The officials from the Ministry of Health came late in the evening on a Friday night and entered Tbilisi’s popular gastro-entertainment complexes Fabrika and Ghvinis Karkhana-Wine Factory #1. They knew there would be a lot of people here celebrating life again after two and a half months in lockdown. They also understood that even with tables spaced two meters apart, as required, it is difficult to control social distancing after people have had a few drinks. For authorities looking to tally up some fines, it was like shooting ducks in a wine barrel. A total of 16 establishments were fined 10,000 lari ($3,273) in what restaurant owners have described as “raids” two weekends ago for violating Covid-19 regulations. Among the six places at Ghvinis Karkhana that were penalized was Number 8 BBQ House for not having a list of employee temperatures and violating social distancing rules.

On Travessa do Monte, one of the friendliest streets in Lisbon’s Graça neighborhood, natural wine flows as freely as conversation. We’ve come here, right by the arch and with a narrow view of the city and the river, to have a glass with Giulia Capaccioli and Massimiliano Bartoli, two Italians from Tuscany who met in Venice and now live in Lisbon. The pair’s bar, Vino Vero, which they opened in April 2019, is the spring that feeds this natural wine oasis. To fully understand the origins of this wine bar, we need to go back to Italy. There, in Tuscany, Massimiliano’s brother, Matteo, has a winery producing natural wine – that is, wine to which nothing is added or taken away.

Despite Greece’s small size, the country has many different regional cuisines, with Greek island cuisine – particularly that of the Cyclades, which is rooted in simplicity and seasonality – being one of my favorites. The small, dry islands developed a kind of cucina povera, or “peasant cooking,” that was influenced in part by the Venetians, who governed the islands for over 300 years, and based on the few basic ingredients they could grow without much water, or without water at all: tomatoes, eggplants, watermelons, zucchinis, figs and grapes, all of which tend to be smaller in size but full of flavor.

Screens, social distancing, masks, constant cleaning, diminished room capacity, “Covid-free” stamps… gloves? Are gloves still in the protocol or is hand sanitizer enough? What exactly are the municipality’s formal requirements for opening or expanding a terrace? Why are restaurants across the board forced to operate at 40 percent capacity for indoor seating when the alternative – requiring a certain amount of space between tables – would allow places with larger rooms to do more business? These are the questions that surface in our conversations with Barcelona’s restaurant owners as they try to get back on their feet. Josep María Solé, co-owner of the iconic La Cova Fumada in La Barceloneta, recounts having to ask a client at the door to put on their mask before coming inside – otherwise, they risk a fine from the City Council.

My love affair with the Deserter’s Bazaar began in 2001 when I first wandered into the marketplace like a pie-eyed flower child on his very first acid trip. The air seethed with leaded exhaust, stinky cheese, stale body odor and the incessant honking of jalopies. Streets and sidewalks disappeared under tables and blankets displaying everything from village produce and contraband alcohol to Dostoevsky novels and wooden utensils. Shoulder-to-shoulder, people bumped and shuffled and haggled while sweaty men with cigarettes hanging from their lips parted the mass with iron push carts. I returned to Georgia the next year and, as luck would have it, shacked up with a friend a block away from the market, which became my playground. Six somewhat square blocks selling anything you could put a tag on.

Perched at the northern tip of Marseille, the fishing port of L’Estaque has drawn diverse groups throughout the decades. In the last half of the 19th century, bourgeois Marseillais would tram from the city center to eat bouillabaisse and swim on its shores. When the industrial era launched in 1820, L’Estaque housed workers from the nearby factories where traditional Provençal terra cotta tiles were made. From the late 19th century to the early 20th century, the diverse landscape and the incredible light lured painters from the north like Braques and Cézanne, who compared the sloping village to a “playing card” with its “red roofs against a blue sea.” But since the 1930s, people have flocked to L’Estaque for another reason: the fried snacks.

On the heels of his successful Spanish-language series Las Crónicas del Conde (“The Chronicles of Conde”), Francisco de Santiago (“Paco”), our lead guide in Mexico City who goes by Conde Pétatl on Instagram, will be launching a new round of English-language Instagram Live conversations on Monday, June 22. Over the course of 10 talks, he will delve into Mexican culinary culture, history and tradition with a wide range of esteemed guests, including chefs, journalists and experts. Paco is a Mexico City native who has a deep passion for his country’s cuisine. He is also a kind of renaissance man – a former champion chess player, bullfighter and more recently, a professional gastro-guide. These days, Paco focuses on the antojitos, or little culinary cravings of his hometown, which are a hallmark of a culinary tour of the city with him.

