While many city folks feel the call of Mother Nature and dream of moving to the countryside, Francesco Cerutti had a different idea: “Why not bring the country to the city?” Always innovating, he is trying to “ruralify” Barcelona through an activity that has been strictly connected with pastures, shepherds and the like: cheesemaking. In 2019, Francesco opened a cheese shop in the city’s Gràcia neighborhood, but he doesn’t just sell dairy goods here. Pinullet is a workshop where customers can see, and even participate in, the rustic and ancient art of transforming simple milk into sophisticated, mouthwatering cheeses. Originally from Pavia in northern Italy, Francesco studied agricultural and livestock sciences so that he could be a veterinarian for cows and pigs.

Oaxaca’s street food scene has surprises for us every day of the week. From breakfast to lunch, we can find plenty of stalls with a plethora of options: eggs, tamales, tortas, tacos, hot drinks, juices and more. However, when sunset bathes the streets of the historic center, most of these stalls are disassembled into heaps of tarps, letting esquites, burger and hot dog stands take over the night shift. Fortunately, this is not the case for Empanadas del Carmen Alto, a classic among locals for serving up daytime dishes until midnight. The menu at Empanadas del Carmen Alto is succinct: memelas (thick corn tortillas topped with various ingredients), the famous empanadas de amarillo (calzone-like corn tortillas filled with chicken and mole amarillo) and squash blossom or mushroom quesadillas.

On our way to the supermarket during Istanbul’s partial lockdowns in late 2020, we were surprised to see a new shop in our favorite building on Rıza Paşa Sokak – the street where the “nostalgic Moda tramway” makes it way down toward the sea. The bottom section of the decadent stone facade is now painted with a bright mural of lemons and leaves, and it stands proud between a modern building and a car park. In a meat-lovers’ paradise like Turkey, the sign on the door reads like a joke: “Limonita vegan kasap” – a vegan butcher. “The oxymoron is real!” laughs Deniz Yoldaç Yalçın, the blue-eyed girl who makes the sucuk (sausage), burgers and other delicacies lined up in the fridges and at the counter.

Historically, Naples has not been a city with a large number of cyclists. Too many uphill battles from the historic center to neighborhoods along Vomero Hill make it a difficult location for the casual biker. In recent years, however, environmental consciousness has grown and we are witnessing a rapid development of places dedicated to pedal power lovers. With Culinary Backstreets working at the intersection of food and travel, it often happens that after our walking food tours, visitors ask advice on other ways to explore the city – particularly by rented bicycle. Today’s Naples dispatch is not just about a café’s culinary offerings, but a service that, in times of sustainable consciousness, is becoming increasingly popular.

Snail khinkali? It might sound, at first, like an odd combination. On closer consideration of Georgian cuisine and history, however, it makes good sense. For one thing – perhaps the most important – they’re tasty, and we have yet to hear anyone who’s tried them disagree. The signature dish at Metis restaurant, which is – for now at least –the only place in Tbilisi one can have them, they remind us more of mushroom than of meat khinkali: savory, smooth, a little buttery, with some brightness from parsley and a hint of pastis. Metis’ logo, a snail with a khinkali for a shell, expresses the playful blend of French and Georgian cuisines that owner Thibault Flament is pursuing in close collaboration with his chef, Goarik Padaryan.

Though synonymous with Tunisia, Algeria and other North African nations, harissa’s main ingredient helms from Mexico. After 1492, chile peppers crossed the Atlantic via the Columbian Exchange, trading between the New World and Old World. It was Spain that introduced Tunisia to the spicy capsicum during their 16-century occupation. The Arabic verb harasa means “to crush or press,” and the process of pounding the pepper into a paste with olive oil, garlic and various spices gave birth to harissa. For centuries, the hot chile paste has been used to flavor simmered stews and as a condiment throughout the Maghreb and the Middle East – and, in Marseille, as immigrants have infused the multicultural city with their food traditions.

When perusing the menu at any traditional restaurant in Barcelona, one is sure to find a range of paellas and seafood plates. A closer look will also reveal the fideuá, its main ingredient left a mystery. Sometimes done up as fideos arrosejats in Catalonia, fideuá is actually a variation of the iconic seafood paella, but in this case made with fideo (short, thin wheat noodles) instead of rice and served with an intense allioli sauce on the side. Fideuá traces its roots to the Valencian port town of Gandía. According to the Asociación Gastronómica Fideuà de Gandia, the dish was created around 1912-1914 on board the fishing trawler Santa Isabel. The boat would depart at 4am each morning and return in the evenings, meaning the six sailors on board would dine on deck.

