They have magical access to vintage tabletop and European flea-market finds, whether it’s a cache of dinged-up silver platters from the (now-renovated) Chicago Athletic Association or a stack of porcelain from a long-defunct French hotel. Dig and be surprised. Because, yes, there will always be room for a vintage Swedish (or Swiss army) blanket in your wheelie.

A visit here feels less like going shopping and more like an afternoon at Soho House: Tote a glass of wine as you step through room after room of Nancy Meyers–worthy furniture. Then recover with a green juice or a bacon club beneath the chandeliers of the 3 Arts Club Café (shopping is so...exhausting), operated by the same folks who run Au Cheval.

The minimalist rooms, located right above everyone’s favorite Logan Square gastropub, are designed like you wish your apartment were, complete with vintage cassette-tape players, indie mags, custom carpentry, and original artwork. But the real perk is that beef tartare, fried-chicken roulade, and 150 whiskeys are waiting for you right downstairs.

Between the Shake Shack on the ground floor, the Cherry Circle Room (the restaurant from the Longman & Eagle crew) off the lobby, the game room (billiards, bocce, foosball, and shuffleboard), the reservation-only eight-seat cocktail bar, and the raucous rooftop lounge with sweeping views of Millennium Park, there’s no real reason to leave the premises. Funny, since it couldn’t be in a better location.

Where some coffee shops-as-community centers do the dusty book thing and forget about what’s in the cup, Ipsento delivers on the coffee every single time and, okay, has some dusty books (and sandwiches named after authors), too. You don’t come here for the cool factor—which can be refreshing these days.

Finally, a coffee shop you don’t have to flee when you want something to eat. Instead of the usual roster of pastries, the menu featuring duck eggs Benedict, charcuterie, housemade pickles, and local cheeses accompanies a jack-of-all-trades coffee program, where the roasted-in-house coffee lends itself to equally stellar pour overs, iced coffees, and lattes.

Your would-be Wicker Park home base serves all the coffee-shop standards (plus gluten-free and vegan pastries baked in house) using their own roasted beans from Metric Coffee. Yet the café never takes itself too seriously. See: the Monkey Latte, a.k.a. coffee spiked with banana, molasses, and agave.

Simply put, they do not make them like this anymore. Richard’s is a textbook dive bar, with the nicotine stains and Robert De Niro posters to show for it. The leathery bartenders sling $2 Hamm’s and any drink with two or fewer ingredients, all to the sometimes rowdy crowd’s selection of Italian standards from the jukebox. It’s unclear how it’s still legal to smoke in here, so don’t ask and don’t tell.

Everyone is supposed to have a bar to call his or her own, yet everyone we know is always at Scofflaw. What’s the deal? All the pleasures of cocktail culture and none of the annoyances in a chill, homey setting outfitted with mismatched vintage furniture and a working fireplace.

Chicago winters are cruel and punishing, and that’s why you seek the cozy, taxidermied confines of Sportsman’s, where the custom-built tables double as functional checkers sets, and an “amaro machine” blends Italy’s finest digestivi into mysteriously delicious shots. Chicago summers are swampy and brief, and that’s why you end up at Sportsman’s, draining Old Styles at picnic tables on the sprawling back patio and wishing the night never had to end.

Humankind cannot survive on bread and butter alone—wait, what are we talking about? We most certainly could, especially if it were anywhere near the quality of Cellar Door’s naturally fermented, epically crusty, irregularly crumbed loaves.

Our favorite Mexican food in Chicago is not in the Pilsen neighborhood. It’s scattered around the south and west sides, and it’s hiding in grocery stores like this Mexico City–style spot. The colorful—if minimal frills—restaurant portion of the space has become a mecca for taco lovers from around the city, who trek to Little Village for a lunch of juicy al pastor (pork and pineapple), tender lengua (tongue), spicy longaniza (sausage), and tripe so beefy and crispy, even the most offal-averse become converts.

The namesake arroz gordo—a crisp-bottomed layer of rice (akin to paella) topped with jumbo prawns, char siu pork, curried chicken, Manila clams, tea eggs, and linguiça sausage—is essential, but so are the lacy-edged potstickers and piri piri chicken, so you’d better come hungry.

Yes, this looks like the kind of place your grizzled uncle would hang out, pounding Bud Light while watching the Blackhawks (and this might also be true), but in fact, this unsuspecting sports bar serves one of the finest versions of Chicago’s polarizing signature dish. The game changer: a layer of cheese between the flaky crust and the cast-iron pan it’s baked in that yields irresistibly crispy, blackened edges.

No seats. No ketchup. No pretense. No nonsense. That is the Gene & Jude’s mantra since 1946, and it must be abided. A beacon of encased-meat hope in a nondescript strip mall in the suburbs, this stand is known for one, and only one, thing: a hot dog.

This is a place you can take a date for a six-course vegetarian tasting menu (think almond-crusted kohlrabi with charred-carrot crème fraîche), eat the most insane knife-and-fork breakfast sandwich of your life (we’re still dreaming about the fried soft-shell crab iteration) with your kids at brunch, or stop by for an afternoon glass of wine at the bar.

The main course is as it should be: a handsome rib eye, aged 55 days, sliced thick and settled into a slowly forming pool of its beefy juices. The menu dabbles in the carbohydrates of Germany (tiny twists of leek spaetzle) and Italy (hearty chickpea-flour cavatelli) because the only rule about this generation of steakhouse is to play by its own rules.

We’re still not totally sure what Au Cheval’s concept is (it’s sort of a cross between a pub and a diner), but every single thing on the menu is so ridiculously delicious, who cares? The holy grail is the burger: a double stack of griddled patties topped with a sharp Cheddar blend on an airy toasted bun.

Imagine a sports bar, with a really good beer list, that serves an ambitious menu of British-ish Indian food. Now imagine this: It works...The force behind this dedication is chef Jason Vaughan, who teamed up with the reigning kings of Chicago’s bar scene—Matt Eisler and Kevin Heisner—to open this pub, which feels like a neighborhood bar but operates like one of the city’s best restaurants.

It starts with an elbow-to-elbow–packed shoebox of a space whose cedar-wrapped walls evoke a Zen sauna. The hits land one after the next: lush brandade with garlic bread, bacon-wrapped dates (you have to), and the always perfectly cooked whole-roasted fish. The kitchen’s recent forays into the Middle Eastern pantry (sumac, za’atar, urfa, and the like) keep the menu feeling fresh. The night’s not over until your wine glass has hit at least half the countries on the Mediterranean.

Everything centers on the wild flames of a wood-fired oven, around which a dozen or so cooks grill and baste and plate in full view of adulating guests. Compared to Achatz et al.’s other spots, the music here is louder, the energy is higher, the prices are lower, and the quality of the food, devised by chef Andrew Brochu, is no less mind-blowing.

Our 2015 Hot 10 winner instinctively combines classic Korean and modern American with unapologetically bold, funky, spicy flavors. The bibimbap, with its always-changing toppings (steak and egg, say, or kale and barbecued onion), is a work of crazy beauty—be sure to dig down for the crispy bits at the bottom of the sizzling stone bowl.

Dinner comes with a show at this stunning newcomer: a show of people preparing your dinner. Above the bar, an angled mirror (the kind you’d find at a cooking demo) reflects the pasta-making magic going on below, as cooks shape tender doughs into gnocchetti and tortelli.