What fictional meal would you love to eat?

As manic as is, the show has nailed how to make the Italian beef shop’s meals look wholesome and scrumptious, whether it’s a hot dog, a chocolate ganache cake, or simply chopping and cooking up vegetables. And nothing stands out more than Sydney’s (Ayo Edebiri) sneak dish from episode six, a cola-braised short-rib and risotto. It somehow sounds gourmet and classic at the same time. Anytime a dish is praised excessively on screen, it heightens the desire to try it. The Bear has mastered this only one season in. [Saloni Gajjar]

If there’s one fictional person we trust as a true connoisseur of damn fine coffee, it’s Kyle MacLachlan’s Agent Dale Cooper from . (Sorry to certain residents of Stars Hollow.) That’s because the special agent turned that mundane consumption into a ritualistic, treat-yo-self indulgence: “Every day, once a day, give yourself a present. Don’t plan it; don’t wait for it; just let it happen. It could be a new shirt in a men’s store, a catnap in your office chair, or two cups of good, hot, black, coffee.” Hell, the cup o’ Joe at the Double R Diner might not even be all that. Ditto the cherry pie he often enjoys alongside it, which, though dubbed the “best in the tri-counties,” certainly doesn’t look like the height of haute patisserie, all crimson gloop peeking out from beneath a basic, lattice-free crust. But it’s less the flavor that we’re desperate to sink our forks into—it’s the feeling. [Christina Izzo]

Sure, an unlucky few have been hacked and sliced up in the back of this crew’s hangout. But you don’t get named the best spot for capicola in Jersey by none other than Gab Dante (Maureen Van Zandt, the IRL wife of Little Steven, who plays her other half, Silvio) for nothing, right? Right? No? Huh. Anyway, we’re trusting the disinfectants at this mainstay do their thing. For The A.V. Club’s pick, we’re taking a rec from outside the family—namely, from FBI agent Dwight Harris (the great Matt Servitto), who, after recently getting a parasite in Pakistan (“What do they eat, tabbouleh?” asks Michael Imperioli’s Chrissy, genuinely curious), explains the non-work-related reason for his visit: “Actually, that’s why I’m here. I’ve been dying for a Satriale’s veal-parm hero.” [Tim Lowery]

The most memorable thing about Kevin’s famous chili—one of ’s best cold opens, and you can —is the disastrous rug spill. So it’s hard to think of it and go, “Delicious, I can’t wait to eat this messy goop.” But let me make a strong case for it: Brian Baumgartner’s soothing narration of the ingredients he uses to make his simple chili makes it sound hella appetizing. There’s a reason “Kevin’s Chili” . [Saloni Gajjar]

Frosting never looked as good as it does in the imaginary feast Peter Pan (Robin Williams) conjures in Steven Spielberg’s Hook. Pete may have grown up and thought his true calling was a , but it’s his make-believe feast for the Lost Boys that remains ’s most indelible and edible moment. To be clear, the way Spielberg shoots the Boys scooping air from Dutch Ovens and serving bowls already looks and sounds delicious, a compliment to the object work of the film’s young cast. And coupled with a roast battle led by Rufio (Dante Basco), the scene is already a key moment in the “kids rule” Nickelodeon ’90s. But when Peter learns to play, the scene soars with some of the most imaginative, colorful, and enticing bowls of frosting this side of the second star to the right. The scene is the opposite of a lewd, crude, rude bag of pre-chewed food, dude. [Matt Schimkowitz]

introduced its audience to Singapore in the smartest way: By inculcating them, via screen, into the country’s street food culture. Asian street fare is unparalleled, and CRA didn’t hold back when Nick, Rachel, Colin, and Araminta go straight from the airport to indulge in delectable fare—dumplings, curries, satay bowls, and food from other hawker stalls. You’re lying if your stomach didn’t grumble and you didn’t want to magically transport that spicy goodness to you. [Saloni Gajjar]

is unequivocally about the pretentiousness of the food industry. No one is going to demand a serving from the film’s meal courses like a “breadless bread plate” or “chicken tacos with scissors in it,” let alone “The Mess,” wherein a sous chef shoots himself in front of the guests. No, the only tempting as hell The Menu dish is the final cheeseburger Margot (Anya Taylor-Joy) makes Chef Slowik (Ralph Fiennes) grill up at the end to save herself. We can all but guarantee that anyone watching the 2022 film would go feral for a juicy burger while watching him carefully prepare it. [Saloni Gajjar]

Creator-star Jon Glaser’s brilliant Adult Swim comedy which, in case you need a reminder, follows “Jon,” a person in the Witness Protection Program who has a reality show, has a lot of moments with its main character talking about and eating food (much to the annoyance of basically anyone around him). But no delicacy knocks him out quite like the No. 31 at Nicky’s Grinders in Brooklyn, a sandwich so good that it makes “Jon” have an out-of-body “grinder high.” To quote the tripping-out man himself, in all of his faux-beat-poet, incredibly dumb glory: “The crack of the crust. The coolness of dijon, counterbalanced with the snap of pepper turkey. The pepper turkey cracking the whip on my taste buds. The oarsmen on the slave ship of my mouth. There it is. Sundried tomato. The signature ingredient of the No. 31. Never overpowering. Just enough to remind you of its presence. Playing peekaboo with the inside of your mouth. Peeka. Boo. Peeka. Yum, into my tum ….” [Tim Lowery]

