Earlier this month, Utah food enthusiasts rejoiced over the news that some Utah restaurants might earn a Michelin star. Maybe even two to three.
The Michelin Guide, which yes, is the same Michelin as the tires, awards stars worldwide to chefs and restaurants that exemplify quality, creativity, and excellent service. The Michelin 1-3 star rating system is one of the most influential, if not THE most influential measure of restaurant quality in the world.
And now Utah establishments could be included in “The Michelin Guide Southwest,” which will highlight restaurants in Utah, Arizona, Nevada and New Mexico.
We do not yet know which Utah places will appear in the 2026 publication. We have a number of destinations the anonymous Michelin inspectors may choose to highlight, with innovative and talented chefs across the Wasatch Front and back creating culinary delights for the highbrow critic and street food lover alike. Many of those places are worthy of international acclaim, and I do not envy the inspectors attempting to narrow down the list.
But I do know, if it were up to me, which Utah food places and items past and present I would deem worthy of Michelin recognition:
The sandwiches from the Provo MaxiMart that became a pizza place in the early aughts and then a Peruvian place and then maybe a pharmacy?
Why were deli sandwiches available in the back of a gas station in a quiet Provo, Utah, neighborhood? I couldn’t even begin to guess. But the way those teenage gas station employees applied the red wine vinegar, olive oil, and salt and pepper to a pile of meat, cheese and veggies was absolutely elite. When I was pregnant with my third child I had a craving for a MaxiMart sandwich — which has not existed for twenty years — so severe that I cried.
In my experience, the MaxiMart sandwiches were best enjoyed in the back of a speedboat on Utah Lake in between waterskiing and trying to not think too hard about what’s going on with the water in Utah Lake. That was a three-star experience.
The first bite of a meal from a chain restaurant we waited years, maybe decades, to finally arrive in Utah.
This food actually tastes better if you’ve waited in line with other excited patrons for hours to get it. It’s fun to make up lore in your head about all the other customers while you wait, and assume that you’re all exotic world travelers who have already tried Shake Shack, or Raising Canes, or Krispy Kreme before it opened in Deseret. And there’s a special thrill in loudly declaring “Mmmm just like I remember it” after your first bite so everyone else knows that you are a sophisticated, long-time fan, not just a band-wagon-jumper-onner.
It doesn’t matter if you never go back to the franchise location after the thrill of its opening. It’s the first bite that offers a feeling of superiority and that feeling is absolutely worthy of some prestige recognition.
Somewhat relatedly, The Cheesecake Factory in Vegas in the late ’90s.
I knew people who would drive six hours to Las Vegas to eat at The Cheesecake Factory because it was the nearest location. They wouldn’t even make this journey for the cheesecake! They’d do it just for the lettuce wraps! In hindsight, this may have been some sort of extended mass psychosis episode.
Regardless, the Michelin star rating system rewards restaurants one to three stars, with three stars indicating “exceptional cuisine” that is worth a special journey to get to. By this measure, the late ’90s Vegas Cheesecake Factory should be a Michelin three-star joint.
A cup of Dippin’ Dots after finally going down Free Fall at Seven Peaks Water Park.
To this day, my stomach drops a little when I think about the sharp incline of Seven Peak’s steepest ride Free Fall and the way it seemed to drop off a cliff. Rumors abounded in childhood about the kids who had met their demise going down Free Fall. The kid who tumbled over the side, the kid who was sliced nearly in half by water pressure because he failed to keep his legs crossed, and the kid who slipped into a coma from fear halfway down. None of these rumors were substantiated, obviously, but they did make the Free Fall experience much more experience.
One could work up quite an appetite gathering the courage to face possible death on a waterslide. I once let 20 kids go ahead of me in line and after every kid I asked the lifeguard to confirm that the kid made it to the bottom safely. After I was assured 20 times that the other kids had survived, I went down, arms and legs crossed, and I survived. And I was starving. And nothing satiated that hunger quite like little balls of strawberry and chocolate flavored ice cream eaten out of a styrofoam cup with a plastic spoon. That’s worth one star at least.
Cafe Rio from 1998ish to 2008, then Costa Vida from 2008 to 2018.
If we have a state meal, it has to be the Cafe Rio/Costa Vida pork salad with black beans. It has reigned supreme for decades. While the restaurant that prepares it best has changed over time, our collective tastes haven’t. I don’t know anyone who doesn’t get an out-of-the-blue craving for cilantro lime rice and a big glob of guacamole every once in a while.
That kind of lasting impression should not go unrewarded.
I’m really bumping up against the limit when it comes to the number of words people are willing to read about fake Michelin stars, so just real quick, I think other contenders should include the ice cream that came in cups that we ate with tiny wooden spoons at the end of every elementary school field day, Teppanyaki Steak House (but only when you successfully catch the shrimp thrown at you by the chef with your mouth), and a Coke Slurpee from the 7-Eleven on the corner of University Avenue but just on the Fourth of July. The Crest gas station at the south end of BYU that sold real, caffeinated Diet Coke back when caffeine was nowhere to be found on campus. And the Crown Burger fries.
I’m sure the anonymous Michelin investigators have their own rubric for identifying the best in food Utah has to offer. And following that rubric is their prerogative.
I just think some of these other places, that have shaped our collective culinary history, deserve a place in a guide, too. Because they’ve all enriched my life, and isn’t that what the best food experiences are meant to do?