Standing behind the counter at his small bici bici shop in Gökalp Mahallesi, a neighborhood in the Zeytinburnu district of Istanbul, Cuma Usta recalls the first time he headed up into the mountains with his uncles in search of wild ice, one of the key ingredients in this Turkish snow cone treat sold from street carts throughout southern Turkey. His uncles had gone up in the winter and cut large slabs of ice from the mountaintop, wrapped it in old blankets and hauled it off with a donkey to a nearby cave. In July, with young Cuma – just being introduced to the ways of bici bici – in tow, they headed back to the cave to collect the ice. It took a couple of hours by car, as he recalled, and the ride back to Adana, vehicle loaded with the frozen bounty, was nice and chilly. Then they’d use that ice to make the summertime street food favorite bici bici (pronounced like the disco-era band of brothers from Australia) and sell it from pushcarts. According to tradition, a bici bici master is, firstly, a harvester of ice.

For 2,000 years, people have flocked to the Abanotubani baths, whose hot sulfuric waters have long been fabled to possess magical healing qualities. The Persian king Agha Mohammad Khan soaked there in 1795, hoping to reverse the effects of the castration he suffered as a child. He dried off, found his conditioned unchanged and razed Tbilisi to the ground. While people continue to espouse the curative properties of the sulfur baths, we can only vouch for their powers to relieve stress, loosen up sore muscles and help poach the hangover out of you. It is the latter attribute that inspired the local chef Tekuna Gachechiladze to open a restaurant last year that might not cure erectile disorders, but is definitely designed to nurture alcohol-stricken bodies back to life.

At 2pm on most weekdays, slickly dressed business people stroll Mexico City’s trendy Juarez neighborhood, lending its streets an air of well-heeled, buttoned-up formality. The polished glimmer of their shoes marks them as the nation’s best and brightest, if not among its wealthiest. These are the white collar workers of the nearby Paseo de la Reforma, let out of their office towers for lunch. Many will choose to spend their breaks cradling greasy street tacos, craning their necks as they eat, careful not to stain or otherwise tarnish their smart suits.

One of our newest Mexico City walks is an exciting tour through some of our favorite cantinas in the city. All we can say is that showing up hungry and thirsty is mandatory! 

The ascendance of Spanish gastronomy has largely had a Basque signature, which, together with the Catalan scene, is seen as the vanguard in Spanish haute cuisine. But while Nouvelle Basque has gotten all the spotlight lately, the food culture of this northern region has always been outstanding, thanks to its abundant rains and a territory that encompasses the Cantabrian Sea and Ebro River. Basque taverns are largely known for their pintxos, a kind of tapas that are more sophisticated in taste as well as in design. At certain times of day these small plates fly nonstop out of the kitchen, usually chosen at the chef’s discretion.

Autumn in Rio finds the city at its the best. The days are sunny, the scorching heat of January and February has subsided, and it's low season for tourists, which means the beaches are less crowded. The only problem with fall days is they end too early—the sun sets by 6:00 pm in April. If you want to keep the day going, one good option is to head to one of the city's many beachside pé sujos (literally, dirty feet), ultra-casual outdoor bars. On a recent April evening we found ourselves at Bar Bunda de Fora (Bar Butt-Out), steps from Copacabana Beach. According to owner Deborah Cardoso, the bar got its nickname because the interior used to be so small that when customers placed their orders at the counter their rear ends were technically outside the bar. It's a classic low-key Rio joint: the beer is light, cheap, and bem gelada (very cold); the stools are made of plastic; and the food is fried. The crowd is young and old, mostly made up of families and neighbors.

His name is Pasquale De Stefano, but everyone knows him as Pasquale ‘o nummararo, “the number man.” In this era of plotters and laser printers, De Stefano continues to hand-paint his signs, using ancient paintbrushes on wooden boards, which are then planted in the baskets of all Neapolitan fruit sellers. And even the wooden signposts are still cut by hand. In 65 years of work he has by now created tens of thousands of signs advertising the prices of apples (€0.99) or peaches (3 kg for €2). They can be small or large, on canvas or on wood, promising a “special offer” or “great value.” Sometimes Pasquale’s signs will feature a more pointed message: “Whoever touches the fruit will be touched by the fruit seller,” is one that comes to mind.

