Gldani was built on the northern outskirts of Tbilisi during the 1970s and 1980s as a satellite city of well-ordered concrete towers for the working masses. Newer and pricier (though still uninspired) real estate developments are now challenging the Soviet blocks, but Gldani still remains predominantly a working-class district. Located around the last stop of Tbilisi's main metro line, Akhmeteli Theatre, Gldani’s center “is packed with local businesses like exchange kiosks, shopping malls, street vendors, casinos or cafes,” writes Tbilisi architecture biennale founder Tinatin Gurgenidze, before adding: “And the famous Gldani Shaurma is also nearby.”

Italian and Maghreb restaurants are undoubtedly the stars of Marseille’s food scene. In fact, Marseille is so chock-a-block with pizza it’s rumored to have more pizzerias per capita than New York City. Eateries dishing out copious bowls of couscous equally abound. Meanwhile, some of the diverse city’s most prominent immigrant communities – and their cuisine – remain behind the scenes. A perfect example is Marseille’s Comorian community. So many citizens of Comoros, the Indian Ocean nation north of Madagascar, live in Marseille that the city’s been nicknamed the “Fifth island in the archipelago.” One in ten Marseillais are of Comorian descent, and many are employed in restaurant kitchens as dishwashers and line cooks. Yet, you can count the places serving cuisine comorienne on one hand.

We are in Lota da Esquina, in Cascais, staring down a small bowl filled to the brim with a mix of crab meat, chopped eggs, mayonnaise and other seasonings. On the surface, it looks like a straightforwardly decadent dish but according to chef/owner Vítor Sobral, it’s actually a way to boost a product that’s not quite at its peak.

We all have that friend. A friend we should probably call more often. One who is always there for us, but we don’t see often enough. A friend who we can pick up where we left off with, no matter how much time has elapsed between conversations. A friend whose company always leaves you satisfied and wondering: Why didn’t we do this sooner? Buffa’s Bar and Restaurant is that friend. An outpost in the Marigny neighborhood on Esplanade Avenue, divided from the French Quarter by a neutral ground (which is New Orleanian for “street median”). A few blocks away, the classic dive bar Port of Call draws tourists and locals in a line that stretches around the block for their potent drinks and hearty burgers.

In every corner of Istanbul, enticing traces of Turkish cuisine from throughout the country, as well as the cooking of other neighboring regions, can be tucked away in the city's backstreets. These range from a Bulgarian kebab joint in Bağcılar on the western European side to a Bosnian meyhane in Pendik on the eastern stretches of the Anatolian side and a Georgian restaurant in the heart of Beyoğlu. We can add the suburban Marmara Seaside district of Maltepe to this formidable list, as it is home to Sılaşara, which is perhaps the only Abkhaz restaurant in the world outside of Abkhazia or Georgia. Officially considered a part of Georgia, the region of Abkhazia straddles Georgia's northwest Black Sea coast, and its small population is dwarfed by the number of people with Abkhaz roots who have called Turkey home for well over a century.

One of the joys of Lisbon’s food scene is the access it allows to cuisines from across the Lusophone world. And one of the most represented is the food of Cabo Verde (formerly known as Cape Verde), an archipelago of 10 islands off the western coast of Africa. Its ubiquity is due to immigrants from the islands, but also perhaps because it has so many links with the cuisine of Portugal. “Our ingredients [in Cabo Verde] are almost completely European,” explains Maria Andrade, better known as Milocas, the chef/owner behind By Milocas, a Cabo Verdean restaurant in Lisbon. “Our food has so much to do with Portugal. The way we prepare fish, octopus and seafood is similar to how they’re prepared in Portugal.”

After a long, hot day of shopping (locals) or visiting museums (tourists) in Mexico City’s Centro Histórico, La Azotea rooftop restaurant may seem like a mirage at first. Located on the terrace of Barrio Alameda, a boutique mall and Mexican Art Déco building that was charmingly restored several years ago, La Azotea looks out over green trees, colonial bell towers, blue-tiled cupolas and the avant-garde buildings of Mexico City’s center and Alameda Central park. This oasis is for real, says its bartender, Ángel Salatiel Flores (32), who is quenching people’s thirst with more than just sparkling water. Dating back to the 1920s, the Barrio Alameda building was constructed by a German doctor and soon after became a professional services buildings for folks like lawyers and accountants.

