The sound of bombs has become an all too frequent occurrence in Istanbul as of late, and residents of the city's Cihangir neighborhood were spooked as ever when an explosion occurred in a building overlooking the main square early on a recent Sunday morning. Blasts sound no less scary when they are the result of gas leaks. When the smoke cleared, 75-year-old Feridun Yükseltürk was found crushed under the fallen rubble, just steps from the spot where he sold simit from a cart daily for the past six years. The tragedy sent shockwaves through Cihangir, where Feridun was a beloved figure renowned for his unwavering generosity.

Enjoying Greek meze and tsipouro at an old kafenio just behind the ancient Athenian market. On our new Moveable Sunday Feast walk!

Carioca summer culture is dictated by the heat. It’s courteous to ask guests if they’d like to take a quick shower upon arriving at your home (because everyone takes multiple showers a day in the summer). Beer at parties must be estupidamente gelado. Movie theaters sell out even for so-so films because the air conditioning inside is delícia. This year, the Rio city government took the bold step of legalizing the use of knee-length shorts for city employees and bus drivers during the summer. Four other critical ways that locals chill out are: sorvete (traditional ice cream), picolé (popsicles), gelato and sacolé (anything frozen in a plastic sack).

Veteran bartender Abílio Coelho pours shots of Lisbon's traditional liqueur, the sour cherry-based ginjinha. This spirit is a staple of our Culinary Crossroads walk. Read more about Coelho and his poison of choice in our Behind Bars feature! Thanks to Rick Poon for the photo.

Thessaloniki, the capital of Greek Macedonia and the country’s second largest metropolis after Athens, 500 km to the south, is a youth-loving, vibrant city that never sleeps – and always eats. Most locals here are friendly, laid-back, natural-born foodies who love going out and enjoying good wine and tsipouro. It’s a city with a very long history of culinary hospitality. Founded by King Cassandros in 315 BC and named after Thessalonike, his wife – half-sister of Alexander The Great – it’s referred to by Greeks as symprotevousa, “co-capital,” because of its historical status as a co-reigning city of the Byzantine Empire, along with Constantinople. In 1492 the city welcomed a large number of Jews expelled from the Iberian Peninsula.

Nakaochi appears to be a chopped-up mound of Japanese tuna, but it isn’t. It looks like it should be an inexpensive cut of fish, but it’s not. Instead it’s a rare delicacy, a one-of–a-kind culinary experience we can’t get enough of. Nihonbashi Maishi looks like just another restaurant grouped in the basement compound of the Tokyo Nihombashi Tower, but it isn’t. It appears to be an ultra-expensive establishment, but at lunchtime it’s not. It’s a favorite go-to place for true aficionados of Edo-mae sushi and nakaochi. Edo-mae sushi is considered the root of all sushi.

“I’m a vegetarian – what will I eat in Mexico other than beans and rice?” Taco-madness has so consumed the world’s view of Mexican cuisine that the traditional mainstays of the diet often don’t get the billing they deserve. Beans, corn, squash, chilies and tomatoes are grown together in milpa farms – a biodynamic system of agriculture. Anyone who has ever grown anything knows: if you let a garden grow naturally, you’ll have an abundance of leafy greens that most of us call “weeds.” Well, in Mexico, nothing edible goes to waste. Just as every bit of meat from an animal is used, so are those weeds and all the other tender leafy bits.

For every level of society inside and outside Mexico, cantinas serve as both toxin and tonic for drink, song, jocularity, wit, mayhem and mishap. Tio Pepe, now thought to be the oldest such bar in the old Aztec capital, has provided both in equal measure since way before it received its present name in 1878. The cantina is nowadays a refuge for Mexican politicians, as the nation’s state department and the city’s supreme court sit in front of it. On a Tuesday at noon, we found a huddle of operatives gathered in a booth arguing amid cocktails.

Abílio Coelho is a generous man, offering a smile to every customer while serving each of them the most traditional drink in Lisbon: ginjinha. He has spent 44 of his 63 years behind a counter serving the libation. Ginja Sem Rival, the bar he serves it in, like the best places, is a hole-in-the-wall, and the drink is made in-house. Ginja is the actual name of the liqueur, which is 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.

When Edu, owner of the Barcelona wine bar Celler Cal Marino, was growing up in the 1980s in the neighborhood of Sant Antoni, he would confuse Rafel Jordana with the iconic German soccer player and coach Bern Schuster (“Schuster is in the bar, daddy!”). Jordana, owner of the bodega that bears his name, is not so famous internationally, but he is undoubtedly one of the icons of Sant Antoni and of the old-school bodega-bar culture in Barcelona. La Bodega d’en Rafel has served as a location for a number of films and television series (such as “Cites,” the Catalan version of “Dates”), a subject of many articles and profiles and an important touchstone for a larger community that connects Barcelona locals with their identity.

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.

In Istanbul's iconic Haydarpaşa train terminal, the door of a crowded restaurant and bar opens to beams of sparkling light streaming across the Marmara Sea coast. Trains haven't departed Haydarpaşa for nearly three years while the station undergoes extensive renovations, but its restaurant, Mythos, is still open and popular as ever, a refuge for a faithful crowd of regulars, who come to drink at a train station even though they aren’t going anywhere. Built in the first decade of the 20th century by the Germans and gifted to Sultan Abdülhamid II, the station is a handsome and prominent icon of the city, an imposing presence on the city's Anatolian shoreline.

It is 9 p.m. and we are packing our bags for a red-eye flight to Poland when I realize we have no chacha, Georgia’s otherworldly elixir of distilled fermented grape pulp. We never, ever travel without chacha, and there is no way we’re going to buy over-the-counter, factory-produced product – and not because it’s over-priced. Chacha is a potion brewed by the hands of masters over wood fires in hammer-battered stills sealed in a paste of dirt and ash. Without the human touch – the artistry – chacha is just a soulless, liver-grinding liquor. I make the call. Andria deals in wine, chacha and religion from a devilish little cellar in Tbilisi’s old neighborhood of Sololaki.

The warren of streets surrounding the current Tsukiji Market – Tokyo’s main wholesale market – are filled with sushi joints, ramen stands, coffee shops and assorted other restaurants tucked between the stalls and knife makers. Walking around during morning hours one could often wonder where the people who work inside the market have their meals. The gentrification of Tsukiji has brought such an influx of tourists that the early market is now closed to outsiders. Visitors are limited to the outer parts of the market and the food stands. Restaurants are jammed. Beginning at 3 a.m. workers drift into the heart of the market and begin to set up for the 5:30 a.m. tuna auction.

This delicious, pistachio dust-covered slice of Antep katmer is as decadent as it looks, and can be enjoyed on our Two Markets, Two Continents tour.