Food & Drink

50 States, 50 Dishes: America’s Favorite Foods and Where to Get Them

Okay, technically there are 52—we see you, D.C. and Puerto Rico.
50 states 50 dishes
Illustration by Adrian Mangel

We love talking about where to eat around the world: the best breakfast spots in Sydney, cafés in Paris, street food stalls serving to-die-for tom yom soup in Bangkok. But this Fourth of July, we're looking in our own backyard. With some help from our friends at Goldbelly, state tourism departments, and our network of travel writers and food fiends, we've compiled an (un)official list of the dishes that capture the hearts, souls, and (oh, yes) stomachs of these 50 states (plus Washington, D.C. and Puerto Rico), and where you should order them. Many are fried (so many); many are meaty. None, save Alabama’s, feature vegetables—and those tomatoes, we’d note, are fried. This is America, after all: home of chicken fried steak, toothache-inducing desserts, and so, so much butter. Each state is different from the next. Scroll through to see what we've picked for yours. Illustrations by Adrian Mangel.

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    Alabama: Fried Green Tomatoes

    Here's why: Thanks to Fannie Flagg’s endearing novel—and subsequent film—fried green tomatoes have been inextricably linked with Alabama. And rightfully so. The state’s agrarian ways produce a bounty of tomatoes—the shining star of an Alabama summer. The beauty of the dish lies in its simplicity: firm, green (unripe) tomatoes, a crispy cornmeal jacket, and a lovingly tended skillet of hot oil.

    Eat it here: At Acre in Auburn, David Bancroft transforms this earnest regional favorite—a staple of home tables—into a mouthwatering showstopper. The tangy deep-fried tomato slices, bathed in buttermilk and dredged in Oakview Farms cornmeal, are stacked like a layer cake with a slather of pimento cheese between each one. If that wasn’t enough, he tops it all with a crown of lump crabmeat remoulade. Talk about the summer trifecta.—Jennifer V. Cole

  • Alaska: King Crab

    Here's why: Ever see an episode of Deadliest Catch? Then you already know how hard it is to haul up Alaskan king crab—a big SOB for a big, rugged state. It also takes some serious effort to eat, which makes the sweet, juicy meat all the more satisfying. Any king crab pulled straight from Alaska's waters is going to be great steamed and dipped in a bit of drawn butter, but there are a few places that do it better than the rest.

    Eat it here: For the biggest, meatiest legs, I always head to Tracy's King Crab Shack in Juneau, where fishermen bring the day's catch right to the dock. The king crab bucket comes with three to four monster-sized legs and two claws of Alaska Bering Sea Red King Crab, plus melted butter and garlic rolls. Order a pint of Denali Crab Shack Kolsch and get crackin'.—Jen Murphy

  • Arizona: Sonoran Dog

    Here's why: It's a Tex-Mex-meets-chili-dog mash-up that I would happily eat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Street food vendors (dogueros) have been hawking them all over the city since the 1980s, when they first became popular in the U.S.—you'd be hard-pressed to walk around Tucson without seeing one of the carts. How do you do know the real deal? Look for a hot dog wrapped in bacon, slathered with pinto beans, tomatoes, and a mix of raw and grilled onions, topped with the condiment trifecta of mustard, mayonnaise, and jalapeño salsa. It's all piled into a crusty bolillo roll directly imported from Mexico.

    Eat it here: Place your order at El Güero Canelo in South Tucson, which just won a James Beard Award and beat out nearly 200 other dogueros serving the same dish. Yeah, it's that good.—Bridget Hallinan and Katherine LaGrave

  • Arkansas: Fried Catfish

    Here's why: Fried catfish is a quintessential Southern dish—up there in revery with fried okra, chicken fried steak, and cornbread. And if you’re eating catfish anywhere in the U.S., chances are it came from Arkansas. So, where better to try it than at the source? The dish is classically made with either a whole fish or smaller filets, dredged in a rich batter and deep fried to achieve a perfect golden crisp.

    Eat it here: The best fried catfish is usually caught by friends or family, cleaned in the backyard, and fried up right at home—but unless you have some great local hookups, you might have to settle for the next best thing. Head straight to community-loved Lassis Inn in Little Rock. Deserving of local landmark status—for its food and the fact that it served as a meeting place for leaders of the Civil Rights movement—this standalone joint has been serving up some of the best fried catfish in the state since 1905. Order a Catfish Fillet Dinner for under $15 and enjoy the fish alongside creamy slaw, hush puppies, and fries. Bonus: You get a free history lesson, spelled out in newspaper clippings and photos on the wall.—Megan Spurrell

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  • California: Baja Fish Tacos

    Here's why: Yes, California is huge, but there's one thing we can all agree on (well, maybe not the vegetarians): Nobody should leave the Golden State without sinking their teeth into an equally golden fresh fish taco. Sure, the dish may be imported, but so is most of California—and wrapped up in each tortilla is a cross-section of the state’s diverse, albeit young, heritage, with straight-from-California-farms crunchy cabbage, fresh Pacific-caught seafood, a squeeze of lime, and a rich drizzle of crema best made just across the border.

