and all, served with outsize vintage spoons. If authentic Portland has a definition, Navarre is it. —KB

UNMATCHED OMAKASE AND SUNDAY HIGH TEA.
Nodoguro is its own definition of fine dining: ceremonial kaiseki without the rules. Think dinner party intimacy meets Michelin-caliber omakase conjured with love on Tokyo flea-market plates. The entrance “study” with handmade books and found relics leads to a 1920s art deco dining room, plush and moody. You’re in Ryan and Elena Roadhouse’s world. Hospitality is their art form. The night might yield a torrential uni risotto, sesame tofu tasting like silky halvah, or an ethereal vision of Dungeness crab, custard, and local matustakes. Oceanic jewels overnighted from Kyushu become a sublime sushi course. Portland’s best new experience is Sunday’s high tea, a two-hour finger-food extravaganza with inventive sandwich craft, rare teas. and seasonal sweets arranged whimsically on tiered trays. You feel like royalty here. Nothing slips by the Roadhouses. —KB

Meat, flames, and bone marrow chowder.
A hand-cranked wood-burning grill is the centerpiece of Ox and the chariot to a grunt-worthy pork chop, massive short ribs, and grilled maitake mushrooms, much of it glazed in signature fatty, garlicky “Black Gold” juice drippings. The menu—Argentine-inspired wood grilling, coal-roasted vegetables, a little Portland food mania—rarely changes, and nearly every dish is a classic, from spicy braised beef tripe to octopus with mint aioli to smoked beef tongue carpaccio. Clam chowder is the unexpected star: fresh, deep, and garnished the Ox way, with a smoked bone marrow the size of a Grecian pillar. —KB