Like the classic optical illusion of the faces and the vase, look at Rio and you’ll see two sharply contrasting versions. First is the seemingly easygoing beach city of rubber sandals and gushy greetings as insincere as they are well intentioned. (“Passa lá em casa!” “Come by my home!” The carioca will actually be quite stunned if you show up at his home afterward.) On the other side of the illusion is the Rio that loves formality, titles, certificates and hierarchies. A Rio judge has a decade-long lawsuit against the doorman of his building, who refused to call him “doctor” and “sir,” which recently reached Brazil’s Supreme Court, which declined the case.

One of the most popular kinds of restaurants in Greece is the mezedopoleio, which, as the name indicates, specializes in traditional local meze dishes (washed down with generous amounts of ouzo or other alcoholic drinks). Back in the day, mezedopoleia were the neighborhood’s meeting points. Men gathered there most of the day to drink, have a bite, talk politics and play backgammon, chess or cards. Today, the mezedopoleio remains a simple and very affordable place to eat, sometimes operating as a kafenio (cafeteria), and often offering traditional live music to add to the experience. Among Greek cities Thessaloniki is particularly famous for its numerous and excellent mezedopoleia, which makes it very difficult to choose just a few.

Whales, mermaids, pirates, polar bears and even magicians and hobbits are part of our culinary route these days in Barcelona's Grácia neighborhood! And of course, music and food during the Festa Major de Grácia 2016!

You sit down for a meal with family or friends, and no one can decide what to order. Well, some can, some can’t, and it goes on for ages. The waiter stiffens when you ask one more time for her to come back. But go to the basement restaurant of Shavi Lomi in Old Tbilisi, and you have the answer for dithering relatives and pals: the gobi, or “Friends’ Bowl,” filled with a colorful selection of classic Georgian dishes. The word shares the same root as the Georgian word for “friend” – megobari – and so, of course, a gobi bowl is for sharing. It’s a big wooden bowl, filled with a mix of different dishes and as many spoons as you need.

In the middle of the last century, upwardly mobile Afro-Brazilians were vexed by the city’s segregated social scene. Even as they became lawyers and doctors and had the purchasing power to buy into some of the city’s finer establishments, the social clubs of the city, where a carioca could dance, play sports and mingle, would turn a cold shoulder to them. Black professionals hardly wanted to shell out money to face discrimination. That’s when Renascença Clube – “Rebirth Club” – came about. Middle-class Afro-Brazilians started their own social club, first in the blue-collar neighborhood Meier in 1951. They rented the best orchestras in town to see if anyone would come to their bailes.

In Argentina and Uruguay, asado – beef cooked over a parrilla, or open pit grill – is a fundamental part of local culture. On weekends, Sundays especially, grill smoke can be seen rising from backyards, rooftops and even small balconies, as well as, of course, from restaurant ventilators. Out of town, there are asados in chacras (small countryside farms) and in parks and picnic areas in forests. Asado’s defining role in these countries has existed for quite some time; it was even mentioned by Charles Darwin in his journals from 1833, when he was traveling towards Buenos Aires in the company of gauchos and native people.

This delicious plate of pork souvlaki is from Paradosiako, an Athens favorite of ours in the heart of Plaka. One may encounter such a delicacy on our walk through the area.

Let’s say you have only two or three days in Rio. You want to experience a little real Brazilian culture and don’t want to restrict yourself to the obvious tourist stops, overhyped bars and restaurants or usual “gringo” nightlife spots. Our recommendation? Spend a night or day – or both, even – at Feira de São Cristóvão. The feira, which means “fair,” is organized by people from the northeast (nordeste), which is the poorest region in the country. That poverty has led millions of northeasterners to migrate to Rio over the last 50 years to seek a better life. And Feira de São Cristóvão is where they express themselves culturally, musically and, last but not least, gastronomically.

After almost a century of desertification, it’s sometimes hard to believe the state of downtown Lisbon – Baixa – today. Hotels, startups, boutiques and restaurants are exploding up and down these long, narrow avenues, originally modelled on 18th-century Parisian thoroughfares, and all but abandoned by the 1990s. As the few remaining owners of the old light fittings shops and cheap canteens pray to the gods of damage limitation, a few of the new businesses do fit well into the surroundings. Japanese canteen Tasca Kome is one of them. Like all typical Portuguese tascas – traditional taverns and bars that serve food – the atmosphere at Tasca Kome is cozy and friendly.

“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.

At 10 a.m., Juan Trenado, head of cheese production at Finca Subaida, and his team had already been toiling for several hours. They moved efficiently through each step of the artisanal process, expertly crafting block after block of the famous Queso de Mahón on the Mediterranean island of Menorca. “By law” – Mahón has a protected designation of origin (D.O.P.) – “the cheese could include a little sheep’s milk, but ours doesn’t,” Trenado told us, as he directed a gushing stream of watery cheese curds from a wide hose into a big, waist-high stainless steel vat. Slowly, the vat filled nearly to the brim, and Trenado, along with Mònica Mercadal, Head of Cheese Maturation, and Ramon Alonso, a new hire, carefully stirred the curds, breaking them into small chickpea-sized pieces.

From the street, Café Lamas looks almost intentionally nondescript. A fluorescent-lit bar with a glass case of snacks and a few metal chairs would make it identical to any other lanchonete (snack bar) across the city, if it weren’t for the shadowy doorway behind the bar’s aisle. Behind that door awaits a blast from the past. Café Lamas is Rio de Janeiro’s oldest restaurant – a respectable 138 years old in a city that is rapidly putting on a new face as it buzzes with Olympic, hotel and condominium construction – and the place radiates a sense of history and tradition. Bow-tied waiters politely bend as guests enter the dining room, which is dimly illuminated by lamps on ornate cast-iron mounts.

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.