In the late 1980s, Anthony Mlungisi Baker lived in Spain and other parts of Europe to dodge the military draft in South Africa. On February 11, 1990, the release of Nelson Mandela signaled the end of the apartheid regime and time for Baker to return home and become part of a new creative transformation. With a love for entertaining and cooking for his friends, Baker saw a gap in the “New South African” market for something different in the bohemian Observatory district (known as Obz to locals). The result was Café Ganesh, which opened its doors on November 10, 1990, and has since gone on to become a neighborhood institution.

Why are you seeing colorful, 1960s-era carbonated water siphons everywhere in Barcelona? Because they’re the symbol of our beloved vermut ritual. The phrase hacer el vermut (literally “to do the vermouth”) in Spain has for decades described not only that delicious beverage, but also any kind of pre-lunch aperitif. But since the end of the 19th century in Barcelona, the vermut ritual – a fresh drink accompanied by tapas composed usually of preserved food, cold cuts, cured or marinated fish or seafood – has been a way to bring people together before meals. Perhaps no one is more responsible for vermouth’s popularity here than Flaminio Mezzalama, the Italian Martini & Rossi representative in Spain, who in the first decade of the 20th century opened two beautiful Art Nouveau vermouth bars, which became hugely popular. Mezzalama died in Torino in 1911, but the fame of vermouth in Catalonia only grew, with local investors putting their money into production of Catalan vermut.

Chat up the older residents of a Rio favela and you’re likely to start hearing romantic stories about Brazil’s northeast: those colorful cajú and mangaba fruit trees, the clear turquoise ocean, the folksy and upbeat forró music, chewy tapioca sandwiches and cakes. Brazilians call that saudades – a longing for something lost, which may or may not exist in the form one dreamily remembers it. These are the pleasant memories many northeastern immigrants hold amidst the urban hustle of crowded Rio de Janeiro, where a working-class Brazilian knows the beach exists but easily lives a hot two-hour bus ride away from it.

In terms of greenness, Athens doesn’t even come close to other European capitals, with their verdant parks and blossoming gardens. The truth is, modern urban development has not been particularly gentle with this city. Numerous concrete buildings, along with poor road design, hem in inhabitants and visitors with featureless views.

Sitting on the boardwalk of Veracruz, about five or six hours east of Mexico City, we watch the blinking lights of shrimp and fish boats in the farthest distance, knowing our next dinner is on its way. A day before, arriving from the bus, all we wanted was especially satisfying seafood, and the hunt brought us downtown, which, in the past, has always provided. Veracruz is a warm harbor, embracing all comers and proposing excellent food and endless dancing into the night on the city’s street corners. Or that’s how we remembered it.

In typical Shanghai fashion, good things come to those willing to stand in the longest lines, or to pre-book the farthest in advance. We’ve seen the queue for braised duck at Guang Ming Cun swell to several hours long during the Chinese New Year, and A Da's scallion pancakes require a minimum hourlong wait on most days, yet we had never expected the same for the humble zòngzi (粽子).

Like other cities around the world, Mexico City has been flooded with big-name chain coffee shops that charge exorbitant prices for a cup of bad coffee. Fortunately, D.F. is a city of contrasts, where good taste in coffee still exists. We set out to find the best coffee shops in town and were surprised by what we found. Our first stop was one coffee shop we have been visiting for several years now, Café Triana, inside Mercado San Juan, the city’s first gourmet stop par excellence. Marilu and Pablo Arana started selling coffee from Veracruz, a city on the Gulf of Mexico with a Caribbean feel, in the aisles of the market until they got the chance to get a booth and start their own coffee shop. Their establishment has since been featured in many national and international media outlets.

With cafés popping up all over the country, from the arty boutique coffeehouses of Tbilisi to the Lavazza kiosks in villages like Zestafoni, it is easy to forget the humbler days of Georgia’s coffee culture, when an “Americano” was a chemically enhanced instant coffee powder in a stars-and-stripes-emblazoned packet added to a cup of hot water.

The smell and the smoke attract us like a magnet. We can’t see them, but there are sardines being grilled over charcoal somewhere nearby. We are in Largo do Chafariz de Dentro, where the Fado Museum is, and the strong smell of the popular deep-fried farturas (a big churro) goes unnoticed due to the overwhelming – and delicious! – smell of grilled sardines everywhere.

Each year at the end of May, more than 12,000 penyistes and 200,000 hungry visitors devour 12 tons of snails in one mere weekend in the city of Lleida, the capital of Catalonia’s interior. The Aplec del Caragol (“Snail Gathering”) is now an internationally known gastronomic event of impressive magnitude. Just under two hours inland from Barcelona by car and an hour by high-speed train, Lleida is an easy trip worth taking, especially in late spring, when friends and families gather to eat and drink with abandon. Typical foods prepared by the colles (gangs) of penyistes (participants) who register together and participate in the Aplec every year (sometimes for decades without fail) include paella, fideuà (a typical pasta preparation), grilled meats and sausages, stews and salads. However, the tender, tasty land snail is the main attraction.

For the past 24 years, Cemil Tuncay has wheeled his small metal cart to the biweekly produce pazar in Edirne. He sets up shop around noon, lighting coals under what can be described as massive, torpedo-shaped sausages. Kokoreç is a simple fast food made from bits of sheep left over from butchering, stuffed into intestines to the bursting point. It is a one-man operation. With the exception of his wife (who sometimes helps him clean and prepare the meat), Tuncay goes it alone. His mustachioed face is often grizzled with a little bit of stubble and worn by years’ worth of fragrant grill smoke. He is tall and stoops over a bit to prepare each order, doing so with a jaunty smile and a twinkle in his eyes.

Whether you’re a native Athenian or just visiting, Kypseli is not likely to be on your list of favorite haunts unless you happen to have roots there. It’s not connected to the Metro, it boasts neither museums nor fancy boutiques, and yet it must be one of the liveliest districts in Athens. T

The only positive thing about the torturous annual visit we used to make to Istanbul’s main police station in order to renew our residence permit was the chance to drive through the low-rent Aksaray neighborhood. It's home to dozens of intriguing off-the-beaten-path restaurants, most of them opened by migrants from other parts of Turkey. On one trip through the area, we noticed a large, newish-looking sign belonging to a restaurant called Akdeniz Hatay Sofrası. Hatay is the name of Turkey’s southernmost province, an area bounded by the Mediterranean and the border with Syria.

Spain – and of course Barcelona – has always been a breeding ground for creative types in the kitchen. There’s an ever-increasing number of restaurants that take as inspiration first traditional preparations and update them with ingredients from a global pantry, yet keep their local soul intact. It’s a common thread among many young chefs in this town, and it has created a culinary scene that feels modern, unexpected – and personal. Let’s throw in an additional twist: a chef who’s not Spanish.

In Cape Town, good eating is easy to find, but the best salomie – roti flatbread wrapped around curry – is worth searching for. This search took us to Mariam’s Kitchen, which is attached to the side of St. George’s Mall arcade across from the Cape Times and Argus Newspaper House in Cape Town’s business district. For a feeling of home, many locals tuck into this sit-down and take-away café, which has offered a plethora of halal meals for over a decade. The homemade menu is a masala (mix) of Cape Town’s unique fast-food culture.