All over Athens (not to mention the U.S. and other parts of the world), one of the hottest grains around is also among the oldest known to man. While farro, or zea, as it’s known in Greek, has been found in excavations of prehistoric settlements in parts of what was once Ancient Greece (the oldest, in Asia Minor, dating back to 12,000 BCE), in the early 20th century, its cultivation was banned, largely because it was cheaper to import other grains (though many incredible conspiracy theories behind the ban abound). Thankfully, zea began making a comeback about 15 years ago, and it is now popular again, not just in grain form, but also as flour for making baked goods and pasta.

We were sitting at the counter, trying out the goods, when an elderly man who has clearly had a tough life copped a squat at the next bench. Leaning on a crutch, with only one eye and a very dinged-up forehead, he patted our shoulder to offer us a cup and a pitcher of fresh, cool water. We chatted a bit. Telling us he’s a regular and praising the preparation of the veggies at El Comunitario, he flashed his toothless, but endearing, smile, “What do you think of how much people are paid here?” It was a genuinely pleasant immersion into the social whirl of this community kitchen, located in one of the more troubled corners in the heart of Mexico City’s Centro. We began to pour water into our other neighbors’ cups and chatted with the cooks in the kitchen, enjoying some great, incredibly cheap grub.

Since Syrians took to the streets in March 2011 to demand reform, news from Syria can be boiled down to montages of people angry, bloodied and afraid; bearded young men in military fatigues dodging behind crumbled buildings; the ominous black flags of the so-called Islamic State; children pulled from the rubble of bombed out buildings; masses of people crossing borders into neighboring countries or being saved from the sea. That’s all the world knows about Syria. And while those images are real life for many Syrians, it shouldn’t define them. Food, however, does. It’s the lifeline of Syrian culture, easily defined by almost boundless generosity, as can be witnessed in the mounds of food piled high for any given guest. For Syrians, a friendship isn’t truly established until “bread and salt” are shared.

Geography-challenged foreigners often come to Brazil with a vague, ill-informed hope of finding good Mexican food. In Rio, that only happens at Ipanema’s Azteka. In fact, there are few restaurants we find as compelling in the touristy beachside neighborhood as this one, focusing on Tex-Mex cuisine adapted slightly for Brazilian palates. The breadbox-sized eatery was established by Miguel F. Campos and his Bulgarian wife, Aglika Angelova, a professional piano teacher, after the couple scouted out a new country in which to start a new chapter of their lives together. The two met at an organic pizzeria in Chicago.

Every late morning from the ground floor of a typical Lisbon building, the façade of which displays a tile-painted Madonna, a hunger-inducing scent pervades the street. Dhaka Restaurante is one of many canteens in the Mouraria neighborhood preparing its lunchtime curry. Along Rua Benformoso, among the small shops selling jewelry, trinkets and Chinese-made goods, are several restaurants that have fed the local community from the Indian subcontinent for years. Today, however, they aren’t just cooking for them. Due to a rapid process of urban transformation, mainly thanks to tourism and interested investors, more and more people from Lisbon and further afield are passing through this winding thoroughfare looking for alternative flavors.

In Tbilisi, we have mornings when we wake up wrinkled and dehydrated, and as we lie in bed knuckling the sleep from our eyes, we hear an all too familiar chorus beckoning us to “bite me, slurp me, gobble me down….” That is khinkali singing, and when you hear the melody, your day has been cast. You can forget about work and responsibilities. We used to fritter away our afternoons with a platter of khinkali at Pasanauri, but when it changed owners and attitude and our beloved waitress Irma packed her bags, it was clear an era had passed. A period of pretty good khinkali at pretty good restaurants followed until we asked local filmmaker and fellow gastromaniac Levan Kitia where he goes for khinkali.

Wave after wave of migration from Anatolia has bestowed upon Istanbul a population of 15 million at bare minimum, with countless pockets of the city representing villages and districts from every last corner of the country. In the neighborhood of Feriköy, those originally hailing from the eastern province of Erzincan have managed to consolidate their presence on an entire street. Lined with a number of restaurants and shops selling fresh goods typical of the province, and a row of village associations established for the purpose of maintaining cultural ties between those living in Istanbul and their relatives back home, Feriköy's Gediz Sokak is all about Erzincan, a land of sheep and mountains famed for its dairy products.

