Where to Eat in Santiago, According to Locals Who Know Good Food
A weeklong culinary quest through Chile's capital, guided by chefs, food writers, and trusted friends with great taste.
Santiago doesn’t get talked about as much as Lima or Buenos Aires when it comes to food, and I have a feeling that’s going to change soon. There’s something quietly compelling happening here: a new guard of chefs drawing from Chile’s extraordinary geography, legacy producers, incredible coastline, and multicultural roots, without taking themselves too seriously.
I spent a week eating my way through Santiago armed with a hyper-ambitious itinerary, a few well-connected locals, and the kind of professional hunger that ends in mild iodine poisoning and dinner fatigue. Ya’ll don’t realize how challenging this job can be. By day two, I was belly up in a W hotel bed, recovering from my fourth seafood tasting menu. Still, I rallied. And I’m here to share with you the standouts, my personal favorites, and the trusted picks from friends in the biz, all worth bookmarking for your next trip to Santiago.
Boragó
There’s fine dining, and then there’s Boragó. What chef Rodolfo Guzmán is doing here isn’t just high-end. It’s cerebral, theatrical, and deeply rooted in place. Guzmán is a culinary mad scientist, a Chilean Willy Wonka working with ingredients you’ve probably never heard of—picorocos, chochas, porotos granados, milcaos, even ingredients from the waters of Rapa Nui. The tasting menu is built around what’s grown at the restaurant’s own regenerative farm and sourced directly from foragers, small producers, and the coast. Think sea strawberries, wild mushrooms, heirloom pink tomatoes, and Patagonian plants. Creative, intellectual, and full of flavor. For good reason, Boragó has been named the best restaurant in Chile by Latin America’s 50 Best more than once.
I ate here years ago, but this visit felt different. The experience has become more immersive, more focused, more emotional, and everything tastes really damn delicious. I sat in silence, tasting things that I’m still thinking about. This isn’t a restaurant you just drop into, it’s one you plan a trip around.
La Mesa
If I lived in Santiago, I’d probably be a regular here. Tucked behind its wine bar Masal, where you can stop in for a glass or two before or after your meal, La Mesa is a quiet standout in the city’s dining scene. The space is casual but intentional, led by chef Álvaro Romero, with a menu that leans into vegetables, local sourcing, and precise technique without getting fussy.
You’ll find dishes like onion tartare with roasted chives, fresh apple, and fried leek; papa rosti topped with cured fish; vibrant salads; and more indulgent plates like Patagonian lamb and king crab lasagna. Masal bar de vinos up front pours wines by the glass from across the spectrum: Chilean, international, and small independent producers.
Felix Café
Félix is the kind of café that makes you wish you lived around the corner. Opened by food writer Consuelo Goeppinger of Vivir para Comer (yes, she knows her food and drink), Félix is tiny but mighty—a specialty coffee shop serving excellent beans and baked goods. This was my first pan con palta of the trip, Chile’s OG avocado toast, though here, it’s just breakfast. Ideal as your first stop of the day or a mid-morning coffee hop detour.
Yum Cha
One of my favorite meals in Santiago last year—and still one of the most memorable. Yum Cha is an intimate 20-seat restaurant that blends Cantonese technique, Chilean ingredients, and a deep respect for tea, not as a side beverage, but as a co-star to the food.
Chef Nicolás Tapia’s tasting menu is rooted in the belief that tea should be drunk while eating, and food designed to be eaten while drinking tea. That balance guides everything here. The flavors are intense, textural, umami-rich. Layered with acid, spice, wok hei, and fermentation. Seafood plays a starring role, alongside local produce from both ocean and land. Teas like Taiwanese oolong and Sichuan green are paired with the dishes to deepen the experience. This isn’t traditional Chinese food, and it’s not a tea ceremony either. It’s something else entirely. And it works. If you’re into flavor, ritual, or both, Yum Cha belongs on your hit list.