    Eat it here: San Diego is the spot for fish tacos, and casual seafood shack Oscar’s serves up some of the best. Expect a line wrapped around the block. Oscar’s sources the freshest seafood, so feel confident exploring the menu—order a couple classic fish tacos (grilled is the Californian take on the Mexican fried version, though I go battered-and-fried every time), top off your order with a wildcard taco or two, and make sure to grab a tostada piled high with ceviche to eat while you wait.—M.S.

  • Colorado: Lamb

    Here's why: We're used to spotting lamb on Mediterranean, Middle Eastern, and European menus—and in Colorado. The state takes pride in sharing its local lamb with visitors, so take advantage of the many restaurants that have learned how to prepare it right.

    Eat it here: Shed your fleece for the evening and head to the upscale Flagstaff House in Boulder—the white tablecloths and fawning service play second fiddle to the stellar views of the city below, and plates of Colorado lamb are served on artful beds of produce grown just nearby. The meat itself is always well seasoned, juicy, and packs a strong flavor without feeling heavy. If you’re there in the summer, take your dinner outside on the patio. The menu changes daily, so call ahead to find out which day of your trip will see Colorado lamb on the menu."—M.S.

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  • Connecticut: Hamburger

    Here's why: How about this for a dinner party fun fact: The hamburger was created in the country’s third-smallest state more than a century ago, when a chef put ground steak trimmings between two slices of bread for a customer in a hurry. Then as now, hamburgers here are juicy and (typically) uncomplicated—it's all about the meat, not piles of toppings.

    Eat it here: Long before cool kids on the West Coast were ordering OTT "animal style" burgers, New Englanders in New Haven were ordering burgers at their origin source: Louis' Lunch keeps it beautifully simple—classic burgers on white toast, with only cheese, tomato, and onions allowed on top. It's a no-frills, family-owned, cash-only joint, and it will change how you think about hamburgers. —Meg Reinhardt

  • Delaware: Scrapple

    Here's why: Although Pennsylvania can claim it invented scrapple, Delaware is the world’s biggest maker of the stuff. Yes, stuff: a blend of pork scraps, cornmeal, wheat flour, and spices, formed into a loaf, sliced, and fried up until they’re crispy golden brown. Order it as a side to eggs, or take it down on a greasy bagel sandwich.

    Eat it here: You can find it in pretty much any diner statewide. Plenty of vendors sell scrapple at the annual Apple Scrapple festival in Bridgeville, but a local friend swears by Kirby & Holloway out of Harrington. If you’re craving a sandwich, Whereabouts Cafe in Bear serves a scrapple, egg, and American cheese that you won't regret.—B.H.

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  • Florida: Key Lime Pie

    Here's why: Though it’s been co-opted by the rest of the world and turned into everything from ice cream to cocktails, there are few foods that define Florida—and South Florida in particular—better than a fresh slice of Key lime pie. The dessert originated in Key West, where “Aunt Sally,” the private chef to hardware magnate William Curry, was looking for a way to incorporate condensed milk into a dessert. (At the time of the dessert’s invention in the late 1800s, neither ice nor refrigeration was readily available in the Keys). It’s that very ingredient—plus the addition of freshly squeezed, local limes—that make an authentic Key lime pie. How can you tell? If the pie you know as “Key lime” is actually green, covered in meringue, or baked in anything other than a graham cracker crust, you’ve never had the real deal.

    Eat it here: If you’re in Key West proper, don’t be afraid to wait in line for a slice at Key Lime Pie Co. (though you can also order them online). But my favorite version lives at South Beach’s iconic Joe’s Stone Crab.—Jennifer M. Wood

  • Georgia: Peach Cobbler

    Here's why: People wait all year for peach season, ready to eat a bushel standing over the kitchen sink, with juice dripping down to the elbows. But peach cobbler, the dreamy amalgamation of just-plucked peaches and a hand-wrought crust, might as well be the state dish. There’s a reason nearly every street in Atlanta seems to be named Peachtree.

    Eat it here: Pamela Moxley, the pastry genius at Miller Union in Atlanta, makes individual-sized peach cobblers (so everyone gets the caramelized edges and the gooey center) with golden freestone peaches and a buttermilk biscuit topping. For an added touch, she serves the warm and bubbling cobbler à la mode, with thyme, chamomile, and candied ginger ice cream. —Jennifer V. Cole

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  • Hawaii: Poke

    Here's why: Many mainlanders didn't know what poke was until five years ago—now, every town seems to have a build-your-own-poke joint—but this dish has been a Hawaiian staple for decades. The true-to-form classic is "a little bit sushi, a little bit Hawaii": raw ahi tuna marinated in soy sauce and sesame oil, tossed with green onions, seaweed, and Maui onion, atop white rice.

    Eat it here: Rugged darling Kauai should be on every traveler's hit list, and the island's no-frills Fish Express is the perfect way to dig into some fresh poke like you live here. Fish markets—and even regular ol’ grocery stores, for that matter—serve up much of the best Hawaiian poke, so belly up to the bustling fish counter; point at your fish and toppings; and grab your meal to go. Better yet, come here on your way to the beach so you can take your meal with you.—M.S.

  • Idaho: Steak

    Here's why: We know, we know: Potatoes. There’s even a state agency–the Idaho Potato Commission—to protect one of its greatest assets. But where would this potato be without its side of steak? Boise's Snake River Farms is raising cattle that top chefs are clamoring for; here, Wagyu cattle brought over from Kobe, Japan, have been crossed with American Black Angus to make American Wagyu. These rich, buttery cuts of meat are wet-aged for 28 days and are so red, you’ll want to check for a pulse.

