Fresh tamales are just one of the sumptuous staples of Mexico City's vibrant street food culture, which we explore on our Street Food Paradise walk.

Koukaki, in central Athens, is one of those neighborhoods that in the past few years has seen a great deal of development, despite Greece’s economic recession. Conveniently located near the Acropolis Museum, the new Contemporary Art Museum and Panteion University, this once-quiet residential district has become the talk of the town among food lovers and night owls. Modern and traditional eateries, cafeterias, bars and bakeries keep popping up, and as competition gets tougher, the quality gets better and prices get all the more attractive. (A rising tide, as they say.) Fabrika tou Efrosinou opened its doors almost two years ago.

Located in the Atlantic at the same latitude as Casablanca, Madeira may be a small island, but there’s so much to see that it takes three to five days to get a real sense of it. An hour and a half by plane from Lisbon, the capital and largest city is Funchal, a historic town whose claim to fame is a more recent one: it’s where soccer star Cristiano Ronaldo was born (a statue and a museum in his honor can both be found here). Historically one of the first settlements of the golden age of Portuguese exploration, the island became an outpost for trade and ships going to Brazil or India.

The dog is in the car whining with a lusty craze at every cat and dog she sees. It’s shedding season and tufts of her hair puff off at every lurch and bounce in the back seat, the window smeared with her nose art. We park at the top of the street and walk down to school to pick up her six-year-old master, who grumbles that she’s hungry, starving even, and asks if we can go to “that bar.” The fridge is empty at home and “that bar” – the Black Dog – stands between us and the car. It is an excellent suggestion. The Tbilisi bar scene is a recent phenomenon in the scope of what is by tradition an intense dining culture.

It’s an unseasonably warm winter day as we make our way through the residential backstreets of Higashi-Shinjuku. Drying laundry hangs on nearly every balcony of the low-rise apartments beneath a cloudless, blue sky. The streets are nearly empty, but rounding the final corner to our destination we join a stream of people from all four points of the compass congregating in front of the Tokyo branch of Nagoya-based maze-soba shop Hanabi. The story of how this particular noodle dish came to be is a winding one. In the 1970s, the Taiwanese chef Meiyū Kaku was living in Nagoya and missed a few choice flavors from home.

One feels cooler simply for patronizing La Secina. The architecture of the restaurant seems to evoke a perpetual party vibe. At dinner, individual lights dangle on long lines amid a mesh of vines that gives the cavernous space a homey, DIY feel. The teal and orange on the wall are bright and clean. The stenciled restaurant logo and exhortations of “bienvenidos” feel as organic as they do well designed. Downstairs, picnic tables radiate outwards from a long, inviting bar. Upstairs a dedicated booze closet services a patio that looks out upon a beautiful church across the street. And on weekends, live blues bands play everything from Albert Collins to Muddy Waters to Robert Johnson.

Here’s the delicious beginning of our new Crossroads culinary walk in Lisbon. The broa de Arganil is a beguiling, spice-filled cake packed with traces of Portugal’s explorations far afield.

When “A Bite of China” came out in 2012, it took China – and the rest of the foodie world – by storm. The beautifully shot documentary showed Chinese culinary artisans around the country, watching them pull whole lotus roots from the mud in Zhejiang and make steamed buns from millet in Shanxi. Yunnan cuisine in particular emerged a star, as the program showcased what makes that region’s diet unique in China: its rich landscape and the artisans who produce goat cheese, cure ham and forage for wild mushrooms. Gathering Clouds (Yunnan means “south of the clouds”) is owned by a young, Yunnan-born crew, some of whom cut their teeth in the Shanghai dining scene at Lost Heaven, the most famous and foreigner friendly of the Yunnan restaurants in town.

In Rio, there’s a saying, “And once again, suddenly it’s Carnival.” It’s a joke, of course – as if Carnival didn’t occupy cariocas’ minds a significant part of the year. But the truth is that, in a way, this is precisely what’s going on right now in the “Wonderful City.” Official Carnival events begin in two weeks, but the samba shows, parties, feasts and merriment are everywhere. Suddenly, it’s already Carnival. And this early Carnival mood expresses itself better every year at the samba schools’ rehearsals for the official parades, which are scheduled to begin on February 24. From next Thursday until then, at least 15 parties will take place at the most important samba schools’ headquarters, as well as in the Sambadrome – Rio’s main parade zone – itself.

Convincing someone to accompany you to Istanbul’s Pendik district is no small feat. The Asian-side suburb is located in the far eastern reaches of the city, a trip of at least an hour and a half from the city center requiring no less than three metros and a cab. We've been met with moans and groans upon mentioning the name, as the district is synonymous to many with the wildfire-like urban sprawl that has engulfed Istanbul over the years. Those up for the journey, however, are rewarded handsomely at Lipa, a meyhane serving Bosnian specialties. The neighborhood of Sapan Bağları is home to a large population of natives from Sandzak, a predominantly Bosnian Muslim region now split across modern-day Serbia and Montenegro.

In the southwestern part of Catalonia, in the province of Lleida, lies Les Garrigues, where the gray-green foliage of compact Arbequina olive trees stretches across some 20,000 hectares of the soft, dry landscape. This is where one of Spain’s best extra-virgin olive oils is produced. The olive tree has been cultivated in Catalonia since at least ancient Roman times, although it was probably first introduced by the Greeks in 600 BCE. Its cultivation developed alongside other typical crops that flourish in a dry climate – such as almonds, grains and grapes – until growing olives and producing olive oil became the main industry of Les Garrigues in the 19th century.

Our Song of the Sea walk celebrates Lisbon's port and the old neigborhoods surrounding it. It also, of course, features prominently the stunningly fresh seafood that is served in the area.

The fatty torik – the Turkish name for a large, mature Atlantic bonito, similar to the little tunny – courses the straits of the Bosphorus and the Dardanelles for just a short period each year in November and December. Yet the people of Istanbul eat it year-round by preserving the fish in a light brine, something it seems they have been doing for millennia – the Byzantines even minted coins with an image of the fish. Making lakerda is more than a means to preserve bonito for the rest of the year, however; it’s part of the city’s culinary instinct. Around 5 a.m. one recent morning in Yenikapı, yellow rubber boots were piled high in front of the one serene spot on the sprawling grounds of the Municipal Fish Auction.

A gloppy, meaty, cheesy brick served in a pool of sauce and with a mountain of fries: please meet the francesinha, the culinary pride and joy of the city of Porto. Today, restaurant billboards proclaim in many languages that they serve the best version in the world, revealing the genuine power of this artery-clogging combination that, incredibly, was originally conceived as a snack. We have to say it though: eating a francesinha is worth every last calorie. This dense sandwich, which is impossible to eat just with your hands, is often considered the lusophone version of the croque monsieur.

Kolonaki, or “little column” in Greek, might just be Athens’ most iconic neighborhood, forever synonymous as it is in the minds of Athenians with the wealth and idiosyncrasies of its affluent residents. Occupying the area from Syntagma square up to Lycabettus hill, it’s full of swanky boutiques, cafes and restaurants. However, one of its most famous hidden gems is actually the unfussy Philippou, a small family-run eatery that sits on a tree-dotted street away from the hustle and bustle of the main square. Founded in 1923 by Kostas Philippou, it began as a humble taverna with earthen floors and big barrels filled with home-made wine.