La Calma by Fredes
At La Calma, the seafood doesn’t just taste fresh, it tastes like it was pulled from the ocean that morning and handed to you on a plate. The focus here is ultra-fresh, traceable delicacies from the sea, caught by small-scale fishermen and divers, and served simply so the ingredients can speak for themselves.
Order the Plato La Calma, a greatest-hits lineup of the day’s catch—scallops, oysters, razor clams, picoroco, sea urchin, and piure (which I once wrote about for Vice in an article my editor titled “This Terrifying Sea Creature Is the World’s Only Delicacy That Can Literally Fuck Itself”). Serious journalism.
La Calma also serves wonderful grilled fish and French fries, which I dipped in uni for an unnecessarily decadent combo I didn’t know I needed. Pair it with a martini that tastes like uni sea brine (in the best way) or one of the most satisfying Bloody Marys I’ve had in a while. The kind of lunch that makes you cancel your afternoon plans.
Karai
Inside the W Hotel, this sleek Nikkei restaurant from Mitsuharu “Micha” Tsumura (of Maido fame) blends Japanese technique with Peruvian and Chilean ingredients. I came to Santiago for the Mengano x Karai pop-up—a collab between Gerson Céspedes (Karai’s former head chef, now executive chef of the W), Santiago Jara (current head chef), and Facundo Kelemen (chef-owner of Mengano and the newly opened Bordó), and Giovani González (chef at Mengano). Gerson and Santi were my guides all week, the hosts with the mosts, taking me behind the scenes of Santiago’s growing food scene and giving me the juicy gastro gossip.
I’m a sucker for Nikkei flavors, especially when the seafood’s this good. A few standouts at Karai: De locos y mayo de colágeno, featuring thin slices of loco (a prized Chilean mollusk) with marine collagen mayo, salsa verde, and tapioca pearls in ponzu (one of my favorite bites of the night). And the tiradito de verano, with fresh fish and shellfish, chickpea greens, summer-style leche de tigre, and a mote crocante and cancha chulpi. Sophisticated, textural, and fun. If you’re nearby or want a taste of Micha’s vision outside of Peru, it’s worth checking out.
*I was invited to Santiago as a guest of Karai and the W Hotel. Nobody pays me to say nice things, and—as always—opinions (and seafood overload) are my own.
Olam
At Olam, Spanish-born chef Sergio Barroso (ex–El Bulli) serves seafood-centric food that balance precision with creativity. I’m still thinking about the ventresca albacora “ham” brushed with jamón ibérico fat and served with tomato and brioche—a sort of assemble-your-own pan con tomate, by a Spanish-chef-in-Chile edition. I was also really into the bonito tartare with miso mayo and gingered ponzu rice, beef tataki, crab salad, and creamy chipirón rice topped with fried Patagonian puyes. Barroso’s technical finesse and mastery of flavor are unmistakable in every dish.
Before or after dinner, head downstairs to The Green Room, the speakeasy-style cocktail bar hidden beneath the restaurant. Ask for the mezcal Negroni (Sergio’s a bit of a Negroni connoisseur).
Sergio is also behind Casa Barroso, his newest project set on a vineyard in the Casablanca Valley, where he’s leaning into open-fire cooking and wine country hospitality.
Pulperia Santa Elvira
“Acá cocinamos con mucho amor!!” reads the chalkboard on the patio at Pulpería Santa Elvira, and it’s not just for show. Set inside a restored 1920s house in Santiago’s Matta Sur neighborhood, this restaurant feels like stepping into a grandmother’s dining room, complete with antique photos on the walls and dried flowers hanging from the ceiling.
The menu changes frequently, offering a handful of appetizers, mains, and desserts that highlight local, seasonal ingredients. It's a warm, deeply personal dining experience that reflects the chef and owner Javier Avilés Lira's commitment to community and Chilean culinary traditions.
Casa Las Cujas
What started as a beachside chiringuito in Cachagua is now a seafood destination in the heart of Santiago. The Raide brothers brought their signature coastal vibe inland—there’s even a glass tank of live shellfish inside the restaurant, a visual flex that lets you know exactly what you’re here for: ultra-fresh seafood, no frills, no fuss.
