A wink, a touch of excess, and a few things worth savoring. AIR SUPPLY’s Valentine’s edit is thoughtful, playful, and indulgent—candles that transform the everyday, scents that tease, slippers to linger in, and a scotch worth slowing down for

There’s no egg shortage here. AIR SUPPLY’s Easter guide is replete with a bounty of decorative egg-inspired wares, such as Christofle’s egg-shaped silver-cutlery set, Ted Muehling’s Egg Vase, and Scandles’s egg candles

In the 16th century, the Charrúa tribe occupied the Southern coast of Uruguay. They were fierce hunters, and obsessed with fire. Perhaps for this reason, Galician and Uruguayan owners of this refined restaurant appropriated the name when they opened off the Paseo de Recoletos. Uruguayan culture centers around group asados (barbecues) paired with red wine. At Charrúa, wooden table tops play host to dozens of candles, and plants dot the room. The grilled starters—chorizo,morcilla (blood sausages), and mollejas (cow pancreas)—are not to be missed. Be sure to save room for the Lomo Simmental for the main course. And if you’re feeling brave, try Uruguay’s Garzón wine—it’s heavy on the palette, but very satisfying.

You’ve probably heard that the English aren’t known for their food, but that’s a damn lie. They are, it’s just that they’re known for it being gloriously bad. It’s telling that their biggest contribution to global cuisine is the gastropub, which, like most things beginning with “gastro,” can be off-putting. As with all rules, though, there are exceptions. The eminently snug Andrew Edmunds is one of them. Located on Lexington Street in the heart of Soho since 1985, it’s a bulwark of that neighborhood’s old school. Unlike most of the country’s pubs, and in defiance of its inky exterior, Andrew Edmunds is pleasantly lit, especially at night when candles pressed into old wine bottles give a gentle glow to buttery walls and ashen faces. The wine list is good and fairly priced, the staff amiable, and the menu, which is scrawled out by hand and changes daily, exactly what you want to eat: simply prepared fishes and meats, light salads, and deceptively flavorful sautéed greens. It all makes sense when you know that the place owes its name to the recently departed art dealer. His spirit endures by way of the steady stream of literary folk who come for the Academy Club, which is upstairs and shares a menu. And what better way to have your name live on than in one of London’s most romantic spots? More desirable than, say, having it attached to a pub called the Horse’s Ass.

The Odeon’s main currency isn’t food or location but lighting. Once you pass under its red neon lintel, which lets you know that in the 30s it was a steam-table cafeteria, you realize that most restaurants are either blitzed with light or suffering from a drought of it. But in the Tribeca brasserie, sconces, pendants, candles, and the mirrors that bounce their glow around the room have been rigged in arcane proportions since the 80s, adding another layer of polish to the burnished wood and butter walls. Coupled with food that will make you feel grateful but not greedy, it’s enough to make you stay for so long that hanging around until breakfast won’t seem like such a bad idea.

Located smack in the middle of the city’s popular Dimes Square neighborhood, Cervo’s is often overshadowed by Dimes and Corner Bar to the East, Clandestino bar to the West, and Kiki’s just south. But not to step into this small, low-ceilinged, utterly charming Portuguese-Spanish restaurant with dimmed lights, flickering candles, tiny tables, and a bar that transforms into an open kitchen, would mean missing out on something special. The place is always great, but feels particularly cozy on cold winter nights. We suggest pairing the clams in wine sauce, crispy shrimp heads, and piri piri chicken with whatever sherry the waiter recommends.

With photographs by Jim Marshall, a new coffee-table book revisits the charged, melancholy night the Beatles played the last concert of their final tour