Best Restaurants 2023

From top: The plant-filled interior; salmon tiradito with mango citrus sauce; the Peligrosa cocktail; owners Mark Demshak and Irena Stein.

This Venezuelan gem’s move from Canton in 2021 helped strengthen the burgeoning restaurant row in Station North. And with good reason. Twenty-nine-year-old wunderkind executive chef-partner David Zamudio’s food has only gotten better since the relocation, which gave Alma more dining space, a bigger bar, and a sexier, sunlit feel. It’s a menu of all hits and no misses. A whole chicken is brined for 24 hours and served with a delectable, sweet corn sauce. Zamudio’s take on paella caramelizes the rice and includes, along with the requisite seafood, citrus aioli, sweet garlic emulsion, and pine nuts. There’s also a luxurious new version of the Venezuelan national dish, Pabellón Vegetariano, a large skillet of bomba rice tossed with plantains, beans, shiitake mushrooms, and pickled onions that offers a complexity of flavor and richness that can be hard to come by in vegetarian cooking. It’s a prime example of the innovation that’s kept diners coming back to Alma Cocina, no matter where it calls home.

From top: A table awaits in the main dining room; the Dorade Royale with asparagus and seasoned potatoes; mezze appetizer; dinnertime at The Black Olive.

or most of its 25 years, dinner at The Black Olive began with servers escorting diners from their tables to a glass display case, in which fresh fish on ice gleamed like aquatic jewels. There, explanations of the flavors and the textures and the ways that the kitchen prepared them officially commenced, while the hungry patrons drooled in anticipation.

Firing the octopus on the grill.

Although the ritual ended in 2020 (a victim of the pandemic), little else has changed at this groundbreaking Greek restaurant since it opened a quarter century ago. “The longevity of the restaurant is very similar to the longevity of Greek cuisine,” says owner Dimitris Spiliadis, 52, who cooks alongside his mother, Pauline, the restaurant’s founding executive chef. “The food is very pure and basic. We don’t make the plates fancy to hide a bad product. The foundation is great ingredients.”

Spiliadis was just 27 when he opened what he says was the neighborhood’s first white-tablecloth restaurant in 1997 in a converted rowhome that once housed the Fells Point General Store. He and his mother had been running a catering business when they took the plunge. “My family has always had food at the center of its culture,” he says. “When I was growing up, guests would covet their invitation to come over and eat. Dinner was a very special thing.”

It still is. Many of the dishes created by Pauline remain on the menu today. The recipe for spreads like melitzanasalata, which combines grilled eggplant, garlic, balsamic vinegar, and olive oil, have been passed down through the family for generations. Taramasalata is made using black olive bread marinated in wine, olive oil, lemon, and fish roe.

On the night before Thanksgiving, the kitchen is preparing for the busy night ahead. Loaves of freshly baked bread to sop up those spreads sit next to the oven, waiting to be sliced. “My mother baked bread every day when I was a little kid,” says Spiliadis, who grew up in Mt. Washington. “One is onion seed, the other is olive bread. We use organic flour. It’s toward a sourdough, but it’s not as dense.”

The small plates are always popular, but Spiliadis’ skill and the quality of the ingredients are particularly evident in the entrees. Octopi from Portugal boil in a large pot containing red wine vinegar. When an order comes in, octopus is thrown on the grill for five to seven minutes and served piping hot and charred just so. Spiliadis expects most of the restaurant’s 65 seats to be filled this evening. When first opened, it sat just 35, but he bought the adjacent rowhome and combined the two buildings to create one of the most architecturally intriguing restaurants in the city. What once was a staircase to upstairs apartments got turned into an atrium, which gives the building an open, airy feeling. He used bricks to create decorative archways and reclaimed barnwood for the floor in one of the three dining rooms. There’s also a private dining table in the wine cellar, which holds around 3,000 bottles.

Although the glass display case is empty, Spiliadis still gets roughly a half-dozen varieties of fish daily. Sea bass, rockfish, sole, yellowfin tuna, salmon, and halibut from around the world are available this evening. Mediterranean sea bass is the most popular. Fifteen of the raw, whole fish sit on ice atop a counter, their scales more pink than rouge. Diners won’t get to see them in this state anymore, but they won’t enjoy eating them any less.

“We decided after 25 years of business, people trust us,” says Spiliadis of those bygone tours of the fish case. “They know us.” —Mike Unger

Clockwise from top left: Maine lobster offering from the raw bar and a classic martini with olives; colorful drinks are served on the deck; the interior space with water views.

