I was scrolling through the New York Times’ 2025 list of America’s top 50 restaurants when one name stopped me, Dōgon.
I’d actually eaten there this summer, by pure chance. A reservation made by my friend, the food blogger, diplomat and DC insider known as TheCravelist. I always trust her choices, but this one made me nervous (though my polite Persian-British sensibilities would never show it).
The menu described itself as ‘diasporic flavours’, spanning Nigeria, Jamaica, Trinidad and Creole flavours. Normally that’s my sweet spot; I’m a student of diaspora (true story, I have an MA in Migration & Diaspora studies), a product of migration, a lover of cross-cultural food stories, but I’ve had my fill of concepts. You know the kind: where fusion turns to confusion and all the flavours are jostling for space on the plate.
Truthfully, I was still traumatised by an earlier ‘concept’ meal that I had enjoyed this March. Let me take you back to then…
I had one of the worst fancy meals of my life this past spring. I never wrote about it (if you’ve got nothing nice to say…), but the PTSD lingered. For months I avoided tasting menus like I avoid parking tickets. I sought pubs, cafes and diners, the culinary equivalent of a hug.
It happened on a cold, damp London night. My friend and business partner were finally catching up face to face after a few months away, so I booked what I thought was a cosy Mexican spot. Margaritas, guac, warmth...a simple win.
Except… absolutely not.
From the moment we walked in: warm lighting, whispering servers, a head chef patrolling the floor. A tasting menu. Michelin. Conceptual. Mexican… without avocado, lime or corn. Everything reinterpreted using British ingredients.
My insides screamed.
I smiled politely, naturally, while being served crickets (yes, the insect 🦟) and a painfully expensive margarita. The bill, or should I say pill, was hard to swallow.
So when I found myself walking into Dōgon a few months later, I braced for déjà vu. But instead, something lovely happened.
It cured me.
Dōgon’s food was confident, soulful and grounded; not concept for concept’s sake, but flavour in full conversation with story and heritage. It didn’t need to prove anything. It simply was.
Time Magazine recently declared it one of the world’s greatest places. I’m not sure I’d go that far, but it is somewhere I’d happily return to.
Here are a few snaps from my visit:
From the moorishly good breads (Coco and Corn), to the charbroiled oysters in a red stew and juicy shrimps.
The menu is packed with goodies, go with a large appetite; order the entire menu, share, laugh and don’t worry… I checked - not a cricket in sight.
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