In 1977, just two years after the death of Franco, the great Catalan gourmet Manuel Vázquez Montalbán published a book titled L’art de manjar en Catalunya (The Art of Eating in Catalonia). The book, as well as the prologue written by Montalbán’s mentor Néstor Luján, rang the alarm bells, claiming that authentic Catalan cuisine was in grave danger and on the brink of disappearance. As Montalbán saw it, the unique Catalan culinary identity has been reduced to a few ubiquitous dishes: pan a la Catalan (bread with tomato pulp and ham) and rabbit with aioli. This demise was due, in his opinion, to the frenzied pace of modern life, the lack of high-quality ingredients, the ignorance of both restaurateurs and tourists regarding what good cuisine, not to mention true Catalan cooking, looks and tastes like and, of course, the Franco regime’s efforts at suppressing regional identities.

Colonia Santa Maria La Ribera, one of our favorite dining neighborhoods in Mexico City, is home to the historic kiosco morisco. Built in 1884, the Moorish open-air pavilion represented Mexico at the St. Louis World’s Fair in 1902 and has been in its current location since 1910. Just a few steps west of it sits a nondescript hole in the wall, which figures as prominently as the kiosk in our mental map of the neighborhood. Owner David García Maldonado offers just a few items on the menu, two of which are outstanding: pozole, a broth made from pork and maíz cacahuazintle, or hominy, and goat birria, a typical soup from the state of Jalisco.

To describe something that is better than good, Portuguese speakers sometimes use the word espectáculo (show, spectacle) as an adjective. João Gomes, the owner of Imperial de Campo de Ourique, does it every five minutes. He practically trademarked the phrase “É um espectáculo” (It’s a show/spectacle), to the point that he has it embroidered on his apron. His wife Adelaide’s reads “A chef do espectáculo” (The show’s chef) – she’s the cook and a very good one indeed. Nuno, their son, doesn’t have an embroidered apron but he is also part of the show, waiting tables and managing orders effortlessly. Imperial used to be one of Campo de Ourique’s many outstanding tascas. Now it is probably the last one standing.

Our Culinary Crossroads walk in Lisbon wouldn’t be complete with a stop for the city’s iconic and delicious custard tart, pastel de nata. These ones were shot on a particularly beautiful winter day, when the sun was shining down on the City of Light.

The entryway of Espai Mescladís is jam-packed with people: neighbors, workers and visitors who come and go all day long, and waiters walking from the kitchen to the tables on the terrace. But there are also dozens of people staring out from black and white photos that cover the restaurant’s walls; some are alone, others in couples, families or groups, smiling and laughing. All the people pictured at one point emigrated to Barcelona, and whether they’re still living in the city or have moved elsewhere, their stories are always present at Espai Mescladís. The photos, taken by the photographer Joan Tomás, were originally part of an exhibition organized by the Mescladís Foundation, a multifaceted initiative that provides tangible and sustainable economic programs, particularly in the form of job training, for migrants and refugees in the city.

The city of Tokyo has over 1,000 train stations, which translates to just about that many neighborhoods. In recent years many of these communities have succumbed to top-down corporate “urban renewal,” losing the small shops and restaurants that created distinctive local flavors. With an average shelf life of 30 years for buildings, most Tokyo real estate is rebuilt as opposed to being renovated for further use. Bottom up gentrification and the repurposing or renewal of buildings is rare. Change has always been an integral part of Tokyo life, but as we begin the new year, we thought it was worthwhile to honor some of the old institutions of Tokyo and enjoy them anew.

Neapolitan cuisine is an impure thing, the result of culinary influences from every part of the old continent. One of the most famous dishes this cross-pollination has produced is the Neapolitan potato gattò, a potato tortino rustico (a tall, square cake) with layers made of mozzarella, scamorza, ham, salami and more. A baroque dish, this gattò transforms the simple potato into a true miracle of gastronomy. The word “gattò” (not to be confused with “gatto” without the accent, which means “cat” in Italian) is the Neapolitanization of the French “gateaux” (cakes). But the Neapolitan potato gattò recalls the French gateaux only in form – taste-wise, it’s very far from a sweet French cake.