There are many reasons to want to pull up a seat alongside Isabella Rossellini, Allison Janney, Minnie Driver, and the rest dining at Paradise during ’s blowout last-act feast. The glossy brodo that brothers Primo (Tony Shalhoub) and Secondo (Stanley Tucci) ladle out as la zuppa, sure, or the beautiful tricolor risotto they spoon up next, but it’s, of course, that painstakingly made timpano–a baked, burnished drum of pasta, egg, meat, and cheese that Secondo delicately smooches like a secret lover before slicing before their guests–that haunts with its viscerality. Eyes roll, throats groan and fists beat in answer to that delicious drum. “This is so fucking good, I should kill you,” Ian Holm’s Pascal wrenches up from the table to proclaim. Your loss, Louis Prima, in not getting to partake—but ours, too. [Christina Izzo]

The chocolate cake in is meant to be a punishment, but has there ever been a more delectable dessert depicted on film? There’s a reason why Bruce (Jimmy Karz) risked the wrath of the Trunchbull (Pam Ferris) to get a slice of it. This scene pulls off a stunning balance of absolutely nasty—it does not seem like this cake was baked under sanitary conditions, and the sheer size of it is just too much for one kid—and triumphant as Brucie’s classmates cheer him across the finish line. Devouring a chocolate cake with your hands while all your friends chant your name is kind of a dream scenario, as a middle schooler or an adult. [Mary Kate Carr]

Is there a greater compliment than “I wolfed my Teamsters sub for you”? Liz Lemon certainly doesn’t think so. For the TGS crew on , Sandwich Day might just be the best day of the year. That’s when the Teamsters bring in sandwiches from a secret deli in Brooklyn with a dipping sauce that causes Frank to cry out, “God bless us, everyone!” It’s no wonder Liz lost it when she discovered her staff had eaten her sandwich. Part of the near-mythological appeal of the Teamsters sub is its mysteriousness to the viewer; though the show doesn’t go into detail about the sandwich’s ingredients, that it’s inspired by the roast beef and mozzarella sub with roasted red peppers from Fiore’s House Of Quality in Hoboken. [Jen Lennon]

The ratatouille from kind of put ratatouille on the map. It’s not a dish the average Pixar enjoyer (read: American child) necessarily knew about, but by the end of the film, who among us didn’t want a taste? The critical moment when tasting the meal took food critic Anton Ego all the way back to his childhood is a dramatized version of what food could be at its best—a transporting experience that can ignite the senses and send someone back in time. If some ratatouille made by a rat can do all that, then hey, I’ll have what he’s having. [Mary Kate Carr]

Oh, everything looks incredible in . Romanticizing food and the cooking process is the whole point, given that the main character Kiyo’s self-actualization journey involves finding joy and purpose in preparing meals for the maiko (geisha-in-training) instead of becoming one herself. As such, it’s not enough to say we want a food from this show; we want that food, the specific dishes our heroine prepares with love, big smiles, and full-on culinary ASMR. Of all of , her take on , a custardy bread pudding made with shokupan (Japanese milk bread) and caramel sauce drizzled straight from her grandmother’s skillet, looks especially rich and tantalizing. Hey, Kiyo (even though you’re not real)? Please make it for us! [Meredith Hobbs Coons]

Sure, Leslie Knope loves to talk about the waffles from JJ’s, and there are plenty of episodes that feature stacks of the breakfast staple, but you can get waffles anywhere. What we really want to eat is a different menu item from JJ’s: the Four Horsemeals of the Eggporkalypse, which Ron Swanson calls “the world’s best breakfast dish.” In , Leslie describes the meal as “an astonishing onslaught of protein that includes a 12-egg scramble, bacon, sausage, ham, hash browns, chicken-fried steak, and a giant tower of buttermilk pancakes.” The dish, she adds, “was officially ‘condemned’ by both the American Heart Association and Doctors Without Borders.” Somehow, that just makes us want to try it even more. [Jen Lennon]

Monica Gellar () is easily one of TV’s funniest chefs because she’s rightfully obnoxious about her methods. And one of the tricks she’s pulled is her “moist-maker” sandwich: Thanksgiving leftovers being saved by an extra layer of gravy-soaked bread. It’s a sandwich apparently so freaking good it made Ross (David Schwimmer) lose his sanity. If I’m craving fictional food, that’s the standard it has to meet. And don’t worry, there are lots of recipes on the internet now, so no one needs to scream about it. [Saloni Gajjar]

There are far more quotable burgers in Quentin Tarantino’s masterpiece—Le Big Mac, the Big Kahuna, and that Parisian Quarter Pounder, for example—but it’s Mia’s order of a Durward Kirby burger, served bloody, and a “Martin and Lewis” (i.e. vanilla) milkshake in that regularly occupies space in our movie-meal dreams. The former looks the kind of multiple-napkin flattop throwback you’d expect given its wholesome, 1950s namesake, just the thing you’d want to power a particularly rigorous twist. The shake, meanwhile, is so whole-milk thick, one slurp will give you a jaw ache, a decadence that tempts not only the viewer at home. “You think I could have a sip of that?” John Travolta’s Vincent Vega asks Mia, mere minutes after being incredulous that “milk and ice cream” could cost so much. One sip changes his tune: “Goddamn, that’s a pretty fucking good milkshake.” And that’s pretty fucking priceless. [Christina Izzo]