“The people with permits, they are not working. We vendors on the streets, we need more permits,” yelled Mehdi, a New York street vendor of Bengali origin, at a recent protest for more permits. Street vending in the city – in particular food vending – is largely the domain of immigrants like Mehdi, seemingly an easy way to start earning an income. But selling food from a street cart is no easy ride. Sean Basinski, Director of the Street Vendor Project, which advocates on behalf of street-based sellers, says food vendor licenses are relatively easy and inexpensive to acquire. There is no cap on the number of food licenses issued. There’s a catch, though.

No matter how long your stay in Mexico City, you’ll simply never “taste it all.” In the cycle of each day, from tamales, atole and morning licuados to midday comida and evening tacos, this great culinary city is in perpetual motion. Want Yucatecan cuisine? Oaxacan? Restaurants abound where you can experience the cuisines of other regions, but the street food, fondas and market stalls in general reflect the regional cuisine of Estado de México. To properly understand “Mexican food” and its regional diversity, get out of town. Just a little more than two hours from Mexico City’s Centro Historico is a Pueblo Mágico called Tepoztlán. The bus ride there passes through three national parks along the way.

Phkali, in spite of it's meaty appearance, is actually a vegetarian-friendly Georgian specialty of beets, ground walnuts, vinegar, onions, garlic, and herbs. This version is from Armazis Kheoba, a favorite of ours just outside Tbilisi.

“We say if you leave a Cretan pappou [grandfather] alone in the Cretan mountains, six months later you’ll find him fatter,” said dietitian-turned-restaurateur Panayiotis Magganas. He smiled wide. “Our land is incredibly rich.” The fertility of Greece’s largest island is part of the inspiration behind Peskesi, his restaurant in old town Heraklion that showcases the diversity of Crete’s cuisine through recipes he says are slowly being forgotten. “Even people from Crete don’t know some of these dishes,” he said. Set in an intricately refurbished Byzantine-era mansion, the restaurant still retains some of the charming details of the once-collapsing space, including a 100-year-old lemon tree that is the centerpiece of one dining room.

It might have become one of the more fashionable places in Rio for a caipirinha, yet the name of this father-son joint – “Portuguese Kiosk” – suggests humility. Indeed, the pair got their start a decade ago in one of the numerous huts that line the city’s beaches. While the majority of their competitors served the tasty, tried-and-true Rio basics – traditional caipirinhas made with cachaça; beer and French fries – to sandy-toed beachgoers, Manoel Alves, now in his early seventies, wanted to offer something different. He tried importing cheeses from Portugal, his parents’ homeland (hence the venue’s name), but found that the international products went bad too quickly to please health inspectors.

Queens these days is New York’s street cart central. According to the Street Vendor Project, which advocates for vendor rights in the five boroughs, the largest concentration of street vendors with licenses lives in that borough. This concentration of streetside sellers is easy enough to see on six-mile-long Roosevelt Avenue, which runs through six of Queens’ most ethnically diverse neighborhoods with a dizzying assortment of vendors catering to almost every taste and nationality, depending on the time of day. It’s not always easy work. At a recent monthly meeting of street vendors in Corona, Queens, the air was thick with grievances about the conditions they have to work under.

We were cutting grapes in a vineyard in eastern Georgia’s Kakheti region when two young men led a goat by a rope to a nearby tree and sliced its neck with a hefty hunting knife. Our lunch. They offered us a sliver of fresh raw liver with sardonic smiles, insisting it was the best part, but we passed and waited for the meat to be cut, skewered and roasted over the coals of tsalami, or vines. Served with bread, razor-sharp sheep cheese, whole tomatoes, cucumbers and rkatsateli wine, nothing could have been more Kakhetian. Since that harvest, we have been to scores of Kakhetian restaurants in Tbilisi, most of which were gratifying, but none had goat on their menus.

When in season, fried hamsi (anchovies) and tekir (mullet) are among the tasty treats encountered on our Two Markets, Two Continents walk in Istanbul.