Short of being on a boat, if eating on the water is your thing, this Naptown newbie, situated along the “Ego Alley” channel of the Severn River, is one of the best places in the state capital for enjoying the fruits of the sea and watching the mega-yachts dock while still standing on terra firma. The Patrick Sutton-designed restaurant has all the bells and whistles we’ve come to expect from an Atlas Restaurant Group property, including a wrap-around second-story deck replete with fire pits and Adirondack chairs, a see-and-be-seen rooftop bar with potent cocktails, and impeccably tasteful dining rooms. Sip on a martini, then consider the catches of the day (many of which are on show in the glitzy fish case), as well as crab cakes made with Maryland meat, Chesapeake oysters, and one of the very best versions of Maryland crab soup we’ve ever eaten. If your leanings are more toward the land, venture to the steak side of the menu for an aged porterhouse or pork chop. Diners beware: The restaurant can get overrun, especially on a warm-weather weekend. (Avoid the Annapolis Boat Show at all costs.)

From top: Spatchcock chicken with mashed potatoes and sorghum-glazed carrots; an array of craft cocktails; the kale Caesar; bartender Todd Dalgliesh shakes and stirs.

t’s happy hour, and a group of teachers are burning off steam from what has already been a long week (never mind that it’s only Wednesday). But they’re not drinking pitchers of cheap beer or eating plates of nachos, and no TVs are mindlessly blaring in the background. In fact, there are no TVs here at all.

“This is a neighborhood spot, but it’s not a sports bar,” says Ahmed Shah, Bondhouse’s general manager, who met the New York-based owner when they both attended the University of Maryland. “You’re not going to get Fireball shots here. There’s not going to be a rowdy crowd. Our goal is to make it so whoever comes in feels comfortable.”

Chef Dominic Stewart.

There are many reasons why. Its friendly staff and inviting aesthetics—plants dotting the bar area, small dining rooms, and a lovely outdoor patio—give it a welcoming aura. The kitchen was originally led by Arthur Palarata, who came from Woodberry Kitchen. Now, it’s helmed by Dominic Stewart, previously at nearby Keystone Korner, and it hasn’t lost a beat. The small menu is heavy on upscale comfort food like corn dogs, fried chicken, and chili, but the best bet in this category is the anything-but-average mac and cheese.

“We start with our mornay sauce, then we add heavy cream,” says Stewart. “Then we add our cheeses to make that sauce velvety. A lot of people think I use Velveeta.” —Mike Unger

From top: Serbian pancakes; pierogies with red chile garlic oil and sour cream for sharing; the intimate dining room; heirloom recipe box.

Robbie Tutlewski first started cooking alongside his Serbian grandmother, Donna, in the family’s Indiana home kitchen. As a boy, he would help roll pierogies, bake bread, and make soup. “We cooked together a lot,” says Tutlewski. “I come from a family that made pies instead of buying a crust from a store and my grandmother made palacinkes every morning.”

Given his upbringing, it was practically preordained that Tutlewski’s first jobs would be in hospitality. There was a pizza joint. Then a hippie cafe. Then Olive Garden. At the age of 19, after he took a job at Applebee’s, his mom convinced him to apply to culinary school. Before long, he enrolled at the famed Le Cordon Bleu College of Culinary Arts in Chicago, where he learned culinary basics. His biggest takeaway at the time? “I realized I can’t be working at Applebee’s when I’m around all this great food.” By 2007, Tutlewski moved to Phoenix, Arizona, landing a job at the acclaimed Pizzeria Bianco, where he was schooled in pizza-making by artisanal pizza pioneer Chris Bianco. After several years, he moved again, this time to D.C. to work as a sous chef at the Michelin-starred Tail Up Goat. Still, he dreamed of opening his own place. What finally spurred him was his father’s words in the months before his death from cancer. “He was like, ‘Just do it,’” recalls Tutlewski. “‘Sell your grandmother’s pierogies and apple pies. . .’”

So, after years in the making, the 39-year-old chef opened Little Donna’s in Upper Fells in June 2022—with the restaurant’s name as a tribute to his grandmother, who stood only 4’6” but loomed large in his life and continues to do so on his menu, where Donna’s palacinke (Serbian pancakes) and pierogies are made daily and her recipe card box sits high on a shelf in the bar. In fact, food and family are at the fore of everything the chef does here, and there are nods to his relatives throughout the menu, from the “Jillie Billie” horchata-rum drink named after his late sister to Bob’s Green Salad in honor of his dad. The dishes serve both to honor those he has loved—and lost—and as a tribute to “the culinary journey I’ve been on for the last 25 years,” he says.

Owner-chef Robbie Tutlewski finishes a dish.

With its lace curtains, plaid upholstery, and antique bric-a-brac, even the nostalgic décor of the restaurant in the old Henninger’s space is an ode to his heritage. “It was important to us to get a very grandma and grandpa, Eastern European, gastro tavern vibe,” says Tutlewski. “I love antiquey stuff, old things that have history.”

