As you approach Maroussi by train, it is difficult to imagine that 100 years ago it was full of mansions with lush gardens – some still standing today – olive orchards and vineyards. Situated 13 km north of Athens, Maroussi (AKA Amarousion) was the home of Spyros Louis, the first athlete to win the modern Olympic marathon event in 1896. It is also where the modern-day Olympic Stadium and sports complex are situated. The train was connected to Maroussi in 1885, when it was also known as “the beast,” and it took three hours for the beast to make the trip from Omonoia.

There are certain places that experience the strange phenomenon where everything and nothing change at the same time. Take the example of El Racó del Mariner (The Sailor’s Corner), located for 40 years at the old fishermen’s dock in the port of La Barceloneta until it was forced to move when the area was turned into a marina for luxury yachts. Regardless, even at its new address in the modern Port Fórum area, reaching El Racó del Mariner requires that you cross a port police checkpoint, just as you had to at the old spot.

Many people think of miso as the soup that gets tacked onto every Japanese meal. We can still remember our first experience of Japanese food in the West, when the waiter brought the soup at the end of the meal, and someone thought he’d forgotten to serve it at the beginning. Any self-respecting Japanese meal, just about anywhere in the world, will end with miso soup. The miso used in the soup is a paste that will determine the flavor of the soup. There are basically three kinds of miso: red (akamiso), white (shiromiso) and mixed (awase), which has a brownish hue and is the most common variety used in miso soup.

The rustic Neapolitan tarallo, made of 'nzogna (lard), pepper and toasted almonds, is a true delicacy. It can be considered the first popular snack in Naples, a bite that combines the punch of black pepper with the sweetness of almonds, the whole united by lard. It’s a dangerous combination for the waistline, that’s for sure. Taralli are offered to celebrate a new home, shared with friends during soccer matches, enjoyed with one’s significant other on the rocky shore, given to guests at parties, taken aboard boats (it’s the very height of yuppiness to eat them accompanied by iced spumante while out at sea). Until a few years ago, taralli were sold by tarallers, roving vendors who carried a basket full of taralli on their heads.

Oaxaca, consistently ranked as one of the three poorest of Mexico’s 31 states, can also claim the title of having the country’s worst school system. Demonstrations and rallies by students, teachers and unions are a regular occurrence in Oaxaca City, causing frequent gridlock in the center of town. The walls of the city in bold graffiti reflect the young voices of the social movement: sometimes, a mere angry scrawl, but more often, these are canvases that will move you to pause and consider these depictions of revolution, past and present. One such wall is on Calle Porfirio Diaz in the Centro Histórico. It’s the exterior of Espacio Zapata, the home of the Asamblea de Artistas Revolucionarios de Oaxaca (ASARO).

When Tonkatsu Hamachan first opened in 2001, it became an industry favorite – one of those places chefs, foodies and lifestyle journalists kept to themselves. Perhaps they closely guarded this spot because the dining room barely fit six tables, most of which were usually occupied by Japanese businessmen. The restaurant itself refrained from self-promotion – the shoji screen with hiragana script and a frosted glass door would have been as illustrative as a blank canvas to the mostly Japanese-illiterate pedestrians in the expat-friendly enclave of Jing’an. We lived just two blocks away from Hamachan for over a year when we first moved to Shanghai in 2007 and didn’t know about the tonkatsu genius until a friend drunkenly whispered the secret to us one night.

We spotted this jubilant fellow on our Old City walk in Istanbul trying to sell his mobile shop/bicycle. Any buyers?

The backstreets of Istanbul's Osmanbey quarter are loaded with fabric shops, while the adjacent thoroughfare of Halaskargazi Avenue is a busy shopping area lined with chain clothing stores and hotels. Come here for a cheap shiny suit, but don’t expect to find rewarding culinary adventures, as most of the area's restaurants offer fast food that manages to be both overpriced and underwhelming. Given all that, we were thrilled when Mahir Lokantası rolled onto the scene in 2015, bringing to the table a fine-tuned rotating menu featuring daily regional specialties from every corner of Turkey. “We make a variety of dishes from the Black Sea region, the Mediterranean and Aegean coasts and Eastern and Central Anatolia,” Mahir Nazlıcan, the restaurant's namesake and head chef, told us.

