I stumbled upon an incredible word the other day: boozemanship. The writer Kingsley Amis coined it to mean “the art of coming out ahead when any question of drinking expertise or experience arises.” Of course Esquire is the standard-bearer of boozemanship. Case in point: Our annual best bars in America list, the 2026 edition of which dropped today and which you can read below. Happy drinking! —Michael Sebastian, editor-in-chief
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This country was founded in bars, so we pay homage to them by going from sea to shining sea to revere the best ones.
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They didn’t have Instagram and Substack back in 1776, so how did that whole revolution thing get rolling? Where did the rebels of the American colonies manage to meet up and murmur to each other about their radical strategies for, well, overthrowing a king and kick-starting a new country? Kiddos, we have bars to thank for all that. The very concept of the United States of America had its genesis some 250 years ago in the taverns of the Atlantic seaboard. You’ve heard about Thomas Paine and Common Sense, his revolutionary pamphlet, but did you know that Common Sense gathered momentum as it was passed around in pubs and recited aloud by drinkers swept up in the froth of pints and the spirit of the moment? (And have you read Common Sense lately? It’s still ... pretty relevant. To wit: “When William the Conqueror subdued England, he gave them law at the point of the sword; and, until we consent that the seat of government in America be legally and authoritatively occupied, we shall be in danger of having it filled by some fortunate ruffian, who may treat us in the same manner, and then, where will be our freedom?”)
We’d like to think that here at Esquire we’re carrying on that tradition with our annual tribute to the Best Bars in America.
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How do you clean the 133-year-old Stanley Cup? Think about all the Champagne and greasy fingers and sweaty lips that have kissed it. All that hockey history and lore giving heft to its 35 pounds of silver and nickel alloy. If you’re ever able to get up close with the Cup—and chances are solid you might, if you haven’t already—look at its top half where hands touch it the most. It’s smoother than the rest of the trophy, and those engravings are harder to read without proper light.
You might assume it takes a special solution provided by the NHL to ensure that the legendary names etched on the Stanley Cup’s circumference never rub off. But if you ask Philip Pritchard and Miragh Bitove, curators of the Hockey Hall of Fame and two of several official Keepers of the Cup, you’ll learn it takes old-fashioned soap and water. Like, any soap and water. Hotel-bathroom soap and water, even.
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Star Wars has explored plenty of parental dysfunction over the years, but The Mandalorian and Grogu depicts a family unit that actually … functions. The film, debuting this Friday, leans into the sunnier side of the dad and kid relationship. Star Wars needs this right now. So do parents and their little ones.
Jon Favreau didn’t intend to tell a story about the most intense single father in the universe when he created The Mandalorian TV series almost eight years ago. He just liked the look and vibe of Boba Fett and thought it would be cool to pair an ominous lone wolf with a cute and cuddly ward. That’s how Pedro Pascal’s masked bounty hunter joined up with the little green child we’ve come to know as Baby Yoda. The personal meaning, much of it drawn from Favreau’s own life, just snuck in.
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