In no particular order...

Poppy. We forget our old favorites at our peril, I thought, forking into this crusted hunk of moist Washington king salmon draped in a heady pinot noir sauce—a holdover from chef Jerry Traunfeld’s days at the Herb Farm—and topped with a dice of bacon and fennel. Perfect flavors, perfectly combined, dreamily memorable. Nobody interprets Northwest bounty like Traunfeld, period. 

Big Chickie Pollo a la Brasa. Teriyaki, watch your back. Hillman City’s coolest refurbished gas station features Peruvian charcoal-roasted rotisserie chicken that’s just stupid good: Juicy and tender and savory clear through, even the white meat, and offset with side salads that are fun to eat—even the healthy ones. 

London Plane. The toast with hazelnut butter, sea salt, and honey is as homespun a representative as this homespun Pioneer Square charmer warrants. They begin with their own extraordinary bread, an uncommonly wet and springy sourdough, naturally leavened and hearty of crust. This they toast, then slather thickly with hazelnut butter, then pool with honey, then sprinkle with sea salt to bully out every savory and sweet nuance. With coffee, this humble plate and the sweet room it’s served in added up to the best experience I got out of bed for all year.  

Brimmer and Heeltap. Mizuna is that spike-ruffled green, a sort of gentler arugula, which at this astonishing Korean fusion house forms the foundation for the best salad I ate all year. Think halved pickled cherries, meaty ones; nice briny strips of the sea grass hijiki; a bright, citrusy lemon vinaigrette; and a blizzard of bonito flakes as bass note. This, right here, is how fusion is done.

Single Shot. If there’s a more omnipresent vegetable side right now than roasted cauliflower, I can’t think of it. I have relished the versions at Mamnoon and at Trove…but the one at Single Shot, the sexy skinny storefront amid the condo warrens of North Capitol Hill, scores highest in my book: Gilded knuckles of cauliflower with kohlrabi in a hazelnut vinaigrette, to dredge through thick and smoky Romesco sauce. I dream about it.

Hommage. At the new version of the old Book Bindery space, I savored a dessert for the ages---a cold core of dark chocolate sorbet, gently bitter, flooded over with a foamy milky chocolate mousse that seemed to expand like some sort of liquid happy gas on the palate, wooing every tastebud. Add in the tuile cookie-chocolate bar lovechild if you want, though you certainly don’t have to….this thing had me at sorbet.

Chippy’s. Honestly, how could humble fried cod be this golden, juicy, tender, crackling, greaseless, tasty, perfect? How???  

Trove. Rachel Yang’s and Seif Chirchi’s latest is a whole lotta gimmicky fun wrapped around a very solid culinary premise: Korean barbecue. We grilled our garlicky Wagyu chuck at our own table, then swaddled it in lettuce, along with paper-thin daikon radishes, pickled vegetables, a more-salty-than-spicy kimchi, and the barbecue sauce they call K-1. Good? No, great—and filled with all the fierce little detonations of flavor these chefs sprinkle across every dish like pixie dust.

Art of the Table. I could describe the main event of our multicourse tasting menu at this admirable little Wallingford jewelbox as dreamy butter-skinned black cod with roasted fennel—with notes of citrus-braised octopus and treviso and carrots dancing through—but in fact, this plate defied description. “Texturefest!” I gushed in my notes, right next to the drip stains. “STUNNING!”  

Aragona. Okay, the Spanish Aragona’s history now, replaced last fall with the Italian Vespolina. But the former offered a dessert I will never forget. Xuxos caseros were crispy pastry bullets filled with vanilla cream, fried, then dusted with truffle salt. To call their sweet-musky flavor interplay sublime would diminish the term—and Aragona/Vespolina owner Jason Stratton seems to agree. Since the switch-up I’ve spied a similar item on Vespolina’s dessert card: first as ricotta fritters, later as bombolini, now as sweet mascarpone fritters—all with truffle salt.