Watching old Greek movies from the 1950s, '60s and '70s has been a rite of passage for every single generation raised in Greece from the '80s onwards. When we were young, these movies played endlessly on TV, getting us acquainted with the Greece our parents grew up in.There were a number of things that both puzzled and delighted us – chief among them, the patisserie-as-meeting-place. The heroine, wearing a pillbox hat over expertly coiffed hair, would meet her girlfriends or potential love interest in grand-looking pastry shops, where she would be served by waiters in uniforms and eat a pasta, an individual portion of dessert: soft sponge cake with almond and cream or chocolate fillings.

Cacilhas is the waterfront area of Almada, a small city reachable via a €1.20 ferry ride from Lisbon’s Cais do Sodré terminus. The district is heavily marked by its shipbuilding past and has an industrious character that, for now, is still preserved in its food culture. Right in front of its boat station is a concentration of traditional marisqueiras, typical seafood houses from where you can glimpse a sweeping view of almost the whole of Lisbon across the other side. The seafood platter is a must in any of these traditional spots. It is usually composed of stuffed crab, spiny lobster and giant prawns, accompanied by the classic amêijoas à bulhão pato – clams cooked in garlic, coriander, pepper and olive oil.

Athletes, spectators and everyone else gathered in Rio for the Summer Olympics will have no shortage of good eating options – and not just in the usual touristed areas. We’ve rounded up some of our favorite spots around town. CADEG The 100,000-square-meter market is divided into three warehouse-style floors, with a pavilion just for flower sales at the rear of the second floor. (The building sits on an incline, so you can enter from the street either on the ground floor or from behind the second.) The market is open 24 hours. Early mornings on Thursday and Saturday are the top time for flower shopping. Saturday afternoon is Cantinho das Consertinas’s Festa Portuguesa, with up to 1,000 attendees queuing for a host of salt cod dishes on the second floor.

Hidden within Mouraria’s maze of narrow streets is a tiny eatery offering usually hard-to-find fare in Lisbon: Goan cuisine. Situated a couple of minutes away from Martim Moniz – a revamped square that some years ago was named the multicultural core of the capital – this haven of flavors is a veteran of food diversity in the neighborhood. Tentações de Goa (“Temptations of Goa”) opened 20 years ago, when the multi-ethnic character of the area was more marginalized and not considered cosmopolitan, and when international restaurants were not as numerous and crowded as they are today. In the 1990s Maria, the now-busy owner of the small restaurant, was just a regular customer here, an avid fan of the elderly Goan woman who originally ran the place.

When you’re in the capital of Sichuan province, snacking is a way of life. Noodles made of bracken, wheat, chickpeas, mung beans and more, as well as tofu puddings and dumplings, make up the city’s “small eats” (小吃, xiǎochī) scene, served from what’s colloquially known as “fly restaurants.” A step above street food, these family-owned eateries are so called because they attract diners like flies, despite what might seem like a less-than-hygienic atmosphere, because the food is too good to miss. Find a hole-in-the-wall that has more diners than stools, and order one of these local specialties for a delicious meal.

Quintal Gourmet is the story of a doting son, one who's also delighted to be able to spend more time in his home, the City of God. Yes, the one from the movie. Carlos Vinícius, 29, a man as towering as he is smiley, looks at his mother, wiry and fast-talking Joyce, with a doe-eyed affection that seems to be deeply mutual. "I always followed my mom," he says. Before Quintal Gourmet, the two worked as domestic help, with Carlos Vinicíus a caretaker for an elderly woman. When his 72-year-old patroa passed away, he longed to spend more time with his own community rather than leave the favela each day for work.

On the night of July 15, electricity consumption on the European side of Istanbul rose by a staggering 52 percent. People frantically clutched their smartphones, plugged in their chargers, and remained glued to their TV screens. Turks watched with terror as a military coup attempt played out like a twisted B action movie. Tanks ran over people and shot them in the street. An F-16 left a sonic boom in its wake sounding no different than an exploding bomb. Jets fired on the parliament building in Ankara.