Opened in 1949, Hector’s is one of the last remaining vestiges of the Meatpacking District, a place where meat cutters and haulers would hang out after deliveries or before work at 4 a.m. or 5 a.m. It is in many ways a conventional diner, though the menu is built out with Latin Caribbean and Mexican dishes — and for a diner, the food is above average. It’s a fun and inexpensive place to eat after a walk on the High Line, or a visit to the nearby Whitney Museum.

Bangkok Supper Club debuted recently on an obscure stretch of Hudson Street just south of the Meatpacking District, descended from the hit Thai restaurant Fish Cheeks. This place is far different. It’s more laid back and serene and the menu is more innovative, featuring succulent hog jowl fried rice and a whole branzino, flattened and crisp, that must be tasted to be believed.

This unusual bar offers wines from a company based in French-speaking Switzerland, making it more showroom than restaurant. The decor is exceptionally pleasant — there’s a ski-resort gondola in one corner with a table inside — and the white wines made from the Swiss Chasselas grape are particularly drinkable. Overall, the food seems like an afterthought, though there’s no better place in town for fondue, and the charcuterie and cheese boards are also a good bet.

The wine list at St. Tropez is exclusively French, with some bargains if you look carefully, including good glasses of Bordeaux, white or red, at modest prices. The food is Provençale, running from charcuterie to full-plate meals. The frisee salad has more bacon than expected, while the crevettes a l’aioli (grilled shrimp with tarragon mayo) are creamy excellence on a plate.

In its exploration of southern Indian cooking, Semma, from Unapologetic Foods, with chef Vijay Kumar, who was born in Tamil Nadu, is unlike anything our city has seen. Whether you stray into unfamiliar territory — the goat intestines served on a banana leaf are an example — or stick with curries of venison or lobster tail, you will enjoy subtle spice combinations and high-quality ingredients. The triangular gunpowder dosa is the best around.

This is where West Villagers hang. The small shop with a comfy, wood-clad interior and friendly staff peddles panini — try the chicken one with generous slices of tomato and avocado — soups, breakfast pastries, beer, wine, and coffee beverages, the latter good and strong. Don’t miss the apricot and custard Danish.

Part of a mini-fad of small neighborhood seafood joints at the turn of the century, Mary Redding’s restaurant takes a Florida fish camp as its theme, serving up exemplary chowders, haystack fries, lobster rolls, fish tacos, and even a bouillabaisse on a menu that otherwise is constantly changing. The corner location is hedged with potted herbs and flowers, and many of the patrons live nearby.

Decades ago, Greenwich Village boasted lots of Spanish restaurants, many dating to the time of the Spanish Civil War and its aftermath. Now, Sevilla is one of the few that remain, a paella palace where the waiters wear shorty tuxes, the decor will cast you back to the 1940s, and the chorizo arrives aflame. You can smell the garlic wafting down the street.

Seafood, pasta, burgers, sandwiches, and Old Bay tater tots are the forte of this spot for the neighborhood from notorious restaurateur Gabe Stulman on a quintessential West Village corner. The furniture is plush and comfortable, the windows offer urban views, and a convivial crowd who all seem to know each other collects, especially in the afternoon.

This brightly colored van has become a fixture on the south side of Sheridan Square, where you can eat your purchases next to the stark white “Gay Liberation” sculpture by George Segal in what is now a national park. The tacos are good, for sure, with the usual fillings running from steak carne asada to the more uncommon ox tongue. Even better are the burritos, finished on the flattop until its flour tortilla warms, browns, and bubbles.

This offshoot of Anfora wine bar has rewritten the book as far as French bistro fare is concerned. Rib-sticking dish from chef Max Mackinnon include saucisse puree, a fat pork sausage with gravy plunked on top of buttery mashed potatoes; scallop plus seaweed, the almost-raw shellfish under a gratin presented in its shell; and jambon persille, a slab of jellied hunks of ham littered with cornichons. There’s no printed menu at this charming spot, so consult the chalkboard menu.

The restaurant was founded by Eleven Madison Park vets, with food that’s assuredly cheaper but just as carefully prepared. The name recalls the days when this neighborhood was a northern suburb of New Amsterdam, and the food has an elevated homey quality sure to please everyone. Don’t miss the pork belly on a bed of English peas, and linguine in a lemon sauce flavored with the salty pressed fish eggs called bottarga.

This might be the most unusual of West Village’s restaurant, with a layout left over from a Portuguese bar of the 1960s, but with overtones of colonial Americana added. It represents the most recent experiment of Via Carota owners Rita Sodi and Jody Williams, who are exploring Shaker culture in an offhand sort of way. The cocktails are historic, and the food runs to roasted bone marrow, spoon pudding, melted cheese rarebit, beef tongue, and a marvelous roast chicken for two to share. Don’t miss the tomato pie.