Simple and quick, the dish bitoque can be found all over Portugal. Its origins are a bit murky, but seem to be connected with the Galician immigrants from Northern Spain who moved to Lisbon during the Spanish Civil War. It consists of a small, thin steak surrounded by carbs (fries and rice), cooked vegetables or a salad of sorts, and topped with a fried egg on top. The essential ingredient is the sauce, however, and across the city of Lisbon are several variations and styles – all are generous and comforting, all are thick, and many include ingredients like bay leaf, garlic, and white wine.

When you board the 1 tram line in boisterous Noailles, the train snakes from a dark, underground tunnel onto the picturesque Boulevard Chave in the Le Camas district. Like the country roads of Provence, the wide street is lined with soaring plane trees. Behind them, 19th century buildings – a mix of typically Marseillais trois fenêtres (three window) and decorative Art Nouveau facades – add to the eye-pleasing promenade so beloved by locals. This scene was similar a century ago. Just a mile as the seagull flies from the Vieux-Port, Le Camas was appealing for its accessibility to the city center by tram. Landowner-turned-developer André Chave founded the neighborhood to accommodate Marseille’s growing middle class.

“Ο Μάρτης πότε γελά και πότε κλαίει” – Μarch sometimes laughs and sometimes cries. So the idiom goes here, as has this year. There are many phrases like this about March in the Greek language. Most of them (like in other cultures) focus on the weather’s instability during the month, and folk tradition believes that the weather gives us a glimpse of what will come in summer. This March was unstable, to say the least: one week it was snowing, then the next the spring sun was shining, and then again back to snowy winter! One of my favorite March traditions is donning a bracelet made with red and white thread. We call it “martis” or “martia” after the month’s name, and we make it on the last day of February and wear it on March 1.

When wandering around Tbilisi, we often find ourselves at a loss when looking to grab a quick, quality snack to fill our stomachs. As much as we love our favorite Georgian cheesy bread, sometimes we want a little something more than khachapuri or pastries. Many times, these inexpensive offerings are infamous for deceiving customers with various forms of cheap filling folded into the dough in lieu of real cheese. Then, of course, there is the ubiquitous shaurma (a transliteration of the Georgian word შაურმა) – an unfortunately tasteless descendent of the Middle Eastern shawarma. This dearth of quality street food and an abundance of disappointing snacks is an ongoing issue but, as seems to be the story the world over, some entrepreneurial souls realized they could fill this gap during the Covid-19 pandemic, offering quick bites via delivery and takeaway.

Although it would seem that much of the world imagines the inhabitants of Spain subsisting largely on paella, the truth of the matter is that it is the tortilla de patatas (truita de patata in Catalan), also known as tortilla española in some Spanish regions, that really holds the place of honor in the hearts and stomachs of Spaniards. Often translated into English on menus as “potato omelet,” this hearty round cake of potatoes, eggs, olive oil and salt has nothing to do with the traditional French omelet, nor does it have anything in common with a Mexican tortilla. At its most basic, the Spanish tortilla is made by frying up a thick mass of sliced potatoes and eggs in olive oil and then slicing it into savory wedges.

For a city of its size and density, Tokyo is disproportionately lacking in great sandwiches. Let us be clear: We’re not talking about ethereal Japanese-style sando, with their soft white bread and fillings like omelet, strawberries and cream or even ridiculously expensive wagyu fillets (although those are a perfectly valid and wonderful form of sandwich). We’re thinking of hearty sandwiches that power you through endless Zoom meetings: baguettes, toasties, wraps, banh mi. Fortunately, there’s the Chipper’s pop-up at BathHaus, where Kohsuke “Chan” Yamaoka turns out simple, well-made sandwiches every Tuesday evening.

Istanbul’s Bazaar Quarter is one of the world’s biggest open-air commercial centers, crowned by the planet’s largest covered market, the Grand Bazaar. It is not only a sprawling marketplace specializing in everything from knitting yarn to knockoff purses, but a historic center of small craftsmen who still carry on their tradition in the atmospheric caravanserais — Ottoman-era trading posts — that dot this area.

Just like at Porto’s central Campanhã train station on Rua da Estação, O Astro Cervejaria Petisqueira on the other side of the street is reliably crowded every day. Its strategic location near the station helps account for that. But what really draws the crowds in is O Astro’s reputation as a must-stop for the definitive take on the bifana, one of Porto’s signature sandwiches. Much like the train station, O Astro brings locals and visitors together from all over Portugal, in search of one of Porto’s essential bites. At the most elemental level, the bifana is a pork sandwich, and in its most traditional form it includes thin slices of braised pork shank tucked into a crusty roll called a carcaça.

