But in a “If you build it, they will come” moment, he took a leap of faith during COVID and laid plans for opening Wing; if nothing else, he figured, he’d give himself a crash course in Chinese cooking. Hoping to preserve credibility with his staff, he would wait until they went home at night before firing up the wok to practice using it himself. “I’m okay at it now,” he says. The dishes he serves at Wing aren’t traditional; they’re unique to him, but in style and taste they feel grounded in this place. “What matters to me is that the meal undeniably feels Chinese,” he says.

I think a lot about what it means to “feel Chinese.” I often wonder about the difference between heritage and nostalgia. My family would never say in Cantonese that we were “going” to Hong Kong; we would say we were “returning.” But after meeting so many Hong Kongers defining themselves by who they want to be in the future, I started to realize that my relationship to the city doesn’t have to be about going back, either.

When I was young, our trips here were defined by the search for air-conditioning. We went from mall to restaurant to mall to escape the porridgy air. It hadn’t occurred to me to embrace it, to revel in it. Given that Hong Kong is one of earth’s great deposits of concrete, steel, and glass, it’s easy to forget how spectacularly green the city is. Thirty-eight percent of its territory is actually designated as country parkland, and “walking mountain” is a beloved pastime for locals. During my recent stay I rented an apartment in the neighborhood of Sai Ying Pun, a steeply sloped neighborhood with quick, if sweat-inducing, access to the Lung Fu Shan Morning Trail, which goes up to Victoria Peak, the highest point on Hong Kong Island. Considering how I’d been eating, I decided to start a new after-coffee routine and head uphill.

Early fervor gave way to expletives as I climbed several hundred steps just to get to the start of the trail. The pain grew when I saw an elderly gentleman in a dress shirt, sweater vest, and slacks casually walk right by me. I kept going for a satisfying hour until I turned toward High West Mountain, whose trail was basically…more stairs. At the top, I took in a view that felt clarifying. On one side was the majestic skyline in matchbook miniature, the undulating mountains of Kowloon sitting stately in the haze behind it. On the other was the southern coast of Hong Kong Island rising from the endless blue, ships’ wakes leaving comet trails in the sea. I realized that I had come to really see this place. To get closer to it. To be a part of it.

I looked back down at the buildings. Each window holds a story: a home, a life. Hong Kong demands a lot of people. Tiny, too expensive apartments. Constant shoulder-to-shoulder crowds. The tension between taking part in the rat race and holding on to a sense of self. I thought of the lengths Hong Kongers will go to remake themselves, for this place. And I asked myself: What will I do, to be a part of Hong Kong?

Where to eat

At Wing, chef Vicky Cheng interprets his Chinese roots through tasting menus inspired by the country’s eight great cuisines (including fresh Cantonese and spicy Sichuan). The crowd-pleasing party fare that locals associate with Ho Lee Fook has turned more classically Cantonese, thanks to Hong Kong native ArChan Chan, who recently took over the kitchen. Transplants are also making their mark: At Andō, chef-founder Agustín Ferrando Balbí blends his Argentine heritage with his Japanese training; at Estro, Italian chef Antimo Maria Merone serves squid ribbons that resemble Hong Kong flat noodles. Mosu, inside the M+ museum, is the Hong Kong branch of the three-Michelin-starred restaurant in Seoul. For a taste of the city’s fishing-village origins, head to the two-story Ap Lei Chau Seafood Market on Hong Kong Island. The vendors downstairs will sell you their fresh catch and the cooks upstairs will prep the bounty to your liking.

Where to stay

In Hong Kong, hotels are all about the views. The Ritz-Carlton, Hong Kong, occupies floors 102 through 118 of a tower in the West Kowloon Cultural District. Almost a century old, the glamorous Peninsula Hong Kong overlooks Tsim Sha Tsui. Closer to the water, the Rosewood Hong Kong has 413 rooms, nearly all with sight lines onto Victoria Harbour, and the pool terrace at Regent Hong Kong looks out at Hong Kong Island. There, the iconic façade of the Mandarin Oriental, Hong Kong also faces the harbor; it will stay open amid renovations this year. From the palatial Island Shangri-La, Hong Kong, and the chic Upper House, both in the Admiralty area, you can see the water and the inland views of endless skyscrapers backed by verdant mountains and peaks.