    Eat it here: Thomas Keller’s French Laundry has served Snake River Farms steak; but Williams Sonoma has its hands on it, and now you can order it for delivery via Goldbely. —Laura Dannen Redman

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  • Illinois: Chicago-Style Dog

    Here's why: From humble beginnings, great heights: It’s not just Chicago’s story but the narrative of this state’s most famous foods. There are hot dogs stacked with pickle spears and relish, peppers, and tomatoes; Italian beef sandwiches that stretch credulity; and pizza, like Lou Malnati’s, so thick—so deep dish!—that some claim it no longer even counts as pizza at all. Not that you’d find those people here. Is it any surprise, then, that Chicago's classic dishes are all done their way?

    Eat it here: Take your pick of Lou Malnati's, Mr. Beef, or Superdawg to try out these classics.—Paul Brady

  • Indiana: Breaded Pork Tenderloin Sandwich

    Here's why: Any Hoosier will tell you the pork tenderloin sandwich is a must-eat while in Indiana. Made with pork that’s been pounded, breaded, and (more often than not) fried before being shoved into a bun half its size, this sandwich is the unofficial state dish and a source of pride for everyone who serves it.

    Eat it here: Nick’s Kitchen in Huntington first created the pork tenderloin sandwich in 1908—and year after year, it's still one of the best in the state. The restaurant pounds the tenderloins ultra thin and serves them simply on a hamburger bun with lettuce, Miracle Whip, and a side of potato or pasta salad. It's the perfect mix of juicy and crispy without feeling greasy, and definitely worth the hour-and-a-half detour from Indianapolis.—M.S.

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  • Iowa: Dry-Cured Bacon

    Here's why: I didn’t even like bacon until I gave the dry-cured variety a try while at college in Des Moines. It was in a simple BLT a friend had made and it was so good that I had to ask where it came from (Vande Rose Farms). Turns out my spontaneous affinity was not uncommon—I get the same bemused smile every time I tell this story. Thick-sliced, dry-cured bacon tastes totally different than the greasy-spoon diner version I was used to. It’s smoky and sweet (thanks to a hand-rubbed mixture of brown sugar, pepper, and salt) and I’ve found it to be an easy way to add a bit of flavor complexity into any simple dish. It’s the kind of bacon you can eat a slice of with nothing else and you'll never be disappointed.

    Eat it here: Vande Rose Farms is an Iowa Falls institution—and any local will tell you the same. I think a lot of the excitement around dry-cured bacon in Iowa comes from the pride in how the hogs are raised. Getting such a great product starts with breeding healthy, well-fed animals.—Erika Owen

  • Kansas: Joe's Kansas City BBQ “Z Man” Sandwich

    Here's why: Ask anyone on the Kansas side of Kansas City for a good sandwich recommendation, and you'll likely hear one answer: the Z-Man at Joe's Kansas City (formerly Oklahoma Joe's). Now, this isn't your average BBQ sandwich. It's more like a BBQ sandwich Guy Fieri would eat at a Midwestern state fair—and I mean that as the highest compliment. Imagine this: slices of juicy beef brisket, smoked provolone cheese, and two crispy onion rings, all drizzled with some sauce and piled on a toasted kaiser roll. Everyone from Jimmy Kimmel to the KC Royals have lauded this now-legendary sandwich, but its best endorsement is the ever-present horde of locals who are still willing to wait in line at Joe's for 45 minutes (you can also order it on Goldbely). Take one bite of the Z-Man (preferably with a side of creamy potato salad), and you'll become a believer, too.—Caitlin Morton

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  • Kentucky: Hot Brown Sandwich

    Here's why: With the Kentucky Derby comes recipes for hot browns all over the internet, right alongside mint juleps. But this sandwich has nothing to do with the race—and you’d do yourself a disservice eating it only once a year. An open-faced stack of Texas toast, turkey, bacon, and Mornay sauce (a cheesy variation of Béchamel), it was created at Louisville's legendary Brown Hotel in the 1920s to feed hungry guests of the nightly dinner dance (read: it was Prohibition-era drunk food).

    Eat it here: Curious? The Brown has graciously shared its recipe if you want to make it at home—but the hotel still serves it today, and there’s no better place to try it.—Corina Quinn

  • Louisiana: Po' Boy

    Here's why: A po' boy is a sandwich, sure, but it's so much more. It's an embodiment of all the influences that make Louisiana a food mecca: the fresh catch, the propensity to deep-fry, the hot sauce. There’s the fried oyster and fried catfish po' boy, of course, but there also come with shredded beef or with tender slices of cochon de lait, aka suckling pig. These days, you'll find caprese po' boys and Vietnamese bahn mi po' boys. Like Louisiana itself, it's a dish firmly rooted in tradition, but also constantly evolving in the hands of those that come and go.

    Eat it here: Head to New Orleans and order it "dressed" (with all the veggie fixings and some mayonnaise) for the true experience. We're not going to fall into the trap of picking just one; opinions are fiery when it comes to po' boys. But this list is probably a good place to start...—Sebastian Modak

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  • Maine: Lobster Roll

    Here's why: I'm not sure there's a food quite as ubiquitous anywhere as the lobster is to Maine—sure, New York tries to claim pizza and Vermont pretends they own maple syrup, but when you hear Maine, the first thing you think of is lobster. It's perfect on all on its own, steamed and served up with a side of melted butter, but really does its best work in a roll.

