Mille

Welcome to Mille, a charming French crêperie, where brunch for two arrives in a three-tier stand. Mille’s quiches are cheesy; its croissants are flaky. Yet crêpes are the order to note. Mille’s Crémeuse intertwines spinach, artichoke, Swiss cheese, and garlic so sharp it’s unmistakable. The Crémeuse is easy to loosen and unwrap, but Mille’s dessert crêpes are tighter packed. Think Nutella so snug in the center of a pyramid fold you’re forced to first try the crêpe unadorned (spoiler alert: it’s light and slightly sweet on its own).

Henry & The Fish

Henry & The Fish bursts with bright energy, sunlight spilling onto a tie-dye wall, scuffed wood floors, and vibrant dishes. No filter here; the avocado on toast and arugula naturally look like saturation maxed, a vivid green as glossy as Henry & The Fish’s matcha lattes. Order one of the Santa Fe cafe’s seeded-toast sandwiches, cold smoothies, pressed juices, or delightfully dense scones.

Clafoutis

Fresh bread. Warm spices. Fruit jam. Toasted nuts. This scent is intense – destabilizing. I won’t judge you if you start daydreaming about moving to the French countryside (or frolicking in the fields of Eastern France). You’re under a spell now, deepened by Anne-Laure’s Disney princess smile and delighted ‘Bonjour.’ Laure and her husband, Philippe Ligier, own Claufoutis, a cozy French bakery and restaurant in Santa Fe. Getting past Clafoutis’ pastry case requires herculean effort. Sure, you can dine in and pore over a menu with Provençale omelettes and egg croissants, but your feet will still (somehow) find themselves by rows of almond-topped marzipan croissants and rustic fruit galettes (that’s just the way it is. I’m not complaining).

Jambo Cafe

Beyond Jambo Cafe’s simple storefront, sweet-potato-orange walls envelop a dining area that smells like cumin and cloves. Sit down here, and you’ll spot depictions of lions, giraffes, and zebras—the kinds of animals you’d find on Maasai Mara National Reserve.

Chef Ahmed Obo grew up in Kenya, on the island of Lamu. And so, many of Jambo’s African (and Caribbean) dishes carry coastal notes: coconut milk and Pilau Masalaesque fragrances. The combination plate (a trio of thick, fragrant curries split by two stretches of rice) is a good first-time order, a way to confirm what clicks with your palate. Try the goat stew: soft potatoes, even softer carrots, and red meat that slides off the bone with a spoon.

Soup Star

At Soup Star, it’s easy to run on autopilot. You know what you want (Hungarian Mushroom Soup) and how it will taste (like great Hungarian Mushroom Soup). This isn’t the brothy soup you make on sick days; it’s creamy and buttery, with a persistent, prying heat from paprika and a final, definitive splash of lemon juice. If you want to branch out, opt for Soup Star’s soup flight (three choices of three(ish) ounces of soup).

Casa Chimayo

Casa Chimayo isn’t one of the only New Mexican restaurants in Santa Fe, but it is one of the best. The design is quintessentially New Mexican: red chile ristras dangle from beams, rugs as big as painting frames drape walls, and an outdoor area (bench seats piled with patterned pillows) feels like a boisterous Southwestern backyard. The food is just as colorful. I’ve loved Casa Chimayo’s food for almost a decade now. In that time, ownership changed; Joaquin and Benina Quintana took the reins. The Quintanas’ menu offerings are still chile-forward, smoky, and grounded in the earthy flavors of Northern New Mexico. Get the Chile En Nogada (a crisp poblano pepper bulging with beefy, apricot picadillo) and, if available, the tableside elotes (so fresh, you can see the corn sheared off the cob).

Kakawa Chocolate House

That chocolate house on Paseo De Peralta? It was initially built as a home. It’s been more than a home since, but there’s still a kiva fireplace and Southwestern vigas past the corner display counter; behind the glass, horchata truffles, green chili caramels, and Chile D’Arbols fill pretty plates. But it’s Kakawa’s elixirs (listed on a chalkboard) you’ll want to try (at least once, for the novelty). Opt for a flight, four espresso-sized white cups (and a spoonful of whipped cream) on a white serving platter. Expect thick, strong drinks (most) made with dark chocolate (so the bitterness lingers).

Dolina Bakery & Cafe

When Annamaria Brezna O’Brien was younger, she spent summer days at her grandmother’s village in Slovakia. Now, she brings a sweet taste of Central Europe to Santa Fe through Dolina Bakery’s orechovník (nut paste swirled in log-style pastry rolls), langǒs (a flat, fried dough), and Makos Dios (a spongy cake, a little gritty from ground poppy seeds and walnuts).

Tomasita’s

Tomasita’s is known for a lot: citrusy margaritas (this Railyard restaurant is on The Margarita Trail, after all), chicken enchiladas wrapped in blue corn tortillas, and sopaipillas that look like they’ve taken part in the karate-chop pillow trend. Tomasita’s sopaipillas slacken when you rip into them, warm gushes of air rushing out from their insides. Feel free to douse them in raw honey or housemade honey butter as light as whipped cream.

Paper Dosa

Growing up, I never understood why my parents insisted on going to an Indian restaurant every time we ventured into a new city. My mom made South Indian food at home often enough, so I didn’t get the need to try it elsewhere. But at Paper Dosa, I realized why. I felt the warmth, comfort, and security a familiar cooking style provided. Chef Paulraj Karuppasamy grew up in Tamil Nadu, where my dad was born, so the tableside smell of uttapams reminded me of the rare weekends when my father would step into the kitchen and heat thick pancake-shaped dosas on a pan. Karuppasamy’s uttapams are better (sorry, dad), with meaty mushrooms like white beech and hen of the woods. You’ll find the namesake paper dosas on the menu, too. Yes, they are paper thin and arm long (well, as long as my arms). Each dosa arrives with Madras Sambar — drumsticks half-submerged in lentil stew, gourds sunken to the bottom. Water (served in steel cups, just like in a lot of Indian households) helps wash the spice.

Zacatlan

When mole is a motif and not a note on a menu, you know it’s worth ordering. That means getting Zacatlan’s Lamb-Shank, bone and meat eclipsed by mole coloradito, a subtle sauce with a slant of sweetness. But mole isn’t all you’ll find at Zacatlan. Here, a hefty hunk of fish looks like a natural history museum artifact; red snapper is served whole, with the lightest portion of salsa and calabacitas.

The Shed

The best advice I received from a Santa Fe local was to put my name down at 4 PM for dinner at The Shed. I was told this wasn’t a tip-off. “The Shed is good, and everyone knows it,” she said. Emphasis on everyone. She was right. By 5(something-ish), you can expect to wait an hour (or so) for dinner at The Shed. Feel free to stroll around (but don’t stray too far from the downtown Santa Fe restaurant in case a table frees up earlier). Circle The Cathedral Basilica of St. Francis of Assisi, wander into tucked-away courtyards, and watch the sky deepen to a red, then orange.

When your table is ready, you’ll wind through The Shed; it’s more labyrinthine than you’d expect, with rooms and rooms and rooms, all bright, loud, and busy. A few favorites on the menu include the Green Chile Stew (soft chunks of pork and potato swimming in a fragrant broth) and the Enchilada Plate (red chile sauce pools around soft blue corn tortillas). The Shed’s food is consistent and reliable. After all, this iconic restaurant has been family-owned for well over half a century, passed down from generation to generation. A little reminder that Santa Fe will always have good New Mexican food.

What are your favorite restaurants in Santa Fe? Let me know in the comments below! This is by no means a comprehensive list and I love hearing about your experiences.