It’s that time of year when armies of sakura (cherry blossom) trees in Tokyo stand poised to break into bloom and people are finalizing plans for hanami, or cherry blossom viewing parties. This yearly ritual, which takes place all over Japan, is a tradition that’s been around for over a thousand years, as sakura are a beloved and important symbol in Japanese culture. Multitudes of cherry blossoms will bloom in lavish displays of wonderful pink magic all over Japan, starting on the southern island of Kyushu in early March and moving north to Hokkaido by the end of May. Weekly and then daily newspaper and Internet updates inform local populations on the progress of the blooms from initial buds (10 percent, then 20 percent, etc.) to the final full display (mompai!).

On our Tokyo walk we visit a shop where senbei (Japanese rice crackers) are made from scratch. This week we will be picking up an extra bag of these homemade crackers to eat at a hanami, a cherry blossom viewing party, since sakura (cherry blossom) season has officially arrived.

Since its name derives from the Turkish word peynir (cheese), it’s no surprise that Athens’ best peinirli (πεϊνιρλί, “with cheese”), a boat-shaped flatbread similar to pide in Turkey and khachapuri in Georgia, is usually found at old, specialized shops or eateries owned by families who originally came from Asia Minor or Pontus, the Greek name for the southern coast of the Black Sea, in the early 20th century. So when Spyros, the owner of Peinirli Ionias in Ambelokipoi, one of the most popular peinirli takeaways in downtown Athens, casually mentions that he originally hails from the Ionian island of Corfu – nowhere near Asia Minor, another name for Turkey’s Anatolia region – we are left scratching our heads. Sensing our confusion, he quickly adds that he learned the art of peinirli-making directly from the source, so to speak: his father- and mother-in-law, who both emigrated to Athens as part of the 1923 population exchange between Greece and Turkey.

“It’s good for tourists, not for us.” While this can sadly be said about many things, Anabela, the woman we are speaking to, is referring to the transformation of Mercado da Ribeira, Lisbon’s historic public market, where she co-runs a small grocery store. Originally built as a predominantly wholesale food, fish and flower market in 1771, Ribeira today shares its space with Mercado Time Out, financed by the venture capital firm that controls the publishing franchise in Portugal, which has occupied the central section of the market since 2014. Time Out’s concept: an “editorially” curated gourmet food hall. Selling the best of Portugal – from croquettes and custard tarts to seafood and steak – it is now a top attraction, with 24 restaurants, eight bars, a dozen shops and a high-end music venue.

If it weren’t for the dozens of brightly lit signs and paper lanterns promising libations of every sort, you might mistake the two narrow alleys alongside the train tracks on the northeast side of Shibuya station for a derelict apartment block. In reality Nonbei Yokocho (AKA Drunkard’s Alley) is one of Tokyo’s few remaining yokocho (side street) bar districts. Like the much larger and better-known Golden Gai in Shinjuku, Nonbei Yokocho is a collection of aging and tightly packed microbars. Each watering hole is scarcely more than a few square meters, and if longtime regulars aren’t taking up the scant floor space, newcomers may try any number of doors before they find an empty seat.

Lisboetas are serious about their ginja, a liqueur made from a sour cherry of the same name. The fruit might not be so sweet but is fortunately well suited to being turned into this smooth drink, which is enjoyed both as an aperitif and digestif. Our Culinary Crossroads walk in Lisbon wouldn’t be complete without a tipple of the good stuff.

To her friends, Michelle Boyce, the owner of Shelly’s Café, is “Michelle.” That was the name called out by many customers, when arriving or departing, as we sat and talked in her sunny dining area on a recent afternoon. She is, to be sure, also “Shelly,” a diminutive bestowed on her by her mom in Newry, County Down, one of six counties that form Northern Ireland. Years later and an ocean away from that childhood home – Michelle left Newry for New York as a young adult in 2010 – she told us of her continuing “passion to recreate my mom's home cooking.” In that sense, the name “Shelly’s Café” evokes both mother and daughter.

