Let’s Stop Doing “Best Of” Lists

There’s no best, only favourites. Admit it and you’ll eat better.

The “best burger” is a ghost. So are the best croissant, the best Sunday roast, the best restaurant, full stop. What we’ve got are favourites, shaped by mood, memory and the day you’re having. Most lists are written by people who’ve eaten recently, not widely. Some are diligent and honest. Then the algorithm anoints them. We crown winners because our brains like tidy stories. It reads clean. It eats dull. Food won’t sit quietly in black and white. That’s admin. Think of the song bleeding in from the bar or the smell of rain on coats. Take that away and you’re left with numbers on a clipboard. That’s not taste. That’s admin.

Lists help. They put bums on seats and give teams a lift. We’ve been in the UK Top 100 Restaurants for the past few years. Lovely, surreal, useful. I smile, smirk a little and brush it off. It’s good for business and you’ve got to back yourself. I still can’t, hand on heart, say we’re better than everyone else. On certain days, for certain people, we might be exactly right.

What does this really mean?

Jan Ostle from Wilson’s ate at Lapin (my place) and called it “evocative”. A week later, a guest dabbed her eyes and said a soufflé Suissesse tasted like childhood. A colleague told me the only time food made him cry was a potato salad after a week of hospital trays. Not luxury. Relief. The right thing at the right time.

I wrote about expectation and enjoyment in Plated & Opinionated #1. Expectation sets the table; enjoyment sits down to eat. Lower one and the other rises.

Saying “best” erases context. The same plate can land differently depending on who you’re with, how you slept, whether you cried in the loos ten minutes ago. Food is emotional and stubbornly personal. Let the critics have their stars and tidy leaderboards; the good ones help us look closer. If you want a champion, watch the boxing. If you want dinner, follow your nose and pick the room that feels right.

Why lists slip

They reward recency and vibe more than breadth. Table lottery matters; sit by a sticky door near the loos and the whole night leans sour. PR gravity pulls cameras towards the same four dishes. Some meals are comped, some are soft-opening cheap, and the algorithm flattens 50 hot takes into one fake consensus. None of that is fraud. It’s just noise disguised as clarity.

A quick field guide to palates

Salt tolerances vary wildly. Some people want skinny fries; others want thick pub chips. Sugar lines are personal too; a pastry that reads balanced to me might scream pudding to you. Heat thresholds swing; if you taste soap in coriander, you’ll never love a salsa the way I do. Fat preferences split us as well; what reads “too fatty” to one diner is “the best bit” to another, especially the steak cap, pork belly or chicken skin. Texture divides us: al dente versus soft, wobble versus set. Even noise is a flavour; some people eat better in a loud room, some need a calm one.

British asparagus is at its best in May; by August it’s homework. Mackerel sings in early summer and sulks by January. A Sunday roast tastes better when it’s raining. Lunch service isn’t the same animal as a late, stretched Friday night. Cooks are human. So are you.

Look past adjectives and into decisions. Read two pieces you often disagree with; note the patterns so you can invert their advice with confidence: what did they order, what did they skip, what was sold out. Note the timestamp. A glowing soft-opening rave tells you very little about week eight. On Instagram, watch the angles and the edits; cheese pulls sell; they don’t prove flavour. If there’s a comp or a mate at the pass, a simple disclosure keeps everyone honest. Trust pieces that show their working.

Keep a running list of favourites by mood: solo lunch, cold night, payday, heartbreak, Dad’s in town.

Drop one in the comments if you’ve got somewhere special I should try.

And when you sit down, order one thing you know you’ll love and one thing you wouldn’t usually pick. That’s how your map grows.

Build your own map

Never take criticism from someone you wouldn’t ask for advice. If you’re going to read lists or listen to influencers, fine. Do the work to find palates that match yours. There’s no point in visiting “the best Japanese in Hull” if you don’t like Japanese food. Keep two or three bellwethers, notice where you diverge from them, then try places anyway. If you’re craving a burger, today’s lists will likely send you to a smashburger; lovely if that’s your thing, useless if what you wanted was a fat pub burger. Be first through the door, or go with your mates and compare notes; you don’t have to agree. Build your own map.

None of them are perfect. They’re yours. There’s no “best”. Only what you like.