What to do

In the indie enclave of Shek Kip Mei, the Jockey Club Creative Arts Centre has been home to artists’ studios and community organizations since 2008. On Hong Kong Island, Tai Kwun, a former police station and prison complex, opened in 2018 as a multiuse space with art exhibits, teahouses, and performance venues. Once a police housing complex, PMQ hosts local boutiques like Glue Associates and Incense Harbour. In 2021 the art museum M+ opened with more than 10,000 objects; patrons attend film screenings and yoga classes in the galleries and roof garden, and go on off-site excursions. Boat tours in Sai Kung bring visitors to the striking rock formations of the New Territories, a region of wetlands and parks north of Kowloon.

This article appeared in the May/June 2025 issue of Condé Nast Traveler. Subscribe to the magazine here.

It is 4 a.m. and I am being led through the sleepy foothills of Berri, a small town in the Italian region of Piedmont, by Daniele, a licensed truffle hunter, and his petite white hound Bianca. The stars glitter in the cold, crisp air. These chilly nights are part of a delicate ecosystem in Piedmont and are, along with the bright, hot days, what makes both winemaking and white-truffle hunting so spectacular in this region. We walk through increasingly dense poplar and hazelnut trees toward a small ravine. As my American guide, Amanda, translates, Daniele explains that timing is everything. He will often return to the same location twice, even three times, a day, because a truffle can mature in just a few hours. Typical of many wild plants, truffles tend to repopulate in the same area, assuming that the truffle’s mycelium—the invisible rootlike network that spreads underground—is not disturbed. Being a good hunter is about memory, he says.

Daniele’s slow, learned approach and careful hand are hallmarks of an older way of doing things. In an age in which the word fast commonly modifies fashion and food, it is more important than ever to preserve these time-honored approaches. I am traveling across Northern Italy with Prior, an experiential travel company whose itineraries are designed to tell stories about the craftspeople who keep local heritage alive. “We want to spotlight these living cultures passed down by generations and their stewards,” says David Prior, the company’s cofounder (and a former contributing editor to this magazine). As he accompanies me from Genoa to Venice, he introduces me to artisans that specialize in various foods and crafts along the way. Prior has named this trip Fatto a Mano, or “handmade.” As with many of the company’s itineraries, it seeks to connect travelers to a place’s makers: In Italy that means winemakers, designers, bronze workers, and more. “Music, food, design,” he says. “They are the essence of culture, which makes them the essence of the place.” Introducing travelers to these increasingly endangered traditions helps raise awareness about the need to protect them.

Suddenly our conversation stops. Daniele runs toward Bianca, who is frantically digging under a tree and chewing wildly at its roots. She has been trained not to eat the truffle, no matter how delicious, but the closer she gets to one, the more feverish she becomes. Daniele leans closer, tugs Bianca away, and begins to dig with a small pickax. He stops and looks up at me, instructing me to lean down, to touch and smell the soil. Immediately I register the scent of the truffle: nutty, earthy, and intoxicating. Daniele digs patiently but with a heightened anticipation. Neither of us has to say it: What we want is to find a massive truffle, the kind that looks like a strange tumor sprung from the earth. But no. “Piccolissimo,” Daniele says, his voice tinged with disappointment. It is so small that he feeds it to Bianca as a treat—not even worth selling on the market.

Dawn is creeping across the horizon, the warm, golden light arriving like a balm. As we bid farewell to Daniele, he slips Amanda three more truffles we’ve found. We are exhausted, ready to sleep, but also ravenous. Amanda takes us to a vineyard where ripe Nebbiolo grapes are growing—harvest season is upon us—and we sit at a concrete picnic table under a large oak tree. The mist of the early morning is beginning to evaporate in the sun. Amanda fries up some fresh eggs, serving them beneath a decadent pile of white truffles on bread toasted in the pan. These delicacies can be sold for hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars, but at heart they are humble food. Food of the land. And this, without a doubt, is one of the best meals of my life.