The day two airliners flew into the World Trade Center, we were in Lagodekhi, an east Georgian village on the border with Azerbaijan. We had been in a total daze trying to comprehend the scope of the tragedy from a village halfway around the world where our hosts were offering solace through the bottle. Zaur, a neighbor, showed up the morning of the twelfth with a Borjomi mineral water bottle of his chacha and made breakfast toasts to the victims of New York, to peace, to bloody revenge and so on. Needless to say, we were well under the influence by lunch time and ended up arm-in-arm at a local stolovaya (canteen) with a platter of frankfurters and bread before Zaur put us in a minibus home.

El Practic doesn’t look like much at first glance. The small restaurant is sparsely decorated and populated by a few naked tables. Its location – in front of two massive buildings under construction in Cornellá de Llobregat, an industry-heavy municipality on the southwestern periphery of the Barcelona metropolitan area – is not where many people would choose to set up a restaurant. But chef Andrés Huarcaya was certain people would come. “I’ve worked in so many places,” he said, “and one day it hit me that if you do good work – this is the key – then people will come. On this street, nobody passes by at night. And yet we are always packed on Fridays and Saturdays – totally packed!”

“Two kilos five liraaa! Two kilos five liraaa!” bellowed a young and exuberant vendor of tomatoes to the ongoing stream of frugal-minded shoppers making their way through the snaking Tarlabaşı Sunday Market. Hundreds of sellers of fresh produce, dairy, seafood, kitchenware, clothing, smuggled tobacco, jewelry, fresh baked goods and numerous other items set up side by side in the central Istanbul quarter of Tarlabaşı every Sunday, weaving an extended path down a backstreet that incorporates both unbridled chaos and strict organization. It is just one of hundreds of similar weekly semt pazarları, the beloved Istanbul neighborhood bazaars that offer some of the cheapest prices on the widest variety of goods the city has to offer, while at the same time serving as a critical element in maintaining the vitality of Istanbul neighborhood life.

Forty years ago, José was the most popular boys’ name in Portugal. It had been the undisputed leader in that category for several decades. But trends change, and in 2017 José didn't even crack the top 20. So, it's quite possible that the future will bring an influx of restaurants named after Santiago, the top choice for the last two years. But as we write this there are still a lot of Zé(s) – the shortened form of José – around town. Zé da Mouraria is famous for its magnificent roasted codfish. Zé Varunca serves great food from Alentejo, the home region of this particular José. And the list goes on: Zé dos Frangos, Zé Carioca, Tasca do Zé and, of course, Zé dos Cornos.

Lahmacun is the perfect savory snack: crispy, oven-fired crust, light and spicy meat spread, a fresh green garnish and a tangy spray from a lemon. We sample some of the best in the city on our Two Markets, Two Continents walk.

There are many legends and myths surrounding the Pyrenees. Some claim that the divine hero Hercules created the mountains by piling up rocks as a tomb for his love Pyrene, who had died in one of the area’s forests after being bitten by a snake. While a romantic story, the Pyrenees are much more than a mausoleum and a symbol of mythic love – they are also the birthplace of Basque culture and a disputed border between Spain and France, a place crisscrossed by Roman roads and sprinkled with Roman architecture, a key point in the Camino de Santiago (Way of Saint James) and a legendary land for the Catalans.

Greek food has been experiencing a renaissance in recent years – an unexpected byproduct of the country’s economic struggles. Greeks are rediscovering their culinary roots, and the world outside is also taking a new look at the country and its cuisine, raising Greece’s profile as a culinary destination in the process. But running parallel to this tale of economic stagnation and culinary resurgence is the story of economic migrants and refugees, people who fled to Europe in the hopes of finding a better life. While the focus as of late has understandably been on the Syrian refugee population living in camps throughout Greece, economic migrants from a wide range of countries have been quietly toiling away in Athens for years.

Over the last couple of years, Rio de Janeiro’s food scene has experienced a Peruvian invasion. Encouraged by the buzz of the 2016 Olympic Games, more than 10 restaurants and bars focused on Peruvian cuisine opened up shop in Rio. But many of those spots are fine dining establishments, plating up the kind of sophisticated cuisine found in Lima – the capital of Peru is a culinary powerhouse and one of the best places to eat in the world. But there are exceptions. We stumbled on one in an old house in the Botafogo neighborhood. At this restaurant, called Pop up Peru, there are no fancy decorations, nor any kind of complex contemporary recipes. Even Lima’s influences are conspicuously absent.