    Eat it here: My very favorite lobster roll in the state is at The Lobster Shack at Two Lights—lightly toasted bun, barely seasoned lobster meat (you gotta still be able to taste the sea!), and a heavy dollop of mayo. Make sure you order a "boat"—your red plastic basket will come with said roll, plus coleslaw and fries—and eat it on the picnic tables outside for views of the two nearby lighthouses and craggy coastline.—Paulie Dibner

  • Maryland: Crab Cakes

    Here's why: Of all its maritime bounty, the Chesapeake Bay’s best might be its blue crab. Meaty, with a slightly sweet flavor, it’s the “state crustacean” of Maryland and a major source of livelihood for the area’s fishing industry—naturally, crab cakes are a popular local dish. As a point of pride for Marylanders, there are no shortcuts when it comes to making a real-deal crab cake here: light on the breading and filling, heavy on the meat, letting its flavors shine strong (though a dash of Old Bay seasoning is never far away).

    Eat it here: There are plenty of places to try it, but Jimmy’s Famous Seafood and Faidley’s, both in Baltimore, as well as Ocean City’s Crabcake Factory all are nationally acclaimed.—C.Q.

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  • Massachusetts: Clam Chowder

    Here's why: Order “Manhattan clam chowder” in Mass and you’ll get some serious side eye. From the way it’s pronounced (“chow-dah”) to the color (not red!), clam chowder is a point of pride in New England, and you should be honoring the region by eating the proper stuff: thick, potatoes-and-cream laden, and maybe with some summer corn for good measure.

    Eat it here: Go to the new Legal Sea Foods in Chestnut Hill, a quarter mile from the original. It’s come a long way since it was a fish market frequented by Julia Child—it’s been doing chowder right for decades. —Devra Ferst and L.D.R.

  • Michigan: Mackinac Island Fudge

    Here's why: I grew up eating Murdick’s fudge on Martha’s Vineyard, where we would spend a week camping every summer. So it was a weird, sort of hallucinatory moment the first time I saw the Murdick’s in downtown Traverse City, where I’ve been vacationing for the last 12 years. It’s touted as a Michigan institution (tourists like myself are called “fudgies,” which is just about the cutest pejorative out there), so I assumed I was misremembering my childhood fudge on the Vineyard. Plot twist! It’s the same Murdick’s—opened by a family friend in Edgartown in the late '70s. But enough fudge facts (though I could 100 percent go on)—the fudge itself is absolutely gorgeous. Lushly sweet, unchanged by our current “dark chocolate is the best chocolate” cultural obsession, and insanely decadent. Even the weight of the box in your hands feels indulgent. It gives you that frisson that comes with making a (slightly!) bad decision. I have my public favorite flavors (chocolate peanut butter, chocolate walnut, chocolate cherry) and my private one (maple walnut, don’t @ me), and my weird way of eating them (carved in small perfect blocks and slightly flattened between thumb and forefinger before consuming). Summer is not summer without it.—Jayna Maleri

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  • Minnesota: Lefse

    Here's why: A traditional Norwegian flatbread made of riced potatoes, flour, butter, and milk, lefse—after it’s been rolled out and fried—resembles a sort of tortilla. Lefse goes hand in hand with lutefisk, another Norwegian dish that’s, erm, not so easy to eat, but is also solid on its own. Enjoy it with butter, cinnamon, and sugar, or topped with lingonberry jam.

    Eat it here: Two of the best places to try lefse are at Norsland Lefse in Rushford and Jacobs Lefse Bakeri in Osakis; if you're in the Cities, stop by Ingebretsen's. Fold, roll, eat, repeat. —K.L.G.

  • Mississippi: Fried Chicken

    Here's why: Fried chicken, with its mottled crust and juicy meat, is quite possibly the world’s most perfect food. It’s portable. You can eat it hot out of the fryer or cold from the refrigerator or deli case; drizzled with hot sauce or honey; with your hands or a fork and knife. And in Mississippi, you’ll find it everywhere, from soul food joints to fine dining restaurants to gas stations. It’s the food that brings everyone to the table.

    Eat it here: In Jackson at Bully’s Restaurant, the soul-food standard bearer, where greens simmer in pork broth and oxtails and turkey necks get smothered to tender perfection, you’ll find the paragon of fried chicken. When you take a bite, the golden crust crackles like an old blues track. The flesh is moist and salty and, well, tastes like chicken. Someone better bring this to my funeral. —Jennifer V. Cole

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  • Missouri: Gooey Butter Cake

    Here's why: Unless you have some superhuman sugar-absorbing ability, you will not be able to finish a full piece of this cake. The at-home recipe includes yellow cake, powdered sugar, cream cheese (usually), and a whole lot of butter, but most Midwestern bakeries have recipes of their own to create the rich, silky-sweet inside baked over a cake-y crust. The butter queen Ms. Paula Deen herself has a very famous version of the cake, but this is a St. Louis dish to the core, invented here in the 1930s.