It has been a bitter pill to swallow, but we've long accepted the fact that we'll likely never find proper Mexican food in Istanbul. What is available registers as sub-par Tex-Mex at best: hard-shell tacos, salsa that packs no punch, weak margaritas and the inevitable cactus/sombrero-dominated décor found in underwhelming Mexican-themed restaurants worldwide. A lack of understanding of the cuisine is as equally to blame as the scarcity of key Mexican staples in Turkey: corn tortillas, cotija cheese, good avocados, black beans and fresh cilantro, to name a few. Some of these ingredients can be found at specialty supermarkets or neighborhood organic bazaars if one is up for a tedious scavenger hunt, others are just unavailable full stop.

As each car pulled up to the fish fry at St. Gabriel the Archangel Catholic Church, Claire White made the “roll down your window” motion with her hand in a sweeping circle, as if she were whisking a sauce. It was Ms. White’s unfortunate job to inform those in the line of cars that were circling the church like sharks that they had run out of fish. Not that the news should have come as a surprise. It was the first Friday in Lent and New Orleanians were hungry for fish. For the past two years, the traditional Friday fish fry – a staple of the Lent season, during which many Catholics abstain from eating meat on Fridays – had been sidelined by COVID-19, and this year, people were taking no chances.

Prickly yet pretty, bitter but sweet, medicinal and succulent, at once firm and tender – it’s no surprise the multifaceted artichoke is the queen of Barcelona’s winter produce. It’s also one of the city’s most local crops, grown in fields that literally abut Barcelona’s international airport, just some 10 kilometers out of town. Originally from North Africa (most likely Egypt), the artichoke’s appearance in Spain is documented as early as the 1st century AD by Spanish-Roman agronomy writer Lucius Junius Moderatus Columella, who mentions them in his work De re rustica.

Approach Seafood Sally’s from Uptown’s Oak Street and you might mistake it for a workaday, renovated home in the district’s bucolic Riverbend neighborhood. A highly-modified cottage-style double with a drab tan paint job and muted pink accents – the house is something you’d expect from a retired high-school librarian with a weakness for Hemingway’s Key West. But the tables outside are a giveaway that it is something more than a single-family dwelling. A couple are scattered among clusters of wild calla lilies in the front yard, and more sit on the deep front porch. There are even wooden picnic tables by a shed and towering pine trees.

Cafe Allende’s manager, Roberto Hernandez, stands behind the counter, serving customers pan chino out of a display case grown foggy from the warmth of the fresh pastries inside. “The idea was to come and study, finish school, and work as a technical engineer. But it didn’t work out that way. This pulled me in,” he says, gesturing around the cafe. “Now it's my life.” Roberto had come to Mexico City as a boy, moving in with a sister 20 years his senior and her husband, Jesús Chew, a Chinese immigrant and the owner of Cafe Allende. Welcomed into their family as another son, Roberto worked at the cafe and spent many evenings with Jesús, learning Mexican-Chinese recipes like the varieties of pan chino, which means “Chinese bread” in Spanish.

"Simple but good." This guiding principle is evident from the moment we step into Jackson Heights’ Angel Indian Restaurant, where the small dining room is almost bare of decoration. Until our food arrives at the table, the most eye-catching sights – just barely visible above the tall partition that screens the seating area from the open kitchen – are the flames that leap from a pan as chef and owner Amrit Pal Singh puts the finishing touches to our meal. It's unlikely that the flames leapt quite as high at home in Pathankot, a city in the northern Indian state of Punjab, where Amrit was born in the mid-1980s. (Even today, few home kitchens are outfitted with a high-powered commercial stovetop and ventilation system.)

A legendary snack bar sits on a corner of Praça Luís de Camões, a busy square dedicated to one of Portugal’s most celebrated poets (his most famous work is the epic Os Lusíadas, a fantastical interpretation of the Portuguese voyages of discovery, narrated in Homeric style). The square is a major thoroughfare in Chiado and witnesses thousands of journeys daily. Many passing through make a pit stop at O Trevo. This tiny and perpetually packed eatery has historical roots in the area; traces of the old sign, “Leitaria Trevo,” over the marble entrance reveal its beginnings as a dairy some 80 years ago.