On this rainy fall morning, like most mornings, Tutlewski is hard at work in his kitchen preparing for the day’s dishes—from a pickle plate with deviled eggs to stuffed pork schnitzel. He mixes the palacinke batter, divides the pierogie dough he’s made the day before with a cookie cutter, and then, using a small scoop, fills them with potatoes, horseradish, sour cream, and butter. He also kneads a different batch of dough for a menu mainstay: his impossibly crisp pizzas. “We don’t use wild yeast,” he explains, “because that’s the pizza that will sit in the fridge and hold up for a few days—that’s not the pizza we are going for. My pizza is of the moment—you have to eat it right away.” Later, just before service begins at 5 p.m., his small kitchen crew arrives. From the cramped kitchen, as diners trickle in, Tutlewski peers anxiously through the small square peephole in the door that leads to the dining room. “I’m always shocked that people show up,” he says. But mere months after opening, Tutlewski has a handful of regulars—and new patrons arrive every week. The sight of patrons in the dining room seems to fuel him. “What Donna instilled in me is the act of feeding people,” says the chef. “My personal love language is acts of kindness.” —Jane Marion

Clockwise from top: Firing orders on the grill line; the dining room; the grilled tenderloin salad with crispy onions.

A steady stream of diners starts flowing through the front door of this 35-year-old Baltimore County favorite around 5:30 at night, and they don’t seem to stop until every seat in the dining room, on the “grill line,” and at the bar is taken. Many seem to know at least one other customer or one of the veteran servers or bartenders on hand—it’s that kind of place. The upscale restaurant is run with an eye toward quality and consistency, both in the front and the back of the house. It’s evident in the dishes that emerge from the open kitchen, like octopus that’s perfectly grilled and served with hummus, black olive tapenade, and pickled banana peppers. The blackened mahi mahi has crisp skin, but the interior of the fish remains flaky and smooth, with extra kicks of spice delivered by the pico de gallo that topped it. For those looking for something a bit less fancy, the pizzas are enduringly popular—just like the restaurant itself.

From top: Duck confit with morello cherry sauce, wild rice pilaf, and grilled fennel; the sunlit space; new executive chef Amy Hessel; the falafel-crusted salmon with fava beans and herbs.

mong the many great joys of The Tilted Row, open since 2019 on the ground floor of a spiffy, modernist Bolton Hill apartment complex, are the open kitchen and the chef’s counter that fronts it. There, you—along with some of the restaurant’s many regulars—can pull up a chair and have the pleasure of watching executive chef Amy Hessel and her team cook and plate your dinner in real-time. There’s lots of patter among the kitchen crew and they often chat with the customers, like friendly bartenders crossed with a Chef’s Table kitchen brigade. Many of the regulars come in specifically, understandably, for the fried chicken—a Thursday Blue-Plate special served with biscuits, coleslaw, and cinnamon-butter that is a floorshow to watch being made. If you order Hessel’s falafel-crusted salmon, and you should, the process is more restrained but equally instructive. Hessel, in a black chef’s coat and red bandana taming her dark curls, will call out, “Fire salmon medium rare,” then begin to assemble the dish while one of her kitchen staff of five reads the temperature of the fryer oil for the chicken and calls back, “Can I get a biscuit in the oven, please?”

Hessel actually made falafel as part of the three-course meal she cooked when interviewing for the head chef job in the summer of 2022. This is remarkable for a number of reasons, not least because owner Ziad Maalouf is originally from Lebanon—where falafel is a traditional, beloved dish—and Hessel is not. At 44, she grew up in Houston, Texas, and came back to her family’s hometown of Baltimore in 1998 to attend Baltimore International College’s culinary program, where she excelled in both savory and pastry—the combo as much a rarity as the number of women running fine-dining kitchens.

“I’m a unicorn, because I also like front-of-house,” says Hessel, who holds a degree in restaurant management. “I can run every facet of the restaurant—and I love every part of it equally.” She worked various jobs to help support her family. She started a baking business. She owned the New Freedom Rail Trail Café in York County, PA, where she and her husband and three kids still live. Shortly after closing the cafe, she saw the open position at The Tilted Row. “I knew from the second I applied, this was where I needed to be,” says Hessel. “I love what I’m doing when I’m creating. Whatever I can imagine is able to be a reality.” That reality is what’s on display when she works later that evening, plating the falafel-crusted salmon with bright green favas and dots of fresh herbs, and a wide brushstroke of Lebanese tahini. There’s also a towering stack of ratatouille Napoleon, and a signature side dish of Hasselbeck carrots. “I’ve always been drawn to those flavors; even when I cook at home, that’s what I’m reaching for in the spice cabinet,” says Hessel of the Middle Eastern direction of much of the restaurant’s repertoire, which is dusted with as much za’atar, dukkah, and Aleppo pepper as a Damascus spice market.

Long before making it for her future employer, Hessel made falafel at her cafe. “I told my husband, this is either going to be the most brilliant thing ever, or I’m going to fall on my face, and he looks at me, and he’s like, ‘Well, it’s really good.’” So are the desserts, because Hessel makes all of them, too, including a brown-butter toffee cake and a chocolate-pistachio-date cake with orange-blossom whipped cream that looks like the most beautifully plated candy bar. “I wear a lot of hats,” she says, and although there’s no actual toque, you imagine one, tall as her restaurant’s lofty ceiling. —Amy Scattergood