    Eat it here: Open since 1924, the Missouri Baking Company adds almond paste to make its gooey butter cake a little different from the rest. Get a slice of the original and then one of their rotating seasonal flavors—which, in the past, have included lemon, eggnog, and red velvet—to split with a few friends. —Meredith Carey

  • Montana: Huckleberry Pie

    Here's why: Akin in flavor to a sour lollipop melding with a sugar glaze, huckleberries are beloved in Montana. (They're unique to the region—and a major source of tourism and industry.) During peak season, you’ll find huckleberry fruit stands every other mile, gift shops hawking huckleberry lip balm and huckleberry soap, and restaurants serving huckleberry milkshakes and huckleberry pancakes. The pie, though, is the ultimate manifestation of the huckleberry.

    Eat it here: The most popular place to enjoy huckleberries for both tourists and locals alike is Park Café in St. Mary, where the plump fruit comes in the form of one juicy, decadent huckleberry pie. The huckleberries lend the pie its pure, unadulterated sweetness, balanced out by just the right note of sour, and a hint of salt—all held together by a firm but flaky crust. It’s a distinct taste that is wildly addictive.— Priya Krishna

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  • Nebraska: Runza

    Here's why: The runza—a simple, rectangular sandwich consisting of a bread pocket stuffed with beef, cabbage, onions, and seasonings—is ubiquitous in Nebraska. The aroma can be off-putting to first-timers, but take a bite and your mind is instantly changed. I grew up in Nebraska, so whenever I'm back in state, the smell of runza evokes nostalgia.

    Eat it here: Runza was brought to the region in the 1800s by Volga German immigrants, and a fast food chain named after and specializing in the dish was formed in 1949 and can still be found statewide today. —Corrie Vierregger

  • Nevada: Basque Lamb and Picon Punch

    Here's why: During the Francoist revolution in the mid-1930s, many Spaniards fled the Basque region and came to the U.S., where they found work as shepherds in California, Oregon, Ohio, and northern Nevada. If you visit Nevada today, that history still lives on in the state’s famous Basque Country cuisine. Dig in to a family-style meal with salad, oxtail stew, beans, french fries, and meat—lamb is usually the star attraction.

    Eat it here: Louis’ Basque Corner in Reno is a must if you’re a first-timer. You can order slow-roasted leg of lamb, or lamb chops cooked to order on a char-broil grill. Bring ten of your closest friends and get ready to feast. If you really want to make it an authentic Basque meal, make sure to ask for some picon punch: a cocktail made with Amaro liqueur, soda water, grenadine, lemon juice, and brandy. —B.H.

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  • New Hampshire: Cider Doughnuts

    Here's why: If there was a mascot for a fall road trip through New Hampshire, when the leaves are changing and you just spent an afternoon apple picking, it'd be a hot, fresh cider doughnut. It should be sugary and crispy on the outside, and—this is crucial—made with apple butter. We’ll forgive you if make multiple pit stops for more.

    Eat it here: The only rule of thumb is that your doughnut is homemade: Pick a farm stand and wash it down with a cup of hot apple cider.—Lale Arikoglu

  • New Jersey: Deli Sandwich

    Here's why: New Jersey has the best delis (and ergo, sandwiches) in the country—I'm prepared to go to the mattresses on this one. We're talking small, family-owned spots making pastries, heroes, and pasta for decades. Order an Italian hero—the OG deli sandwich, with its layers of ham, salami, capicola, pepperoni, provolone, lettuce, tomato, and onions, drizzled with oil and vinegar—for lunch on a paper plate, where the dressing lingers like a reminder of your cholesterol intake. It's so good.

    Eat it here: My go-to sandwich spot has always been Lotito's in Ramsey, which is worth the wait in line. The Millburn Deli also makes a mean hero, as does South Orange's Town Hall Deli—both are known for their Sloppy Joe. —B.H.

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  • New Mexico: Green Chile Enchiladas

    Here's why: Hatch green chiles, named for their home in New Mexico’s Hatch Valley, are picked early to keep their green color (they turn red as they mature, which makes for another New Mexico staple). While the slightly spicy, slightly sweet, smoky chiles are used in dishes all over New Mexico, the enchilada is my favorite green-chile vehicle. The rolled tortillas, filled with chicken, cheddar cheese, and onion, are covered in a green-chile sauce (the best has visible chunks of chile) and baked to gooey perfection. If you’re a spice-phobe, don’t fear. Green chiles won’t singe your tastebuds.

    Eat it here: The Shed in Santa Fe may be most known for its green chile stew but the chicken enchiladas here, served in blue corn tortillas and smothered in green chiles, are some of the best in the state. —M.C.

  • New York: Pizza

    Here's why: Must be something in the water... Pizza in New York is common ground: Locals and visitors agree it's rarely overrated. The city's pizza joints are as storied as the skyline, and it’s not all talk. Generations of famous pizza-making families follow their recipes like scripture, while waves of buzzy chefs from Manhattan to Brooklyn slice wood-oven-baked testaments to Neapolitan traditions—or newer pizza styles. From coal-oven to wood-fired, $1 slices or $25 pies, there’s a pizza for everyone in this town.