Fresh Turkish tea is taken very seriously everywhere throughout the country, particularly in places like the Grand Bazaar where thousands of shopkeepers work long hours. Of course, the country's most popular beverage is an important fixture of our walks. 

For a few weeks during June, large swathes of Lisbon turn into one extended outdoor cookout. It’s the festival of Santo António, Lisbon’s favorite local saint, and the city celebrates his memory by way of grilling up copious amounts of sardines, so much so that during this period the scent of sizzling fish rolls through the streets of the city’s historic neighborhoods like a bank of fishy fog. In these old-time neighborhoods, the festival also provides residents a chance to play caterer to the masses, with seemingly every local with a halfway decent charcoal grill setting up shop outside their home and grilling sardines for the revelers partying in the streets. The whole scene is a complete departure from the more staid rest of the year and it often feels as if these neighborhood grillers live for just this time, allowing them to play the role of guardians of Lisbon’s most important social tradition.

On the night of June 22, a fire is lit at the top of Canigó mountain in the Pyrenees. All through the night, hundreds of volunteer torchbearers carry the flame to towns and villages throughout the four provinces of Catalonia. The arrival of the flame the next day signals the start of the Revetlla de Sant Joan (St. John’s Eve celebration). Bonfires, firecrackers and fireworks light up the night, and people while away the hours drinking, eating and dancing in public squares and beaches or at parties. Fire, noisemaking and dancing are the main ingredients of St. John’s Eve, the Christian adaptation of ancient pagan celebrations of the summer solstice.

Shots of ginja, a delightful cherry liqueur beloved by many Lisboetas, are an essential component of our Culinary Crossroads walk in the city. 

Istanbul's Vefa neighborhood is home to a rich collection of historic treasures. Framed by the vast and beautiful 4th-century Valens Aqueducts, Vefa is in the heart of the old city but retains a sense of locality and rusty charm perhaps lost in the more touristy neighborhoods nearby. Among its institutions is Vefa Bozacısı, which has sold boza – a thick, fermented millet-based drink popular in the winter – since 1876. Immediately across the street is an establishment that has only been around for a few months but also specializes in another beloved local beverage, gazoz. Opened last year by Istanbul University economics student Mahmut Saklı, Sevda Gazozcusu is likely the only shop in Turkey that exclusively sells the drink.

In Oaxaca, a state where gastronomy is almost a religion, there are some extraordinary dishes that are prepared only for special occasions because of the complexity of preparation. Mole chichilo, for example, uses more than 30 ingredients, and its preparation can take up to 3 days. But there are spectacularly tasty (and complex) dishes that can be had anytime. One of these is caldo de piedra (stone soup) from the Tuxtepec region. On our last visit to Oaxaca City, we visited a restaurant a few miles outside of the center whose rendition of this soup blew our minds.

Have you ever met a restaurant owner who has been a house painter, real estate agent, rug dealer, bread deliverer, camel trainer and interpreter as well as running a tourism business? Meet Ahmad Alssaleh from Palmyra, Syria. Although he is only 31 and the youngest of ten children, he is not only unstoppable, he is about to celebrate the first anniversary of one of the most imaginative and best restaurants we have ever been to anywhere – not just Athens. But we’ll get to the food later. His story will whet your appetite, as it did ours. It all started back in 2009 when Alssaleh met Magda, a Greek girl who’d gone to Syria as a tourist.

Bread may be fundamental to Portugal’s food culture, but over the last few years the baked goods landscape in the country has begun looking increasingly uniform, with fake neo-classic franchising playing no small part in its decline. Although many old and family-run bakeries can’t keep up with the competition – especially in the cities – there are a few initiatives kneading a small revolution. Courses, workshops and experimental research are creating a new class of future bakers who often rework old techniques. Among them is 21-year-old Diogo Amorim. Gleba, his bakery, with its contemporary look and historic techniques, attracts customers from all over Lisbon. It opened six months ago in Alcantara, a neighborhood that shows traces of many past lives, from industrial working-class to the aristocratic.