If ever there were a dish lab-designed to entice me, it would be sea urchin prepared with chanterelle mushrooms cooked in brown butter and topped with fino sherry fish caramel sauce. Reminiscent of Japanese chawanmushi, the wobbly custard provided a lovely backdrop for the natural umami of the urchin. So many interconnected flavors might have been overwhelming had it been any larger, and the two-bite dish was made even better by the tiny adorable urchin-shaped bowl it came in.

The dumplings at this Chinatown-International District shop hardly need any help, with their silky-soft, gently rippled blue and white rice flour skins, bold pork filling, and herby dipping sauce. But co-owner Pum Yamamoto’s cheerful helpfulness as she clears tables and delivers food adds an extra dollop of sunshine in each bite, demonstrating that counter service can still be excellent service.

La Cuadra’s meaty fling-by-night operation dominated the taco conversation this year, but the best thing wrapped in a tortilla I ate this year came from its polar opposite. At Xochi’s daytime-only Issaquah cart, a double-layer of griddled tortillas could barely contain the heap of chopped broccoli, sauteed with plenty of garlic and topped with a sprinkle of crumbled fresh cheese.

Thankfully, this Bellevue Hunan restaurant had photos on the menu, because I had never heard this name for celtuce, a vegetable that deserves far more recognition in this world. Glistening in a scant coat of oil, the noodle-like slices arrived at the table looking like a pile of entrancingly green jade. The light cooking magnified the vegetable’s signature soft crunch and concentrated lettuce flavor, imparting mind-blowing complexity to a deceptively simple-looking dish.

A better description of this pizza would be breakfasts (plural) for dinner, as it pulls together the ingredients of a bacon and cheese omelet (bacon, eggs, mozzarella) with a bagel, noticeable in the everything seasoned crust, cream cheese, and chives. Somehow, perhaps owing to that crispy-chewy crust standing up to the generous toppings, it all works together.

As a writer, I’m a sucker for word play, so I liked the dish name before it even arrived—a portmanteau of Khmer, the ethnicity of owner Karuna Long and most Cambodians, and karaage, a Japanese frying style. The menu offers both a chicken and mushroom version, but having had both many times, those birds don’t stand a chance. The oyster mushrooms get a double dose of the Long’s version of the Khmer spice paste, kroeung; first marinated in it, then then fried and served with a bold and savory kroeung aioli for dipping. I’d probably be reasonably happy dipping cardboard in that sauce. Thankfully I don’t have to.

In college I studied abroad in Uruguay, which basically means I majored in empanadas, but Elmer Dulla schooled me on the version they make on Guam. The crust, bright orange with achiote and flakier than a white Christmas, stays impressively crisp despite arriving in a creamy, spicy puddle of fina’denne'—a condiment whose name means “made with pepper.” Inside, golden raisins add a touch of sweetness to the beef and potatoes filling, a clever repurposing of riyenu, a traditional holiday side dish.

When a friend in town for work—and whose job is finding the country’s best restaurants—asked me where we should eat, I took him to Off Alley. When he came back for round two ten months later, he was still talking about that meal. Evan Leichtling’s cabbage dish exemplified the highlights of eating through a Pacific Northwest winter. The charred edges traced the outline of the leaves cupping a velvety Dungeness crab sauce. Brioche breadcrumbs added crunch and soaked in the buttery sauce, while a smattering of sorrel counteracted the richness with its acidic tang. It made me swell with pride to live in a city with such wonderful ingredients and chefs who know so perfectly what to do with them. Also, my dream cocktail party would involve that crab sauce, preferably served in a highball with a wide straw.

After my first bite of the smoky lamb skewers at this Kent Xinjiang Uyghur restaurant, I asked to see the kitchen, to understand how they achieved the beguiling smokiness. When I saw the live coals in a rickety grill, just like on the streets of China, I worried I would have to figure out how to describe the dish without letting on to this surely illegal set up. I breathed a sigh of relief when owner Mei Young told me it was fully checked out with both the fire and health departments, and I was free to shout from the rooftops about the cumin-crusted meat sticks.

All too often, I find fish dishes that don’t specify the type of fish are simply a nice sauce doing its damnedest to cover up the mediocrity of cheap tilapia. This dish, I was pleasantly surprised to find out, is the other end of the spectrum. Instead of covering up the sole (thanks to Google Translate for the assist so my server could tell me what it was), the oil gave it a glow-up, making it taste like a much fancier fish. The subtle, allium-fragrant housemade scallion oil bathes tender chunks of fish, and the chopped scallions and peppers on top add just a little green crunch.

As I think through how to describe Jhonny Reyes’ signature dish, I keep jumping back and forth. Obviously, the key feature is the crispy skin on the pinwheel of pork, and, equally important, that he gets it so shatteringly crunchy without sacrificing the tenderness of the meat. But it would be only good if left there. What makes it great, what makes it worthy of this list, is the way Reyes pulls together condiments from around the Caribbean that enhance and contrast with the pork: the salsa verde, the sazón-laced coconut potlikker on the greens, the Haitian pikliz-style onions, and the pickled mustard seeds.