    Eat it here: John’s of Bleecker Street, an institution since 1929, slings a no-frills slice the size of your head oozing marina and mozz. It’s a classic; expect a queue. —CNT Editors

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  • North Carolina: BBQ Pulled Pork With Vinegar Sauce

    Here's why: Barbecue in the U.S. is a religion, but there's only one god—and that's eastern North Carolina-style pulled pork. Eschewing the western half of the state’s ketchup-y sauce for a more vinegar-y one, the eastern variety has the tangy, salty, meaty goodness that makes some of the state's best BBQ makers sell out of their goods within an hour of opening (we're looking at you, B's Barbecue). The best way to enjoy your BBQ, though, is at a pig pickin', the classic Southern fête that involves smoking a whole hog next to your truck, sweet tea in hand and friends in tow. And if cooking a 100-pound pig in your backyard isn't your thing, you can still find the tastiest, most made-with-love BBQ from a roadside shack.

    Eat it here: We're partial to the no-frills, family-friendly Skylight Inn in Ayden, N.C., where we swear by the pork BBQ combo plate with coleslaw and cornbread, all for less than $10—you can’t do much better than that. —Rachel Coleman

  • North Dakota: Juneberry Pie

    Here's why: The words, ‘North Dakotan powerhouse dish’ may conjure up images of hot dish and "chippers"—chocolate-covered potato chips—but the state's secret specialty is actually juneberry pie. Smaller, denser, and bluer than blueberries, juneberries (also called saskatoon berries) are popular in Canada and the Upper Midwest, and have a slightly nutty taste.

    Eat it here: For some of the best juneberry pie, head to Lund's Landing overlooking Lake Sakakawea, where Jim and Analene Torgerson offer fresh pie, by the slice. Just don't forget the vanilla ice cream.—Katherine LaGrave

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  • Ohio: Cincinnati Chili

    Here's why: My first job was as a line cook at a diner that covered nearly everything it served in chili—you'd think I'd be sick of it by now, but there's something about it that makes me crave it when I'm home. To out-of-staters, I describe Cincinnati chili as lightly sweet and cinnamon-y, thin and without beans. You can eat a full bowl of it, but it's better to think of it as a sauce or topper to other foods—most often, on spaghetti or hot dogs. The chili itself is then topped with other goodies, like cheddar cheese, mustard, onions, oyster crackers, and beans.

    Eat it here: Cincinnati chili is best eaten at the source—the famed Skyline Chili chain—where it was invented in 1949 by Greek immigrant Nicholas Lambrinides. Order the standard "three-way,” spaghetti slathered in the stuff, and finished off with a generous fistful of shredded cheese, or spring for my favorite, the "four-way," which throws chopped onions into the mix. Most Skylines are within a couple hours’ drive from Cincinnati, but some locations have sprung up in Florida—Ohioans joke that it’s where our state empties into every winter.—Cynthia Drescher

  • Oklahoma: Chicken Fried Steak

    Here's why: Only in America would they think of breading, then deep frying, a whole piece of beef—but boy, is it good. Reminiscent of a schnitzel, traditionally the lesser cuts of meats were prepared this way, but these days you’ll find far finer steaks hitting the fryer—just make sure yours is smothered with a generous helping of white gravy (and preferably topped with cheese or jalapeños).

    Eat it here: The batter should be golden and crispy, and you’d be hard pressed to find it done better than at Ann’s Chicken Fry House on Route 66 in Oklahoma City. Choose between a full or half pound of beef, and complete the order with sides of creamy mashed potatoes and fried okra. —L.A.

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  • Oregon: Marionberry Pie

    Here's why: Marionberry is a born-and-bred-in-Oregon berry—a blackberry hybrid concocted at Oregon State University. it’s somehow tart and sweet, the stuff of pie fillings and breakfast-dessert binges.

    Eat it here: The Pie Spot in Northeast Portland, a former farmer’s market favorite turned brick and mortar, where you can get a “cupcake of pie”—an individual marionberry pie (in season)—and skip sharing. You won’t want to, anyway. —L.D.R.

  • Pennsylvania: Philly Cheesesteak

    Here's why: There are few institutions more intrinsic to Pennsylvanians than the Philly cheesesteak (okay, sports heckling comes in a close second). But this humble, hardy sandwich, made of thinly sliced or chopped rib eye, thrown on a long, crusty roll and drizzled with Cheez Whiz or melted provolone (and, if you’re feeling ambitious, a helping of fried onions), causes its own fair share of beef. Purportedly invented by a hot dog vendor in the 1930s, rivalries, especially within Philly, still run as strong as the Schuylkill: Some people love Pat’s, where others hit up its neighbor, Geno’s—others still swear by Jim’s on South Street, where the lines frequently wrap around the block.

    Eat it here: If you have a car, our advice is to hit up Steve’s Prince of Steaks on Bustleton Ave in North Philly, or take 76 West out to Dalessandro’s in Roxborough; this thimble-sized operation sits across from a field where kiddies play rec football on the weekends. Whether you’re a fan of provolone and raw onions, or you prefer the Cheez Whiz and hot peppers beat, there’s one thing everyone here can agree on: This is a damn good sandwich.—Betsy Blumenthal

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  • Puerto Rico: Mofongo

    Here's why: My husband grew up in Puerto Rico eating mofongo, and his obsession with the dish—fried plantains mashed in a mortar and pestle, then formed tightly around chicharrón—has slowly turned into mine. There are variations, of course: made with yuca instead of plantains, or stuffed with seafood. But the original is the best, served with a garlicky sauce and chicken broth just like it’s been made for centuries.

