Visiting the Jamaica plant and flower market is one of our favorite activities in Mexico City; we love getting lost in its green alleys and never fail to emerge with at least one new plant and a beautiful bouquet of flowers. And of course, we’re always on the lookout for new places to eat. Our favorite barbacoa joint is in this market, but when we want a different experience we head to the huarache alley, where several stalls offer this tasty Mexican specialty.

Our first meal at this Lebanese restaurant earned it a spot on our Best Bites of 2019. We were smitten with the food, particularly the mousakhan, sumac-coated chicken. Yet, when the smiling owner, Serje Banna, gave us a tiny foil packet of sumac to bring home, we were touched by his passion to share beyond the plate. During our next visit, after we asked about the bottle of arak behind the bar, he wasted no time pouring us a taste of the anise-based spirit. When his wife, Najla Chami, brought out our order of mahshi selek, she pointed out that Lebanese cooks can swap grape vine leaves with swiss chard. For at Mouné, every meal comes with a lesson in Lebanese cuisine.

Olivos Comida y Vinos is like an independent movie playing at a small cinema on a quiet street in Sants, a neighborhood just outside of Barcelona’s center. It leaves you with the impression of having had an unexpected, intimate connection with something personal and precious. They don’t have customers – they have fans. Decorated with plants and flowers in a comfortable setting of simple, natural materials, Olivos is full of thoughtful details (enough space between tables, no table cloths for green eating) and super-friendly service. The exquisite food follows a sustainable “slow food” philosophy, where products should be local and obtained in both a clean and ethical way, and everything is cooked with a highly professional hand. In Barcelona, where mainstream culinary trends, big hospitality groups and huge investments in interiors and PR are frequently the rule that moves the masses, the independent, honest spirit at Olivos is a treasure.

Mtkvari, the local name for the Kura River, divides Tbilisi. Until the launch of Fabrika – a disused Soviet-era garment factory turned into a trendy social-space-cum-hostel in 2016 – few gentrified souls from the city’s fancier shore crossed over to the left bank. Fewer still stepped out further than the central Marjanishvili neighborhood, making it past Dezerter Bazaar – the throbbing gastronomic heart from where most of the city’s fresh produce and meats originate. This is also where Leonid Chkhikvishvili buys fresh cuts of meat each morning for his restaurant Duqani Kasumlo, located even further north on the left bank in Didube. Here is a neighborhood where few travelers tread, except perhaps to quickly pass through to catch cheap intercity mashrutkas (mini-buses). But despite its overlooked location, Duqani Kasumlo has acquired semi-cult status for its kebabs in an area better known for its cluster of home improvement stores and the labyrinthine Eliava market, home to hawkers of used car parts and construction materials.

When walking around the Akatlar neighborhood, it’s easy to forget that we’re just a stone’s throw from the glassy skyscrapers that tower over Istanbul’s financial district, Levent. The quiet residential area features a curious number of stand-alone villas. Even the apartment blocks seem to have fewer floors and more space in between buildings. The familiar sounds of gridlocked traffic are conspicuously absent. Like in many Istanbul neighborhoods, the ground floors of most apartment buildings are below street level. Walking along Haydar Aliyev Caddesi, it’s easy to walk right past Santé Wine & More. This would be a shame, since that would mean missing out on a carefully curated selection of Turkish artisan wines.

We climb up, arriving at the edge of the ancient Roman thermal baths of Baiae, which date back to the 1st century BCE. It has been pouring rain, but we see no standing water here. "We take obsessive care of the soil, and the water is cleverly drained just as our predecessors used to do it,” Luigi Di Meo, 61, tells us. Luigi is the owner of La Sibilla winery and vineyards, the grounds of which spreads out around us on this dreary day.

Thirty-year-old João Cura and his wife, 29-year-old Sofia Gomes, may be young but they have long had a wish to open their own restaurant. Yet it was never totally clear where or when they would fulfill this dream: both are originally from Coimbra, a city in central Portugal, and worked for years in Barcelona. The couple finally found a perfect spot, in Porto of all places, to open Almeja, which fittingly means “to want or to wish for something very much” in Portuguese. Talk about a dream come true.

If Noailles is known as the “belly of Marseille” for its fragrant food stalls, street food and markets, its neighbor Cours Julien is where locals fill their bellies sitting down. The street-art-splashed buildings house a smorgasbord of restaurants from every corner of the world, including the Ivory Coast, India, Palestine and Peru. Those on the tree-lined cours (avenue) for which the quarter is named get most attention thanks to their lively patios. Yet, there is gastronomic gold to be found on the side streets. We must have passed by Kaz Kreol a dozen times. Sandwiched between snack bars on the climb to Cours Julien, we had assumed it was another fast-food joint.