I spend the next couple of days exploring Piedmont with David. This basically means drinking wine, eating truffles, and talking about drinking wine and eating truffles. One afternoon in the town of Bra, David points to an elderly man walking along the street with quiet dignity. It is Carlo Petrini, the legendary 75-year-old founder of the organization Slow Food, which gave rise to the global slow-food movement and phenomena like Eataly, the international chain of marketplaces selling artisanal Italian provisions. A longtime food activist and writer, Carlo rose to prominence in the 1980s after protesting the opening of a McDonald’s at the Spanish Steps in Rome. In 2004 he founded the University of Gastronomic Sciences in Pollenzo, where David studied, which occupies a former castle worthy of Harry Potter beside ancient Roman ruins. Carlo’s philosophy—that the food we eat should be grown locally, prepared with care, and eaten with consideration—is one that David has deeply absorbed.

Motivated by this ideal, David insists that we visit Langhe, the famous Piedmont wine region, to experience the harvest of two young winemakers, Luisa Sala and Lara Rocchetti, also graduates of the University of Gastronomic Sciences. During the trip David will introduce me to some of the most prominent Barolo wine families in the region—people who own land worth millions and sell some of the priciest bottles around—but Luisa and Lara are not of this ilk. They farm just five hectares of land and sell their wine, a simple Nebbiolo, under the label Lalù (a combination of their names), for $40 in the US, even though these are essentially the same grapes that could be aged into a very expensive Barolo.

Friends of theirs, a dentist and two lawyers, have joined them this week for the harvest. They tell me they do this every year to help Luisa and Lara. A large plate of rough-cut prosciutto and freshly baked bread sits casually on a plastic table next to a large pitcher of water and an open bottle of wine. Winemaking has never seemed easy to me—harvests can be disappointing, and climate change is impacting the practice in unexpected ways. But this afternoon is pure joy. The sun is bright and the air is cool. The grapes are a dense, almost bruised purple. As they are broken down in a giant stainless-steel crusher-destemmer, they release the scent of fruit and yeast into the garage. The group’s camaraderie and intimacy are real and easy. I understand the beauty of this place, the spell that Langhe casts over everyone who sets foot here, and why Lara and Luisa insist on trying to bottle it.

The next day David and I drive across Northern Italy as the rain slants downward. By afternoon we’ve arrived in the industrial Milan neighborhood of Zona Solari. Even on a wet, overcast day, Milan is glamorous, its beauty luxurious and cosmopolitan. We duck into the entrance of Ansaldo, the workshops for the historic opera house Teatro alla Scala. Inside this 215,000-square-foot facility, 150 craftspeople oversee the set design, construction, sculpture, carpentry, mechanics, and costumes for every single production.

Crescent Head Country Club (upon entry, as is commonplace at such venues in Australia, you’ll need to sign in at the front desk as a guest or purchase a membership) is possibly the best ocean view for the price of a schooner in New South Wales; grab a crisp, cold beer and a plate for the daily pork carvery, then snag a table overlooking the adjacent bowling green and crashing waves beyond. The club is also home to the free-to-the-public six-hole golf course, which extends all the way to the headland: Take the pedestrian walk to the top and you’ll be greeted with exceptional views and seasonal whalewatching, as well as a view of the community mosaic that wraps around two water towers at the top. There’s also lawn bowls and a new minigolf course, which can be played by the hour.

Where to eat

For brekkie, line up with the locals to grab a cuppa and a bagel at Blackfish Coffee, which has been a staple here for a decade, or settle in for ham-and-cheese croissants at the Green Room, right on the corner, which also serves an ever-changing menu of international street food on Friday nights. The latter has a DIY mural on one wall, so you can pick up a stub of chalk and add your flair. Point Break Cafe at the Crescent Head Surf Lifesavers Club has views that can’t be beat, with open-air seating facing the rolling waves—it’ll give you just about the same perspective as the beach’s hardworking surf-lifesavers.