Editor’s note: Anya von Bremzen is the winner of three James Beard awards, a contributing writer at AFAR magazine and the author of six cookbooks. Her forthcoming book National Dish: Around the World in Search of Food, History, and the Meaning of Home, she explores the connections between place and identity in six food capitals around the world, including our beloved Naples. We asked her about her favorite places to visit every time she’s back in the city. Naples IS pizza. It’s where pizza was invented in the 18th century, meaning it’s where flatbread first met tomato and cheese and both met the domed Neapolitan oven.

In the center of town on Rue de Lodi, Saskia Porretta-Menne and Jill Cousin were inspired when they learned that a former international bookstore was closing and the space was available. The Librairie Internationale Maurel had been in the same family for three generations and operated since 1952 in a room that felt as if from another era, its walls lined with time-worn wooden shelves and afternoon sunlight streaming in from the large windows. Upon viewing it, the two friends knew immediately that this place was unlike anything else. Unsure about exactly what they would do, they were still certain there was a calling. So in October of 2021, the women opened the doors to Provisions. The word provision, by definition, means “to supply with food, drink, or equipment, especially for a journey.”

Ghana and Sicily may not seem like a natural fit, but they come together perfectly at Hama, a Palermo restaurant that brings the two places’ cuisines together while also offering an edible lesson about Sicily’s centuries-old role as a meeting point between Europe and Africa. The name Palermo derives from the ancient Greek panormos and refers to any place where a boat can be docked easily. As a gateway to Europe, Sicily has been a cultural melting pot for many centuries. Today, this long history of cultural and social interactions is woven into the fabric of the city: as street names, as linguistic particularities, and culinary specialties. Migration from Asian and African countries is particularly evident in Sicilian life, especially here in Palermo.

It is 6:30 pm – the workday of most of the taco, quesadilla and memela vendors in the city is over, but “The Artist’s” shift has just begun. Every day, as the dusk light bathes the streets, 34-year-old Caleb Santiago sets up his food cart right below the centuries-old clock that overlooks the corner of 5 de Mayo and Murguía. By 7:00 pm, he is ready for another night of juicy hamburgers and hot dogs. Among all the late-night hamburger stalls sprawled across the city, Caleb’s is something else. Initially known as just “Cangreburgers,” this little SpongeBob Squarepants-inspired cart has been feeding Oaxacans for the last 16 years.

Ham is one of Spain’s best-known culinary treasures, and different types of the cured meat offer their own flavors and characteristics depending on the breed of pig, how the animal has been fed and raised and how its meat has been processed and cured. The wide selection of ham in Barcelona can be a bit intimidating, but it’s easy to decipher and make your selection with a little local know-how. The two major categories of Spanish jamón serrano ham are jamón del país and jamón ibérico. Serrano refers to the ancient technique – dating back to Roman times – of curing the ham in salt and then dry-aging it to extend preservation and increase the flavor and umami.

It’s 9 o’clock in the morning and the narrow streets that fringe Inokashira Park are largely empty. This part of Kichijoji, a lively neighborhood in west Tokyo, has yet to wake up. Storefront shutters are yet to be lifted; staff inside cafés can be glimpsed preparing for the day. Yet, on one corner, a couple of girls duck into an enclosed alleyway and reappear five minutes later. Next, a solo lady strides inside, emerging after a minute or two. People drift in and out, marking an unusual pattern of activity. This is the entrance to Kooriya Peace, a renowned kakigori (shaved ice) store that’s so popular customers secure their dessert hours in advance – although for early birds it might become their breakfast.

When we arrived, there were one or two customers quietly drinking wine at the bar. Later, a man entered and bought cured ham by the kilo, complaining about how much fat it contained. A food tour stopped by, filling the silence with English-language explanation. A bit later, the mailman stuck his head in; he had no letters to deliver, but it was clear that he was angling for a drink. The clientele that late morning at Casa Louro, a bar and restaurant in Porto, seemed to be a microcosm of the city’s life. Indeed, with hams hanging from the ceiling, soccer paraphernalia on the walls, and crusty old customers, it looks like the quintessential Portuguese bar. And in many ways it is, but Casa Louro is also something of a dying breed.