After four generations of doing business in the same shop – housed since 1907 in a beautiful moderniste building between Paseo de Gràcia and Gran de Gràcia – the beloved patisserie La Colmena has closed. One of Barcelona’s most iconic and historic establishments, La Colmena made some of the best artisanal candies, turrón de Jijona, Lenten fritters and Swiss rolls (called a brazo de gitano, or “Gypsy arm” in Spanish) in the neighborhood, and was run by siblings Cristina and Francesc Font, the fifth generation of the family. The venue was effectively forced to close because its rent was set to more than triple, and because of a requirement by City Hall that they restore and update the premises. Although Barcelona residents were aware of the situation, the owners’ decision to close still came as something of a shock to longtime customers.

Beneath modern Lisbon lies a complex network of galleries belonging to the city’s 18th-century aqueduct, a monumental structure that resisted the 1755 earthquake that devastated much of the capital. The aqueduct’s 58 km of tunnels and underground channels distributed water to 33 chafarizes (fountains) – often ornamental – to supply the city with drinking water. One of them, located along the steep steps connecting the Avenida and Príncipe Real neighborhoods, now houses Chafariz do Vinho, the Portuguese capital’s oldest enoteca, or wine bar.

Whether you call it steamboat, hotpot, Chinese fondue or shabu shabu, one thing is certain: Nothing warms you up in the depths of winter like a steaming bowl of bone broth. As winter continues its dreary hold, here are five of the best places to get hotpot in Shanghai.

Editor's Note: We’ve worked together with Brooklyn-based graphic designer Jeff Yas to create distinctive icons for all the cities we work in. We recently spoke with Jeff about the creative process behind creating these edible visuals:

“No hamsi, no money.” Mert Kanal hoses down empty Styrofoam containers and surveys the leftover catch in his market in Sinop, on Turkey’s Black Sea coast. The gulls squawk, fighting over scraps on the dock while fishermen tidy their nets for another night of fishing. The hamsi, or anchovies, are gone for the season, moving up the coast in dwindling numbers as hulking factory ships chase them. While mackerel, turbot and whiting are all fair game for fishmongers, hamsi holds a special place in Turkish cuisine. Unlike the slimy, salty canned form of the fish reserved for eccentric pizza toppings in North America, anchovies are eaten fresh in Turkey. Lightly battered, quickly fried and served with a slice of lemon, hamsi are gobbled down by the kilo, bones and all.

We crept down an almost unmarked flight of stairs, then through a dim, winding corridor and finally pulled back a noren curtain to find ourselves in the world’s only Ippudo ramen location that serves soba noodles instead of ramen. As we seated ourselves on stools around the U-shaped counter, the aroma of tonkotsu (pork bone) broth reached our sinuses and informed us that we had arrived in a place like no other. Shigemi Kawahara opened his first Ippudo ramen shop on the southern Japanese island of Kyushu in1985 and over the next 15 years became a revered ramen master by winning numerous ramen championships on TV.

Deservedly famous for its rich food traditions, the state of Oaxaca is one of our favorite culinary destinations in Mexico. But with Oaxaca City lying nearly 300 miles southeast of Mexico City, we’re always on the lookout for places to satisfy our appetite for Oaxacan cuisine in the D.F. Specializing in tlayudas, one of Oaxaca’s most typical foods, the recently opened Aguamiel is a very welcome addition to the local dining scene.

Palanca Gigante is an Angolan tasca in multicultural Mouraria, Lisbon’s medieval downtown district. The restaurant is named after a critically endangered species of antelope (the palanca negra gigante, or giant sable antelope) that was adopted as an Angolan national symbol after that country’s independence from Portugal in 1975. Though regular Portuguese tascas – no-frills eateries – in Lisbon are far less endangered, it is harder to find authentic food from Portugal’s former colonies at such approachable prices in the city center.