    Eat it here: The place to be in San Juan is El Jibarito on Calle del Sol—just go early, or be prepared to wait...and wait.—K.L.G.

  • Rhode Island: Stuffed Clams, aka "Stuffies"

    Here's why: Although you can find stuffed clams anywhere, "stuffies" are a uniquely Rhode Island tradition. The precise ratio of ingredients—quahogs, breadcrumbs, butter, and a mirepoix, all baked together in the clamshell—is less important than the setting in which you eat it: preferably around sunset at a picnic table overlooking the water.

    Eat it here: Try it at Aunt Carrie's, a nearly century-old seafood shack in Narragansett.—Sarah Firshein

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  • South Carolina: Shrimp and Grits

    Here's why: Shrimp and grits is the South’s pizza: humble in origin, infinite in expressiveness, and, done right, damn delicious. The grits came from the Muskogee Indians, who, before being forcibly relocated during Jackson’s Trail of Tears, were part of the Creek Confederacy of the Southern woodlands; they practiced a coarse, or “gritty,” grind on their hominy, which acted as a virtual currency in the region. Shrimp were indigenous to the tidal marshlands of the South Carolina–Georgia Lowcountry, and common in the cooking of the Gullah people—West African slaves and their descendants who maintained a tight culture there and on the nearby Sea Islands. And while the mix was a common local breakfast, it wasn’t well-known outside the area until 1982, when South Carolina native and chef Bill Neal brought it to his Chapel Hill, N.C. restaurant Crook’s Corner, where it was “discovered,” and subsequently published in recipe form, by superstar New York Times food critic Craig Claiborne. Neal’s formulation remains the classic, and standard against which all others are measured—grits blended with cheese and topped with shrimp, sautéed mushrooms, and bacon—but, if you’ll forgive a Southernism, there are more versions out there than you can shake a stick at.

    Eat it here: If you’re looking for the classic, it’s tough to do better than Charleston’s Hominy Grill. But kitchens all over are getting smart and soulful with alt-takes. I recently rolled up for a bowl at relative newcomer Millers All Day on lower King in Charleston. The nuanced textures—breadcrumbs FTW, people—and subtle balance of punch and sweetness blew me away.—Brad Rickman

  • South Dakota: Chislic

    Here's why: I'm from southeastern South Dakota—the heart of chislic country—and growing up, my family ate chislic every Christmas Eve. We would put big chunks of stew meat (mostly beef, but sometimes venison, which makes up the most traditional iteration) on long fondue sticks and place them in hot, hot oil (all while jockeying for the best position, of course) until it was crispy on the outside and cooked through. Then, we'd salt the chunk liberally and eat it when it had cooled enough. This was not a place for ketchup—though we'd sometimes use Worcestershire sauce or Heinz 57.

    Eat it here: You can find chislic in almost any East River bar that serves food, but I’m partial to PAve in Sioux Falls. Lamb chislic is considered the more traditional version (though slightly less traditional than venison), but you can also get beef—both are excellent. The only drawback to restaurant chislic is that the dish actually tastes best the following day, when the meat chunks have been refried, set out to dry, and tossed in more salt. Also worth a trip: South Dakota’s first-ever Chislic Festival, which will take place in Freeman on July 28.—Renee Cramer

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  • Tennessee: Memphis BBQ Rack of Ribs

    Here's why: Memphis-style pork ribs come two ways: wet or dry. Many a Tennessean will wax poetic over their preferred style, but there’s a clear difference between the two. “Wet” means the ribs have been slathered, repeatedly, with thick, tangy, slightly vinegar-y sauce while cooked. “Dry” ribs are massaged with a spice mix—usually including paprika, black pepper, cayenne, and brown sugar—before and after cooking. Both are delicious and you’re going to have to try them to figure out where you stand on the age-old wet vs. dry debate.

    Eat it here: Head to the Bar-B-Q Shop if you want to try both the dry and wet styles of ribs. You can get a “half and half” order that includes both types.—M.C.

  • Texas: BBQ Beef Brisket

    Here's why: Brisket is the perfect meat. Lovingly and painstakingly smoked for over an hour, the fat melts in your mouth while the peppery, smokey, crunchy crust packs all of the flavor. In Texas, your brisket should be so tender and flavorful that you don’t need sauce. Some places don’t even serve it.

    Eat it here: No Texan in their right mind could whittle down their favorite brisket spots to just one so I’ll divide mine up regionally. There’s Snow’s BBQ, between Austin and Houston in Lexington, for melty, fatty, smoky brisket. In Austin, you can’t go wrong with Franklin Barbecue, where I’ll cede that the lean brisket is actually really good. Then, in my hometown, Cattleack BBQ is where it’s at, with super moist, marbled brisket. All of them have odd hours, so be sure to check their websites and be ready to wait in line.—M.C.

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  • Utah: Fried Scones

    Here's why: Some call it a Utah scone or sopaipilla; others think it’s a riff on Navajo fry bread, adopted by Mormon missionaries after time spent with Navajo communities. Even locals may wonder why their state gets its own scone—doesn't the U.K. do it well enough?—but once you taste Utah's version, you really won't care about the details. You’ll be drowning in honey butter and powdered sugar.

