Just fine???

Zimmi's, Lilia the NYT 100 Best list, and why none of it matters

Two weeks ago, I slid into a cozy 5-top at Zimmi’s, celebrating my dear friend Julia’s birthday. The West Village restaurant, which has been open about 18 months, has been a shiny object in my periphery—a glimmer of the new, hot New York dinners that continue to catch my eye. Despite my interest, I hadn’t been. The opportunity had finally arisen in the form of a special celebration and, despite trying my best not to go into meals with such anticipation, I was excited.

Martinis, vespers, and lower ABV drinks from their menu eased us into the start of our meal as we gossiped over our checkered tablecloth. And as the dishes came out, one by one, my excitement hadn’t tapered at all—on the contrary, it had grown. Peak-Spring asparagus arrived carefully dressed in two sauces, each perfectly tender with a proper snap. The socca, a crisp chickpea pancake, may have been my favorite. It was light and flaky, bright, with a hit of salinity from thinly shaved bottarga breaking up the mountain of greenery atop the small pancake. A course of jambon blanc and bread, where thin, rich ham piled high was served with a very sharp yellow mustard, celery remoulade, and a few petit cornichons had us all beaming. Two pasta courses followed, both delightful and indulgent, though perhaps not necessary with the main course that followed.

A salad complete with edible flowers was served. Its thin slices of soft, creamy cheese, brightly colored beets and sweet walnuts were the perfect crunchy foil for our enormous rabbit dish. It felt romantic, passing around spoonfuls of creamy mustardy sauce. I loved my heavily dressed bites, despite my general rabbit aversion.

Dessert felt equally celebratory—a silky creme caramel and a plate of warm, mini madeleines served with soft butter and a bitter orange marmalade. We finished our cocktails, fought over the last of the small, pillowy cakes, and began to collect our things.

“OK, I loved it,” I told my friends. Other than a timing snafu at the front-end and mild menu confusion, I thought the food served was faultless. Simple, well-cooked, flavorful, and a beautiful display of Spring produce and warmer-weather flavors. Three of my fellow diners agreed—it was a great meal. And then Kate shrugged. “It was fine,” she said. As if we had just eaten a slightly-floppy pizza. She doubled down, “I wouldn’t come back.”

Fine??? Wouldn’t come back?? I, who wants every meal I plan for my friends to be the best of their lives, felt a bit wounded. My feelings were hurt—how could this meal that I loved, that I thoroughly enjoyed without any mishigas, been just fine to the person seated across from me? I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been thinking about those comments for two weeks, and I’ve found peace in my resolution. Let me explain.

Dining will always be subjective. Our taste buds, our mood, our prior experiences, our restaurant exposures, all inform how we receive the space around us when being served food in a dining room. There is very little room for objectivity. We have our metrics, sure; ambience, service, creativity, execution are the pillars of judging a restaurant. It’s what I pay attention to. But it’s not the full picture.

There is no way to account for preference. How yours differs from mine. How a dish is prepared ever so slightly differently from one night to the next. That even with the utmost consistency, opinions will still differ.

I dined at Lilia for the first time last week. Despite its frequent press hits, I had little expectations of Missy Robbins’ 10-year old restaurant. I’ve had great meals at Misi, and I expected the same caliber from the well-respected chef. The meal was very good—I didn’t expect to love a piece of glorified garlic bread with a pile of mozzarella stacked on top, but it was excellent. I freaked out (positively) over the mustard balsamic. We had the pink peppercorn mafaldine and the artichoke. I was suspicious of how many menu items featured the words “breadcrumbs” and “parmigiano” in their descriptions. Too many breadcrumbs.

The food was good. The highlight, frankly, was our vanilla gelato that we ordered with all of the toppings. It looked out of place on the chic slate grey bar covered in soft swirls topped with fennel pollen. But it was fantastic. And yet, I wasn’t all that impressed. I don’t need to go back. Again, Lilia is some people’s favorite restaurant. It’s a coveted table with a solid reputation, one that has allowed it to stick around for 10 years.

Isn’t that the whole point of dining? To experience for yourself, to form your own opinions? To find your favorite places?

So when I read accounts that carefully number New York businesses and claim which are “the best,” I wonder what about them qualifies for such a definitive ranking.

Before I continue, let me say this—Ligaya Mishan is amazing. The task of The List is an unbelievable undertaking.

The last couple of years, the New York Times has published a list of the 100 best restaurants in New York City for that given year. It is an incredible feat of eating and reporting, and a beautiful look at the five boroughs that make New York City whole. Every year, there is controversy and debate. For example: why is Roman’s so high? Golden Diner above Superiority Burger, Lei, Cho Dang Gol???? Why is Okiboru on this list at all? How exactly are we comparing, within the space of 10 ranks, a three-Michelin star restaurant, a taco spot, and a hit-or-miss Sichuan restaurant on St Marks? I’m not saying I’m right, and I’m not saying the author of the list is wrong. What I’m saying is that the angle of this list, its framing, its introduction, completely misguide what this miraculous list of restaurants could achieve.

These are the 100 best restaurants to exactly one person. They are one person’s perception of New York, and the endless source of wonders the city provides. The value here is sharing what’s out there, not a ranking that, despite its thoughtful composure, would more aptly be named “my personal 100 favorite restaurants in New York in 2026.” After all, Kate hated Zimmi’s. I thought Lilia was lukewarm. I’ve had a friend dislike Bridges (gasp, I know).

And yet, I wonder if there are restaurants that are undeniable, that are so excellent at their craft you can’t help but love it. I don’t think that right is reserved for the places with the most Michelin stars. Sure, that ups your chances of an unforgettable meal, but there are spots where excellence can’t exactly be questioned. Where you’re near-guaranteed to love every second once they’ve invited you to have a seat in their world. Penny, for example, is a restaurant where I’ve truly never heard a complaint.

When the top 10 arrive in your inboxes tomorrow and you can review the list in your entirety, I hope it makes you excited to go out and eat. To try somewhere new and travel a little further than usual. I hope it encourages you to also form your own opinions, to not feel beholden to rankings, and to share your love and appreciation for the restaurants that made you happiest this year. For me, those places are: Penny, Cho Dang Gol, Superiority Burger, Lucali, Hart’s, King, Bridges, Mariscos El Submarino.

Can’t wait to hear all your thoughts !!!!!

Same time next week? xo