“Bom filho à casa torna,” we like to say in Portuguese, a maxim that translates to “a good son comes home.” Can the saying be applied to a sandwich? In Porto, we would argue, the answer is yes, especially now that A Regaleira, the birthplace of the francesinha – Porto’s signature dish – is open again after being closed for three years. Even former A Regaleira regulars passing by the reopened restaurant might miss the fact that it has moved a few doors down from its original location. We could have sworn that the restaurant was in the same spot since 1934, but the original A Regaleira was forced to close in 2018 when the building housing it was sold.

On the fringes of the Caucasus in Turkey's easternmost corner, Kars may be the most architecturally unique city in the country. This is primarily due to the austere yet awe-inspiring Baltic-style black stone buildings built by the Russian empire more than a century ago, when it ruled the region. With a mixed population of Turks, Kurds and Azerbaijanis, and the stark visual influence of its Russian and Armenian past, may it be no surprise that this small city presents more than the sum of its parts when it comes to cuisine, and has more to offer than the cheese and honey it is noted for nationwide. Well-known as the last stop on the iconic day-long Eastern Express train route, and for the nearby majestic ruins of the ancient Armenian city of Ani, Kars is blanketed by snow in the winter and features unpredictably chaotic weather in the summer.

In Shanghai, it’s not uncommon to see a queue for what can often turn out to be mediocre food. Restaurants, street food stands and milk tea stalls will even go so far as to hire “yellow bulls” (scalpers) to line up and create buzz for their products. So, it was with some suspicion we took notice of a line of people for weeks on end outside a community center around lunchtime. Curiosity got the best of us, and we discovered the hottest table in town: a subsidized canteen for elderly residents of the neighborhood – inside a heritage garden villa, no less. In 1932, 66 Wutong Yard was as a parsonage for the Shanghai Community Church priests that was designed by the city’s most famous art deco architect, Lazlo Hudec.

On my way out of Oaxaca center and on to the city of Santa Catarina Minas, a good friend suggested I make a pit stop to visit “Frida.” Me: “Wait! Frida? Frida Kahlo the Mexican art icon? But she died in 1954!” Him: “You'd better go and try her chile encuerado.” So here I am, having stopped in Ocotlán, only 32 kilometers south of Oaxaca city, to sample Frida’s “naked” chiles. I find my way to Mercado Morelos in Ocotlán’s main square, and immediately head for the many eateries in the medium-sized market’s food aisle. A sign is painted with flowers, roots, hummingbirds, butterflies and other insects – with these tell-tale motifs of the tormented artist, there can be no mistaking La Cocina de Frida.

Hamburgers and ketchup, hot dogs and mustard. Many of us who grew up in the United States learned these food pairings early in life, at ballparks, backyard cookouts and birthday parties. In our case, we encountered falafel and tahini sometime later, probably at the urging of adventuresome schoolmates. Ahmed Foda – or just "Foda" for short – serves his falafel, too, with the familiar ground-sesame twang of tahini. But at Foda Egyptian Sandwiches, his year-old Astoria food cart, the fritters are called tameya (tah-May-ah) and rely on fava beans rather than chickpeas. This is what distinguishes the Egyptian style of falafel from that of its Levantine neighbors.

San Diego de la Mesa Tochimiltzingo may not be the prettiest pueblo around, but people who know their mezcal certainly know about this town in the state of Puebla. Just three hours southeast of Mexico City, the pueblo is tiny and unprepossessing, tucked into the Atlixco Valley in the Sierra Mixteca. Almost all of its 1,000 residents work in mezcal. No one can say for certain when mezcal production started there. When we asked, several mezcaleros (mezcal makers) debated for a while before agreeing it was some time in the 1800s. After more discussion, they finally zeroed in on the year 1864, though how and why they settled on the date remains a mystery. Mezcalero Silvistre Reyes admits, “No one really knows.”

In the summer of 2020, a close friend of Ioli Vrychea and Panos Stogiannis – Athens restaurateurs with plans for a new spot – arrived at the Tainaron Blue Retreat on Greece’s southern Mani peninsula. He sat down at the hotel restaurant and, after quickly falling in love with the meal he’d been served, knew he had found the chef Ioli and Panos were looking for. The friend was so enamored that he convinced the pair to make the drive down south to Mani to introduce them to the person who made the food, Stavriani Zervakakou, a 40-year-old chef with roots in Mani. The bond was instant. She quit her job at the resort and made the move to Athens.

A few blocks from the fragrant street stands of Noailles, another multicultural bazaar unfolds indoors. An aproned man fries up falafel balls to stuff into sandwiches. At a wooden cart besides him, a girl pushes sugar cane into a whirring juicer that pours out the sweet nectar in a glass. Down the hallway, two women finger bolts of colorful Egyptian fabric and glittering ribbons. The Souk de Nour d’Egypte is a feast for the senses. Every inch of the soaring space is filled with something delicious or decorative. In the front half, wooden carts brim with spices, ice cream and other foodstuffs, leading to a long counter laden with baked goods, cooked dishes and a medley of salads.