    Eat it here: Sill’s Cafe, a mom-and-pop shop in Layton, about an hour north of Salt Lake City; Yelpers make pilgrimages just to try the homemade dough—light, slightly sweet, and break-your-vows good. —L.D.R.

  • Vermont: Maple Syrup

    Here's why: Everyone knows Vermont is the maple syrup capital of the U.S—the rivers might as well be flowing with it. Sure, you can pour it over pancakes, but have you ever mixed it with butter to spread on scones and muffins? Or tried it as a lollipop (leaf-shaped, naturally)?

    Eat it here: The Wilcox Ice Cream stand in Manchester is a tiny shack on the edge of the Wilcox family farm; they have a sinfully delicious maple walnut flavor with a smooth maple syrup kick (and none of the headache-inducing sweetness). Order a serving on a cone and get licking—Wilcox gives hefty scoops and they melt quickly.—B.H.

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  • Virginia: Boiled Peanuts

    Here's why: Boiled peanuts are officially the most underrated Southern food. Pimento cheese and fried green tomatoes are all great, but there's no better afternoon snack than a bag of warm, salty, soggy peanuts (don't knock it until you've tried it). Popularized in the U.S. during the Civil War, boiled peanuts became the go-to snack for soldiers who were in need of high protein foods that didn't involve much cooking. Nowadays, the most you have to worry about is your shell attack plan: Peel them with your hands or chew and swallow the whole thing—shell and all.

    Eat it here: You can get them canned or make them yourself, but the best boiled peanuts are sold by peanut farmers at local markets during the summer. Our favorite place to find them is BayBreeze Farms market in Virginia Beach.—R.C.

  • Washington: Cedar Plank Salmon

    Here's why: Salmon aren’t the only thing running upstream in the Pacific Northwest—it’s a place where locals proudly go against the current, too. But the cedar-planked salmon is a traditional dish, born of Native American habits to cook the fish on a cedar plank over an open flame, infusing it with some of the wood’s smoky flavor (see also: alder-cooked salmon).

    Eat it here: SixSeven, the waterfront restaurant at Seattle’s famed Edgewater hotel (the Beatles were photographed fishing out its windows), consistently has one of the best versions of this dish, paired with rainbow potatoes, mushroom ragout, and asparagus. —L.D.R.

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  • Washington, D.C: Half-Smoke

    Here's why: Does D.C. have a signature dish? As a matter of fact, it does—the half-smoke, a lunchtime treasure revered by in-the-know locals. The offices lining Dupont Circle and K Street empty out each afternoon as workers leave, heading to their favorite street carts for this hot dog look-a-like. It’s actually a sausage, made of coarsely ground meat that’s generally smoked before it’s grilled. The half-smoke lunch deal is iconic for Washingtonians, who can snap it up with a bag of chips and a soda for around $5.

    Eat it here: If you don’t have a favorite cart to try, the stand-by at Ben’s Chili Bowl ($6) is widely acclaimed. (If it’s good enough for Barack Obama, it’s good enough for us.)—C.Q.

  • West Virginia: Pepperoni Roll

    Here's why: West Virginia miners are responsible for the state’s official food, the beloved pepperoni roll. Back in the day, they carried bread and sticks of pepperoni for lunch during their long days underground (it was portable, didn’t need to be refrigerated, and was hearty enough to sustain them). Then, in Marion County in the 1920s, an Italian miner named Giuseppe “Joseph” Argiro baked the pepperoni roll and it changed everything. Oil from the fat in the meat soaked into the bread, amplifying its flavor, making it a touch gooey—and irresistible.

    Eat it here: It became so popular that Giuseppe quit the coal mines and opened Country Club Bakery in 1927. Still in operation today, it’s where we head when we’re craving this snack.—C.Q.

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  • Wisconsin: Cheese Curds

    Here's why: Randomly shaped blobs that are separated from the rest of the cheese during the molding process, cheese curds are the secret snack of Wisconsin. On their own, they taste milky and salty, but you can also find them flavored with Cajun, taco, or buffalo seasonings. Try them straight up, deep fried, or put on fries and topped with gravy, poutine-style, but whatever you do, eat the curds within 12 hours of them being made. The rubbery squeak will let you know they’re just right.

    Eat it here: Pair deep-fried curds with New Glaurus brews at Wisconsin Cheese Mart in Milwaukee, or eat them at The Old Fashioned in Madison. Want to buy in bulk? Head to Ellsworth, the Cheese Curd Capital of Wisconsin—yep, it's a real thing, and there's even a festival commemorating the town's designation every June.—K.L.G.

  • Wyoming: Bison Steak

    Here's why: Wyoming is one of the last states where the buffalo still roam—the American bison is Wyoming’s official state mammal, with around 5,000 of them left in Yellowstone National Park and another 1,000 in the neighboring Grand Tetons. But the bison you find in the region’s ubiquitous steaks, burgers, tacos, and brats—leaner and generally more flavorful than beef—has likely been ranched.

    Eat it here: You can find a memorable take at Local Restaurant & Bar on Jackson Hole’s town square, an always-hopping modern watering hole where chef/owner and game expert Will Bradof serves a juicy 18-ounce bone-in buffalo ribeye with a big selection of craft beers and local spirits to wash it down. For a trendier take, the quinoa-and-roasted-veggie bowl topped with handmade bison sausage at Persephone Bakery defines clean comfort food.—Alex Postman

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