When Tomás Gonzalez brought his family to New York City from Acapulco in 1985, they settled first in the South Bronx. His new home had little in common with his old home, a port city and the tourist heart of Mexico’s Guerrero State on the Pacific Coast. But one constant remained: his desire to cook. Sr. Gonzalez spent much of his life in and around the restaurant his family ran in Acapulco, a faraway paradise that most people in the States knew only from prize holiday packages on The Price is Right. He first tried selling churros on the Grand Concourse in the Bronx, but quickly realized that there were not enough Mexicans to buy them.

When you hear something go crunch on the left side of L’Eixample, whether crispy bread or churros, croquettes or socarrat, the toasted bottom of paella, there’s a good chance it came from the kitchen of Miquel Pardo. The 30-year-old chef runs his own restaurant called, appropriately, Cruix (Crunch), a place to have fun with food and discover amazing rice dishes from Castellón, a province in the Valencian Community. A native of this region, Pardo mixes his granny’s sofritos with a creativity inspired by the Adriá brothers, cooking dishes that will fill the stomachs of his relatives and friends, among whom he counts the clients of his restaurant.

Once the province of late-night slurping at street carts or standup counters, instant meals and cheap dining, ramen has undergone a renaissance over the last 18 years, making it onto haute hipster tasting menus in the West and creating punishing waits outside the “it” ramen-ya of Tokyo and Osaka. As the New Year began we decided to revisit the roots of classic ramen dining in Tokyo and paid a visit to the original Afuri ramen stand in Ebisu. Could it already have been 17 years since this place opened its doors to a hungry mob? Tucked into a back street in the warren that surrounds Ebisu station and facing the back exit of Ebisu yokocho (the newest trendy eating alley in Tokyo), this clean, well-lighted place has stood the test of time and continues to thrill.

Once the province of late-night slurping at street carts or standup counters, instant meals and cheap dining, ramen has undergone a renaissance over the last 18 years, making it onto haute hipster tasting menus in the West and creating punishing waits outside the “it” ramen-ya of Tokyo and Osaka. As the New Year began we decided to revisit the roots of classic ramen dining in Tokyo and paid a visit to the original Afuri ramen stand in Ebisu. Could it already have been 17 years since this place opened its doors to a hungry mob? Tucked into a back street in the warren that surrounds Ebisu station and facing the back exit of Ebisu yokocho (the newest trendy eating alley in Tokyo), this clean, well-lighted place has stood the test of time and continues to thrill.

The clock strikes 11:55 a.m., and the tables at Adega Solar Minhoto are already filling up with hungry customers. Many are regulars who come daily – they know that this traditional restaurant in the Alvalade neighborhood doesn’t accept bookings and is packed by midday, requiring a bit of a sprint if you don’t want to wait in line. Most workers in Lisbon take their midday meal after 1 p.m., so this is certainly an early lunch. But Adega Solar Minhoto’s fresh and delicious traditional fare, generous portions, friendly service and great value are worth rearranging your schedule for.

A commuter hub right on the Bosphorus, Beşiktaş courses with energy. In addition to the masses streaming on and off the ferries and the cars inching up and down the steep thoroughfare of Barbaros Boulevard, the neighborhood is overrun with students – Bahçeşehir University sits a few steps from the main ferry terminal. Of the many restaurants and coffee shops catering to the large student population, Yalla Falafel, a tiny corner spot, offers something different: vegetarian fare with Lebanese flavors. Judging by the many students who buzz in and out, this lighter food is preferred after a long day of studying and classes.

Tomatoes, one of the joys of summer in most locales, thrive in Campania’s hot and sunny climate. Yet good tomatoes can be surprisingly hard to find in summer – the oval, longish, rather crisp varieties that are the region’s claim to fame are mostly used for cooking, and the best ones are canned or exported to richer parts of the world. Somewhat improbably, winter is the best time to eat fresh tomatoes in Naples. As soon as the days get shorter and the nights get colder, small cherry tomatoes with a distinctly pointy end start to appear at every vegetable stall and restaurant throughout the city – this particular version of the fruit is known as pomodorino del piennolo del Vesuvio, or simply piennolo.