Though it’s an age-old method for preservation and flavor enhancement all over the world, the smoking of meat, fish, and cheese is not a notable tradition in southern Europe. In Portugal, in the old days, salt curing was more common – particularly for the national staple, cod. However, the presence of smoking traditions in the north, particularly around the Minho river, indicates the possibility that the Vikings’ favorite method for cooking fish may have reached all the way to the northeastern Iberian peninsula.

A snapshot from our Mouraria Street Party, which was held earlier this month in conjunction with Obscura Day. As one might guess, lots of fun was had by all!

Georgians – that is, Georgians who hail from the former Soviet republic and not the American South – love their cheesy khachapuri and their beef-and-lamb-filled khinkali. At a glatt kosher restaurant, however, dairy items and meat items can't mingle, either in the kitchen or in the dining room, and many such establishments serve only one or the other. Marani takes a second approach: two kitchens, two dining rooms, two sets of dishes. It's possible to enjoy a progressive dinner under a single roof, first with khachapuri in a basement bakery that resembles a spartan pizzeria, then with a succession of appetizers, skewers and entrees in the more formal setting upstairs.

Inside Barcelona’s lesser-known Mercat de Les Corts is a small, unassuming bar offering up the bounty of the Mediterranean. El Bisaura opens up shop at 6:30 a.m., serving esmorzars de forquilla (hearty Catalan breakfasts like sausage and beans, tripe stew and grilled cuttlefish) to local workers. At lunch, it serves a more refined seafood menu composed of whatever owner Alfonso Puig gets from Peixateria Anna, the fish stand on the other side of the market. The fish and seafood of the day are always seasonal, local and impeccably fresh – which is no surprise, since Puig is also the owner of the fish stand.

Sitting at a table in Lucio, a long-established tavern in the heart of Madrid’s most famous tapas street, is a singular experience that has a slightly surreal, Buñuel-esque touch. Queues formed of Madrid’s born-and-bred elite snake past the elegant wooden bar, the coiffed connoisseurs greeted with affection by the landlord himself as they wait to eat his restaurant’s specialty dish. Lucio’s signature white suit and the hushed, apparent dignity of the place are quite a contrast to the actual holy grail itself: a plate of fried eggs and fries. The eponymous owner keeps repeating in a whisper that this is the most famous restaurant in all of Spain; perhaps it truly is.

There was a dowdy little joint in Batumi, Georgia’s Black Sea port town, where two middle-aged women churned out the most exquisite Adjarian-style khachapuri pies in an old pizza oven. It was a must-stop for every trip to the coast, as there were few places in Tbilisi that could scorch such an authentic acharuli. As the years passed, the seedy potholed streets that hosted a pool hall, brothels and our favorite khachapuri joint transformed into a gentrified neighborhood of gift shops and boutiques catering to the ever-growing number of tourists flocking to Batumi. Meanwhile, the boat-shaped acharuli has become one of the most emblematic dishes of Georgian cuisine and is not only found all over Tbilisi, but is also being served in New York and Washington, DC.

Asking cariocas if they remember their first Biscoito Globo, the ubiquitous, crunchy beach snack, is like asking anyone who teethed in the United States if they remember trying Cheerios for the first time. Globo biscuits and sweet iced mate are to Rio's beaches what hot dogs and beer are to American baseball stadiums. Calls of “Ó Globo! Ó mate!” are the soundtrack along the shores of Copacabana, Ipanema and Leblon. The iconic packaging, which features a globe-headed mascot surrounded by the Eiffel Tower, the Tower of Pisa, Portugal's Belém Tower and Rio's Sugarloaf, has been reproduced on t-shirts, tote bags, and cangas (sarongs).