Our Top 5 Restaurants of 2025

Before anyone gets on our case, bear in mind that this is not a list of “the top 5 best restaurants in Paris,” for we are mere mortals with limited spondulix. This list, rather, is a purely personal ordering of our favorite restaurants of the year, based on our overall experience(s) at them. The food, of course, is our heaviest consideration, but “atmosphere” plays a strong supporting role, because as restaurant behemoths like the Big Mama Group have figured out, intangibles matter just as much as—and for some even more than—the food. 

As much as we love the creativity of the Paris restaurant scene, sometimes we aren’t in the mood to identify novel herbs we can’t pronounce or taste a rare citrus in a sauce or a dessert. Actually, I take that back; we’re always in the mood for that. I guess what I’m trying to say is that where some chefs play to your frontal lobe, Chef Ollie Clark cooks for whatever part of the brain says, “Christ, that’s good.”

That is not to imply, however, a lack of finesse in his cooking. On the contrary, we were delighted by the delicate balance of textures and flavors in the pressé de tête de cochon (pressed pork head). Fresh herbs accentuated fine confit pork, while osetra caviar brought a luscious salinity, and toasted breadcrumbs added a nice crunch. 

Quedubon specializes in offal delicacies, like poached veal brain with lemon butter and capers, but there are still plenty of options for those who don’t wish to stray too far from the noble cuts. The vol-au-vent, with morteau (smoked sausage), pork belly, and guinea fowl, was the best I’ve ever had; while our desserts, a bruléed cassis tart with crème crue and a clementine montblanc, were simply delightful. 

Somewhere between the diner from Wong Kar-wai’s In the Mood for Love and Alex’s apartment in Kubrick’s A Clockwork Orange, Cuisine’s dining room pulls you out of Paris into a cinematic dreamworld. 

The food—similarly enchanting—nagged at our memories persistently enough that we returned several times; a notable feat in a city with so many dining options. And like in all recurring dreams, each visit blended familiar touchstones with Lynchian shake-ups. 

Mainstays, such as the pigeon karaage with Sichuan pepper and the monkfish liver with grated daikon and ponzu sauce, have established permanent residence on the menu. Meanwhile, the rest of the entrées give way to a rotating repertoire of Franco-Asian creations like smoked eel and veal tongue with watercress and wasabi celery remoulade.

Two main courses—one meat, one fish (sorry vegetarians), one classic, one creative—are all you need. But for these two foodies who refuse to admit they have a sweet tooth, it’s the matcha ice cream with mochi, red bean, and seasonal fruit that really has us swooning. 

Remember, in old cartoons, when a visible smell trail would drift to a character’s nose, causing them to levitate and float over to its delicious source? That’s what happened to us one day, walking down the rue Lamarck. No guides, no phone, just the intoxicating smell of frying food led us to this intimate counter where the works of Chef Tsuyoshi Yamakawa are on display. 

Mr. Yamakawa's cooking isn’t macho. He doesn’t aim, as François Simon once put it, to carve his initials in your stomach lining. Instead, his personality shines effortlessly through seven courses. 

He’ll introduce himself with something comforting like a fried sunchoke, koji mayo, and cedrat. As the conversation progresses, he might show off his Italian—albeit with a Japanese accent—and serve a crab raviolo with cauliflower, black garlic, and ginger. 

And while the dishes pick up in intensity, subtlety and sophistication remain throughlines. For example, you might notice a hint of bergamot with your scallops, or find lemon balm leaves on your pigeon, or hibiscus in your red beet purée. 

Double would have easily clenched our number two spot were it not for the mixed execution at dessert. On our first visit, both the prédessert—a lemon-ginger granita with espresso ice cream, orange-anise, and meringue—and our main dessert—chocolate mousse with mango, hot pepper, lemon cream, and licorice—were among the best confections we’d ever tasted.  

The second time around, we were less impressed by a matcha granita, followed by a corn ice cream with overly acidic marinated cherries. 

Nevertheless, the creativity, conviviality, and incredible value (7 courses at 62 euros) of this restaurant earn it the number 3 spot on our list. 

L’Arpaon may be only a stone’s throw from the accordion music and caricature artists of Montmartre, but it’s worlds apart. This restaurant is for Parisians. Tourists would never venture this far north of Sacré Cœur, and even if they did, their eyes somehow wouldn’t detect the bright green facade, somewhere between chive and Nickelodeon slime. That’s a radioactive shade one only begins to see after drinking this city’s tap water for several months.

These Parisians aren’t the scruffy, tattooed lot of the 11th, nor are they the Barbour-bearing bourgeois of the 16th; they’re somewhere in the middle. That same balance of energy—playful, unfussy, elegant—is reflected in everything from the dishes to the interior design.

At the back of the narrow dining room, counter-to-ceiling glass reveals the chef and two cooks prepping plates and torching langoustine tails, which we sprinkled with a bacony smoked salt and ate “taco style” in leaves of crisp lettuce with mango-chili mayo.

The flavor bombs continued with dishes like beef tartare with kumquat and cashew, or creamy morel mushroom pasta, but it was the veal chop with silky sauce au poivre that completely blew us away. We cut through a glistening amber brown crust into what was undoubtedly the most tender, succulent veal we’ve ever had. 

After dinner, we couldn’t resist the alluring affogato served up in an ornate stainless steel coupe, into which our server poured a hot stream of espresso.  And while we may have worried, at first, about the caffeine ruining our REM, we slept peacefully, sedated by satisfaction.

You’d think we’d have more to say, but it’s hard to find the words when you have “no notes.” We wanted for nothing—not flavor, not quantity, not beauty, nor comfort—earning L’Arpaon the number 2 spot on our list. 

P.S. There might now be a slight international presence ever since our video review went semi-viral on Instagram… whoops!

But if you’ve been following along on Instagram/YouTube, you may have an idea.

A special thank you to Eva Mayer for her contribution to this piece. (She’s the one with the real palette; I just write what she says.)

This newsletter will land in almost 600 inboxes. I can’t believe a single soul has subscribed, but I am grateful for your readership! I’ll see you next Sunday for our number 1 restaurant. In the meantime, you can read past issues here.

Wishing you a wonderful week of festivities,

Max