Barbacoa – pit-roasted lamb or goat – is a Mexico City weekend essential. Stands pop up all over the city on Saturdays and Sunday selling the soft-as-butter meat on a warm tortilla, topped with a sprinkling of cilantro and raw onion and one of the many smoky salsas that generally accompany this dish. Even more, barbacoa broth is a well-known hangover cure, among the ranks of menudo (tripe soup) and pozole (hominy and meat soup). Before the city’s Roma neighborhood became the hip, bohemian mecca that it is now, Moises and Norma Rodriguez opened El Hidalguense, an unassuming spot on one of the neighborhood’s quieter streets. Now, 30 years later, it is known far and wide for roasting some of the best barbacoa in the city.

On April 26, 1926, Eusebio Joaquín González was serving as a domestic servant to a pair of ascetic preachers named Silas and Saulo in Monterey, Mexico, when he had a vision –God changed his name to Aaron and instructed him to strike out on his own. He and his wife Elisa traveled to Guadalajara, where Aaron found work as a shoe salesman, and they started a church in their apartment. When their congregation grew large enough that it was time to build a temple in the city, once again a name was revealed to Gonzalez in a vision: Church of the Living God, Column and Support of Truth, Light of the World. It came to be known as Iglesia La Luz del Mundo.

Ask anyone from the Eastern Turkish city of Bitlis where büryan kebabı comes from, and they’ll proudly tell you that the slow-cooked meat dish hails from none other than their hometown, near Lake Van. Pose the same question to folks from Siirt, just 100 km south, and they’ll insist anyone making it from a city other than theirs is doing it all wrong. Büryan kebabı refers to lamb (or mutton) slow cooked in an underground tandır oven until pull-apart tender. The meat, crackling with skin and fat, is sliced or cut into chunks and served atop fluffy, warm bread. The fat from the meat soaks into the bread below, making it glisten.

Served as a sauce, romesco is certainly striking: It has an intense dark orange color and a dense texture that saturates and blankets whatever you dip in it. Once in the mouth, you get a piquant touch of vinegar, which is soon enveloped by the nutty creaminess of ground almonds (or perhaps hazelnuts) and olive oil. Yet the sauce’s main personality (and taste) derives from the roasted tomatoes and the rehydrated nyora peppers (ñora in Spanish), both of which are also responsible for its distinctive color. A versatile and tasty picada (pounded paste), romesco works as the base of the famous cold sauce (salsa romesco) but is also used in various dishes like monkfish romesco and mussels romesco. It has come, in its many forms, to represent the culinary culture of Tarragona, a province in southern Catalonia.

A skinny palm tree on Whittier Boulevard casts a shadow that bisects the short silhouette of a bench. On the sidewalk it forms a spectral cross, conjuring an image of the bottom of a vaso veladora hovering in front of Café Santo in Montebello. Originally used to hold prayer candles in Oaxaca’s Catholic churches, these votives – with a cross etched into the bottom – are commonplace mezcal drinking glasses in the Mexican state. They make a fitting symbol for the café’s Oaxaca-native proprietor Marlon Gonzales and Café Santo itself, L.A.’s premier Oaxacan coffee shop. The best thing about coffee is that it’s never just coffee. Or actually, the best thing about coffee is caffeine.

Almost every Chinese holiday comes paired with a festive dish. At Tomb-Sweeping Festival, there are bright green qingtuan (glutinous rice dumplings) to celebrate the arrival of spring. During Dragon Boat festival, we have zongzi, stuffed sticky rice steamed in bamboo leaves, to commemorate the poet Qu Yuan. And during Mid-Autumn Festival, we chow down on mooncakes as we gaze at the full moon. But Chinese New Year doesn’t come with just one dish. It is a feast that lasts for days, starting with “bao”-ing or wrapping dumplings on Chinese New Year’s Eve (for snacking on well into the night) to the tangyuan (more glutinous rice dumplings) eaten 15 days later on Yuanxiao or Lantern Festival.

Despite the bitter January cold, surging cases of Omicron and roaring inflation, Istanbul seemed its usual vibrant self on a recent Friday night: Our first choice restaurant was fully booked, even in its expanded space, and the new neighborhood ocakbaşı where we ended up bustled pleasantly, with every seat taken at the large counter encircling the grill. But appearances can be deceiving. “Meyhanes are still full, but people are eating less, drinking less; they can’t afford to consume like they did before,” says chef Aliye Gündüzalp, one of the owners of Müşterek meyhane in Beyoğlu.