Barnett’s Bakery, right on Main Street, is an institution; it gets so busy that there’s a queuing system inside to make sure every order for lamb-and-rosemary pies and vanilla cream-filled chocolate eclairs is addressed. Grab one pastry for now and one for later, and you’ll still regret you didn’t snag a few more.

There are 15 kinds of margaritas on offer at the weekend-only La Costa Cantina at The Med Hotel, best paired with calamari tacos and barramundi ceviche. Down the end of Maria River Road, a bumpy ride 15 minutes just out of downtown Creso, Maria River Distillery produces exceptional limoncello, mandarincello, and blood orangecello on a 300-acre operating commercial Angus farm. Wave at the cabernet-colored calves and their protective mothers as you peel down the leafy London plane-lined gravel driveway, then settle in for a tasting of the crisp, chilled liqueurs and—if you book in advance—a platter of cured meats.

A new place to stay

A lush surfer’s paradise of exposed timber and halcyon-inspired art, Sea Sea Hotel opened in November on the footprint of a former all-brick 24-room motel. The design-focused team have kept the rooms true to their nostalgic form, revamping studios with full-length sliding doors out to landscaped patios; in-room speakers set to the funky house radio station, curated by Wesley Herron; and sumptuous house-designed body products that smell like a petrichor-motivated frangipani blossom. (Use them when you’re showering beneath the rain shower head in the green-tiled bathroom, the shade of which reflects the lush tones of nearby Goolawah National Park.)

The venerated Food Opera dining court at Ion Orchard shopping center has a trove of the city’s best food stalls—including hawkers who have been in business for half a century, like outposts of Sergeant Hainanese Chicken Rice and Thye Hong Fried Prawn Noodles.

Italy has gelato. India has kulfi. Singapore has the ice-cream sandwich. You’ll find a couple of the old-school street carts, which have operated for over 30 years, on Orchard Road. (Look for them outside Takashimaya Shopping Centre.) Expect local flavors like durian, red bean, yam, and sweet corn, spooned between wafer biscuits or slices of pillowy pandan bread. Stroll 20 minutes past Tanglin Mall to Dempsey Hill, where a leafy enclave of British colonial buildings now houses some of Singapore’s loveliest restaurants and bars, including the new Air CCCC from Will Goldfarb and Matthew Orlando, the innovators behind Bali‘s sensational Room4Desserts and Amass, along with Potato Head Bali’s Ronald Akili. The 40,000-square-foot campus contains a restaurant, cooking school, and R&D space, with a big lawn for picnics and garden events. The dishes on the menu rely on local produce, like the yellowfin tuna tataki with charred Sarawak eggplant; and lemongrass-glazed chicken with chunky herb chimichurri. Book in advance.

After a shopping trip on Orchard Road but before dinner at Fysh, head to the Artyzen Singapore hotel for a sunset cocktail in the rooftop garden. With uninterrupted views of Singapore and a scattering of tables and lounges, this is an excellent spot to watch the sun melt with a frosty G&T. Unlike most rooftop bars in Singapore, this one still feels like a bit of a secret. Go now. The 2023 opening of the Singapore Edition really put this side of Orchard Road on the map. Inside the hotel, the celebrated Australian fish specialist Josh Niland, known for his sustainable fin-to-tail approach to seafood, has opened his first international restaurant, Fysh. The high ceilings, dark timber, and green banquettes give it a classic steakhouse vibe—appropriate, given it’s Niland’s first restaurant to serve meat. But stick to seafood to really experience the chef’s wizardry. Expect riffs on local classics like swordfish curry puffs, trout-roe egg tarts, and lobster noodles made partially from fish bones. Go on a Sunday for Niland’s take on a roast, with dishes like grilled cod and swordfish served on the bone, plus plenty of sides.

This article appeared in the January/February 2025 issue of Condé Nast Traveler. Subscribe to the magazine here.