In a market as diverse as Lisbon’s Mercado de Arroios, where people from all over the world shop, Mezze doesn’t seem out of the ordinary. But the small restaurant deserves a closer look: it’s not only one of Lisbon’s few Middle Eastern restaurants, but, more importantly, its staff is almost entirely made up of recently arrived Syrian refugees. For them Mezze represents both a link back to the country they left behind and a crucial aid for putting down roots in their new home. The idea behind Mezze is one that’s being tried out in other countries. Refugees, particularly those fleeing the war in Syria, are given the chance to earn a living and get established by sharing their culinary heritage, either by opening or working at a restaurant or catering business.

Pummarola ro piennolo (hanging tomatoes) are an essential ingredient in many Neapolitan dishes. These cherry tomatoes are harvested in the summer and then hang in ventilated cellars until Christmas time; their flavor becomes extremely concentrated in the intervening months.

There’s one thing about Rio’s gastronomy that just about everyone can agree on: feijoada, the glorious black bean and pork stew served with cabbage, toasted manioc flour, rice and oranges, can (and should be) eaten all year long. But during the Carnival season (a non-specified period that begins in early January and extends until one week after the Carnival holidays), the Brazilian national dish becomes the official meal of all parties and events. From Friday to Sunday, feijoada is everywhere – at samba schools, bars, restaurants, fancy hotels, and even on the streets – and almost always accompanied by samba. This year is no different. The feijoada season has already begun, and the agenda is packed until Carnival, which in 2018 runs from February 10-14.

Walking down Pallados Street, located a few steps away from the Athens Central Food Market, is like a treasure hunt, one where the riches are the old-time kitchenware stores where past generations of Athenians used to shop for their cutlery and crystal, be it glasses, vases or chandeliers. As the years went by, the shops began adding more variety to their stock, mostly kitchen equipment and home goods. But as they grew bloated with objects charming and tacky, delicate and bulky, useful and meaningless, these shops also began to dwindle in number. Few survive among the bars and eateries that now line the street. We first stumbled upon tiny Tsiknaboom while on the hunt for these bastions of old Athens.

It’s not easy to get to Mania de Boteco. You have to go up, up, up, first by car (or, for something more thrilling, on the back of a motorcycle taxi) and then by foot, cutting across alleys and climbing narrow stairwells. But this spot is worth all the effort. Tiny and humble, Mania de Boteco has an almost improvised feel to it, teetering at the top of Vidigal, one of Rio’s most scenic favelas. The first thing noticed here is the astonishing view of the ocean and Leblon and Ipanema beaches down below. But Mania de Boteco is more than just a scenic spot: it also happens to be a top-notch botequim serving wonderful food and amazingly good drinks.

In the years of research for their new cookbook, Istanbul & Beyond, author Robyn Eckhardt and photographer David Hagerman became well acquainted with Anatolia and the distinct cultural identities, landscapes and, of course, cuisines that can be found on this vast plateau. So we are pleased to be working with Robyn and Dave on the first unique culinary adventure in a series inspired by Istanbul & Beyond that will lead us across Turkey’s diverse regions, bite by bite. This seven-day culinary experience (with an optional two-day photography workshop led by Dave), scheduled for May 2018, will be split between Istanbul and the Hatay region, an area that plays an important role in Robyn and Dave’s book and in the cuisine of Turkey.

On a busy thoroughfare in Keramikos near the bustling neighborhood of Gazi, it’s easy to miss Athiri – but we urge you to keep an eye out for this culinary gem. When we last visited the restaurant, the polite waiters welcomed us with gracious smiles. We chose a table in the verdant courtyard, a small oasis in the heart of Athens. The interior of the restaurant is simple and elegant as well, with modern details to complement the lovely atmosphere. Chef Alexander Kardasis has a personal and modern vision of Greek cuisine and is always striving to create clean flavors with traditional underpinnings. To that end, he’s assembled a collection of the finest raw materials, many of which arrive fresh daily.

A few months ago a little storefront joint opened down the street next to our neighborhood green grocer, a mom and pop operation that has been there for decades. A varnished wooden counter behind the iron-framed windows and a few matching tables make it fit the new bohemian-chic Tbilisi style popping up the street around Rooms Hotel, the hip four-star flophouse all the travel magazines are fawning over these days. Although the wine list was not well-stocked, the food didn’t disappoint. The pork belly was not the standard room-temperature slab of bacon on a plate, but was oven-roasted and nestled on two puddles of cherry and plum sauce, zesty richness that nearly overpowered the smokiness of the pork. It was simple, bold and delicious. And it was Georgian, although not everyone will agree on that.