They served us a special tasting menu (something that happens when chefs or journalists are in the room), but after peeking at other tables, and remembering the meal I had here last year, I suspect the à la carte options are where the magic really lives. Think mussels steamed in white wine with fries, conchas (clams and scallops) plucked from the tank and served on ice with ponzu or apple cider vinegar and black garlic, and a langostino-tomato rice. Everything super fresh and best enjoyed with a cold glass of something… And no plans afterward.
Fukasawa
I wouldn’t normally recommend a restaurant in a shopping center, but Fukasawa is the exception. Tucked away on the rooftop of the Casa Costanera mall in Santiago’s Vitacura neighborhood, it delivers one of the most decadent (and genuinely fun) Chilean-Japanese fusion meals. When Nikkei flavors are done right, I’m in heaven. Not the cream cheese or sickly sweet maracuyá kind (absolutely not), but the big-ass rolls stuffed with shrimp tempura, topped with torched spicy tuna, and drizzled with eel sauce action. Bring em on.
The place is run by Marcos Baeza and his twin sons, and the menu leans all the way into Japanese indulgence: oysters with ikura, fatty salmon, grilled eel with foie, uni, crab temaki, perfectly charred yakitori, and nigiri I wanted to keep popping into my mouth until I can’t pop anymore. Bonus: it all comes with panoramic rooftop views of the Andes, so not a bad way to spend a meal at a mall in Santiago.
Viña Vik
If you’re up for a splurge-worthy getaway about 2.5 hours from Santiago, head to Vik, the dramatic boutique hotel-winery-art retreat perched on a hilltop in the Millahue Valley. The architecture is bold, the views are endless, and every room is designed by a different artist, each one completely unique, with its own eclectic vibe and full-room concept. It’s more than just curated art on the walls; the space itself is the artwork.
There are two restaurants open to the public on-site. Pavilion is the more refined of the two, a glass-walled dining room overlooking the vines where chef Pablo Cáceres serves seasonal menus built around what’s grown on the property. I came in fall, and despite the rain, the whole landscape was glowing orange and red—it almost looked AI generated. Vik Zero is the open-air, fire-fueled garden spot where they serve a campesino breakfast (which I didn’t get to try, but definitely will next time). Chickens roam, veggies grow, everything feels alive.

I’m lucky to know the right people. On our way out, we ran into winemaker Cristian Vallejo, who invited us into his “office,” (a tasting room), and told us about Stonevik — a wine aged in the forest in handmade clay amphorae, partially buried and arranged in a mandala pattern aligned with astronomical principles. The idea is that the wine absorbs the vibration of the earth and surrounding oak trees. It might sound far out, but standing there with a glass in hand, it somehow made perfect sense. And it’s proof that food and wine taste better when you hear the story behind them. It’s like your brain gains a new layer of appreciation that somehow translates directly to your taste buds.
Bonus: Mercado La Vega Central
If you know me, you know market tourism is my favorite tourism. Santiago’s Mercado La Vega is the real deal: a maze of fresh produce, pickles, paltas (all sorts of avocado varieties), and merkén (ají picante, great souvenir). There’s also a proper food hall inside, where you can sit down and eat traditional Chilean dishes and sandwiches like completos, chacareros, and more. A must. I could roam around here for hours, it’s a great market.
While we’re at it: shoutout to the Jumbo supermarket (a snack-and-souvenir goldmine) and Falabella, where I bought the air fryer I once swore I’d never own. I used it at my parents’ houses in the U.S. and was converted. In Santiago, it was much cheaper than in Buenos Aires, so I schlepped a Ninja back and now I’m in my AF Era. Watch out.
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And of course, there are plenty of spots I didn’t get to: Cora Bistro, Ambrosía, wandering around Factoría Franklin, to name a few, all vouched for by friends who seriously know food in Chile. I guess I’ll have to go back soon and try more, all in the name of serious journalism, of course.
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