We all dream of that ideal neighborhood spot where you can drop by anytime for a drink and a few oysters. A place where, after a few visits, the staff knows your name and you have a go-to order and a preferred table. That's what The Walrus and the Carpenter was for me after two meals—and I live 2,861 miles away. Every detail, from the way your waiter describes the local oyster selections and the wire baskets they're displayed in, to the yellow and white stools that line the bar (my preferred place to eat), is dead on. The space, feel, and comforting dishes—smoked herring tart and sea urchin custard—are, in a word, nurturing. Credit chef Renée Erickson, who has made dining here feel less like a night out and more like eating at a friend's place. In the end, those are the impressions that last—and the ones that are the hardest to find.

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