If one were to conduct a poll asking a populace to vote for their city’s one conclusive best burger, NYC residents would likely come up with the closest race out of any of them. That’s because the Big Apple is so vast in its geography and its tastes, so inventive on the form, and so welcoming of smash burgers and traditional patties alike that the myriad potential responses could make a bar graph of results look like the city skyline. Also, people would name their respective bodegas. And since there is no “best burger NYC” straight-up, we’ve looked to our editors to gather some of their favorite burgers from across the city. These picks fire on all cylinders: we’ve got the quick-and-dirty casual smashes, and the thick and bloody steakhouse numbers from the best restaurants in the city.

Patrick Dolande/Gotham Burger Social Club

Gotham Burger Social Club

What started for Mike Puma as a hobby of reviewing burgers around the city and making them himself at dozens of popups throughout the city with hours-long waits has beautifully blossomed into a brick-and-mortar one-stop-shop. Gotham Burger Social Club (GBSC) has a small-town-diner feel that blends seamlessly into the hustle and bustle of NYC, exemplified by its always-busy atmosphere. It’s a good sign whenever you see a chef running the show in the front-of-house, and that’s exactly where you’ll find Mike Puma. There he is, ensuring that every burger (beef or Impossible) with grilled onions, American cheese, and housemade pickles is smashed to perfection, and that each order of “frickles” (fried pickles) comes with tasty homemade sauces. Don’t miss out on their vanilla or chocolate egg creams to maximize that nostalgic feel, and make sure to drink yours while sitting at the counter looking out on an iconic New York City corner, pretending you’re in a rom-com. —Emily Adler, associate social media manager

7th Street Burger

I consider myself a burger connoisseur so whenever I have a craving, I don’t want just any burger—but I also don’t want to wait in a line wrapped around the block for the “best” in the city. So when 7th Street Burger opened a mere block away from my favorite dive in the Upper East Side—one of several locations in the city—I was intrigued. Could this be my new go-to? The replacement for pizzas ordered to the bar? The place I stop by on my walk home from a friend’s birthday party at midnight? The answer to all of the above is a resounding yes. Their menu is simple—either a plain smash burger or one with cheese. Single or double. Beef or impossible meat. One size of fries. Few toppings, great balance of flavor. Every time that greasy unbranded brown paper bag is in my hands, I know I’m in for a treat. —Taylor Eisenhauer, editorial operations manager

Emily

The burger at Emily, with its secret sauce and caramelized onion, is hands down the best in New York City in my book. It’s the kind of burger my friend Fernanda described as “filthy”—so decadent, so indulgent, that describing it in all of its thick, juicy, greasy glory feels NSFW. The cheese oozes out the sides of the pretzel bun, the juices drip down your wrist, the beef is dry-aged Pat LeFrieda. It also costs nearly $31. For a burger! It’s delightfully vulgar. This is the burger for hedonists (particularly those who have time to take a nap right after). People say they love the pizza here, but I can’t imagine focusing on anything but this burger. —Megan Spurrell, associate director, articles

Red Hook Tavern

Red Hook Tavern is not very near to a subway. Most will have to trek 20 minutes or so from a Brooklyn F or G to get here. But, boy, is the burger (which is famous city-wide despite the remote location) worth it. Just about everyone in this warm and humble eating and drinking house will order the burger—you can see into the kitchen from the bar, where a burger gets built on plate after plate in a row. And it’s a worthy burger, even at $30, for a few reasons. If you listen to your waiter, you’ll have it medium rare and therefore juicy as can be. The burger will drip all over your fries, which are included. There’s a lot of American cheese melted on top, and a demure pile of raw onion. The patty is crusted in pepper. It’s just good. And don’t get me started on how nicely it pairs with their Vesper martini. —Charlie Hobbs, associate editor

JG Melon

I’m sometimes skeptical of “The One Thing” to order at a given restaurant, but in the case of JG Melon, it holds up. Every time I’ve been to the (cash only) Upper East Side institution, I’ve ordered the cheeseburger, and I’ve not been disappointed. You can get it without cheese, or with bacon; either iteration comes with LTO and pickles. It’s no-frills, but in the age of the ever-present smashburger, the size is a nice return to burgers of yore. Is it annoying that the pillowy cottage fries are not included? Yes, but order a side anyway. —Madison Flager, senior commerce editor