The 2nd of June was a warm, bright, sunny day fizzing with the energy of late spring, and things were oddly normal in Istanbul’s Kurtuluş neighborhood. The day before, scores of businesses opened their doors for the first time in over two months as part of an effort by the government to return a sense of normality to the country and breathe life into its struggling economy as Turkey approached three months since its first case of coronavirus was announced. Cafés and restaurants, previously only allowed to offer takeout or delivery, now welcomed dine-in service, providing that tables were spaced apart in accordance with social distancing guidelines and a bottle of hand sanitizer was available atop each one.

Gio Malatsidze kneels down and carefully brushes sand off the plexiglass lid of his kvevri. Five hundred liters of tavkveri wine have been resting for two years in this large clay vessel buried in the ground. Next to it is an open kvevri of healthy chinuri, also two years old. He gently pries the lid off, sealed with silicone putty, cautious not to let any debris fall inside, and frowns. A white film is floating on the surface. Gio dips a wine glass inside, spreading the flotsam away and takes a sip of the dark plum colored wine, washing his mouth with it. It is on the edge but can be rescued, he explains, dipping a carafe to fill our glasses so we can taste what he is talking about. Making natural wine is a risky business.

On this culinary adventure, we’ll be lucky enough to explore Mexico City during the Day of the Dead and immerse ourselves in the complexities of this megacity during one of its most famous and colorful celebrations. The images are iconic: Revellers painted in skeleton-like “Catrinas” makeup, the streets and tables across the city awash with orange and yellow marigolds. Together we’ll celebrate this holiday as the locals do, with parades and celebrations, but also with the soulful, spiritual aspects that make this such a meaningful occasion for locals. Over the next six days, we’ll also explore the breadth of Mexico City’s mouthwatering local gastronomy and experience those rare moments when the city’s eras of history and its different identities are in beautiful harmony and which are even more poignant and powerful during the Day of the Dead holiday.

For many of us in Athens (and beyond), the Covid-19 lockdown has been among the most challenging periods in recent history. The situation bred feelings of insecurity, raised lots of questions, many unanswerable, tried our patience and, perhaps most importantly, taught us that absolutely nothing can be taken for granted. On the flip side, some of us had the chance to rest and reflect, to get to know ourselves in silence and consider how we’ve evolved – things we never had time for in our normally fast-paced life. A number of philosophical questions even came to mind: Are we truly happy? Are we really enjoying every moment to the fullest? Are we grateful for what we have?

We like to think of Oaxaca as the heartland of Mexican cooking. All the foods that seem so classically, elementally, Mexican – corn, chiles, moles, mezcal – can be traced back to the fertile area that surrounds this historic city. This is true not only of the ingredients, but the cooking techniques as well. The use of smoke and fire to flavor food, as well as the practice of cooking on a comal – the large circular griddle that is essential for making tortillas – are all deeply connected with the Oaxaca region and its indigenous people. But Oaxaca is not only a point of origin for these essential items of culinary heritage, it is also a place in which they are lovingly maintained and protected.

Slices of strawberries bordered by pillowy puffs of pistachio cream. The fluted caramelized crust of custard-y canelés. Tidy layers of dark chocolate ganache, coffee buttercream and almond biscuits in an opera cake. The term “culinary arts” is at its most appropriate when considering the work of a pastry chef. Especially when the pâtisserie is hidden in the back of an art gallery. Parenthèse Enchantée is the second act for Nathalie Gnaegy. “Cooking was my weekend pastime,” she explains. Nourished by sharing food with her family and coworkers, she “progressively veered towards baked goods, more welcome at the office than a half-eaten whole tuna,” she winks. Her appreciative officemates insisted she should “bake professionally.”

The concept of what’s near and far has gone topsy-turvy as of late. In the last decade, before the pandemic hit, far was near: We could have breakfast in Barcelona, get on a plane and arrive in time for lunch in Athens. Nowadays, the other side of one’s municipality is considered far-flung, and going there to eat at a restaurant you’ve dined at a hundred times before is a big adventure, one worth documenting on social media. While we felt that distance keenly during the state of emergency, we could also close our eyes and imagine ourselves back in our favorite restaurants, sitting down to eat our favorite dishes.

Everything is ready at Mangia e Bevi. The tables are spaced out, the seats reduced from 60 to only 18, in the kitchen Marilena – owner Luigi Grasso’s wife and the trattoria’s cook – is dressed like an astronaut, the wine is chilled and wonderful smells waft from the kitchen. My favorite restaurant, “my” Trattoria Mangia e Bevi, has reopened after being closed for 80 days. And that’s already good news. “I’m so happy to see you again,” Luigi exclaims, while we touch our elbows, both protected by masks that hides our smiles.