When it comes to food, Onofrio Ioakimidis takes his inspiration from both the north and the south. His love for cooking blossomed in Thessaloniki – he was born and raised in the northern Greek city, which is second only to Athens in terms of size and legendary for its cuisine. But his grande amore with the culinary arts really began with his grandmother Constanza. Originally from the southern Italian city of Naples, Constanza fled Italy during the difficult years of Mussolini and moved to Greece. Fate brought her to Thessaloniki and into the arms of Grigoris, who soon became her husband. Onofrio recalls a childhood spent in nonna’s kitchen, at first playing with flour and dough, and then eventually learning how to make pasta.

The name Aristaeus Ethno Wine Bar suggests many things, some puzzling but the most obvious being that wine is served. One look at the menu, though, and it becomes clear this spot is more restaurant than bar. One food item in particular caught our attention: dambalkhacho. We first heard of dambalkhacho some years back when a friend offered us hard, moldy cheese bits cut from a ball about the size of a healthy orange. It was rich, slightly peppery with a sharp, tart finish; nothing like any cheese we had ever tried.

“Where to eat in Porto?” Google search this sequence of five words and a multitude of articles listing restaurants and eateries will naturally come up as a result. Some of those suggestions – the trustworthy ones, at least – will mention Casa Nanda. It’s a fair choice: Casa Nanda is, indeed, one of the most traditional and historic joints in town. What most listings won’t mention, though, is that the couple who founded it and were its driving force are now working somewhere else.

After the Vietnamese War, many of the refugees bound for France landed in Paris. A minority spread out to other French cities like Toulouse, Lyon and Marseille, the latter being a ville refuge (refuge city) due to its bustling port. The small community in Marseille used to be concentrated near Joliette, before its building boom. But now they’re scattered across the city, taking their cuisine with them. No matter, for we know exactly where to go whenever we’ve got a hankering for Vietnamese: We join the line of people waiting for a bowl of pho outside Nguyen-Hoang.

The southern city of Adana is synonymous with kebab, and for good reason. Not only is the spicy grilled skewer of meat named after and originating from the city perhaps the most iconic and beloved style of kebab in the country, Adana also boasts the highest number of excellent kebab joints per capita anywhere, according to our unofficial but heartily conducted research. Therefore, we would be utterly remiss to neglect to mention our favorite kebab joints in the city: Ciğerci Mahmut, İştah, Kaburgacı Yaşar, Yeşil Kapı, and Ciğerci Memet. But Adana’s deep and rich food culture goes beyond the kebab, and during our numerous visits to this energetic, dynamic and truly excellent city, we’ve delighted in discovering its other specialties.

There’s a joy in staying in China’s big cities over the upcoming Lunar New Year (春节, chūnjié). As people start the “great migration” back to their ancestral hometowns to enjoy the annual reunion dinner (团圆饭, tuányuánfàn, or 年夜饭, nián yè fàn) with their family, Shanghai becomes a ghost town. Nearly every shop and restaurant closes up for at least a week (and sometimes more like three), as employees travel back to inland provinces like Anhui and Henan for a well-earned break and the chance to eat traditional, home-cooked meals with relatives. So long as you have a well-stocked fridge, the New Year is a peaceful time to explore the empty streets.

On the forested Mt. Oyama, only one and a half hours away from Tokyo, the sleepy atmosphere is broken by a cheering crowd. It’s mid-March and women are sitting in a row on a stage, shoveling cups of tofu into their mouths as fast as they can. It is messy, distinctly inelegant and a whole lot of mad fun. These women are challengers in the Wanko Tofu speed eating competition, which also sees men and children compete in respective rounds. All this, along with a gigantic four-meter pot of boiling tofu and several other street food snacks, is part of the annual Oyama Tofu Festival, which celebrates the area’s long history of producing especially delicious tofu and marks its 30th anniversary this year.

It was a frosty dark night just before the solstice and as we walked the 10 or so minutes from the Keramikos Metro to our destination, we passed familiar favorites like A Little Taste of Home and places as yet unvisited that seemed alluring. But when we ventured further into the unknown, the street was empty both of pedestrians and lit storefronts. Where was this restaurant? A few blocks more brought us back to terra cognita. The Old Bicycle (To Palio Podilato), its window bright and with a bicycle hanging inside, turned out to be practically next door to the Benaki Museum’s Pireos Street annex, one of the city’s most exciting museums for modern art, photography and foreign exhibitions.