The buriti, which grows in wet riversides and swamps, is among the most splendid of South American palms. This tree has special significance in Brazil: it is even an unsuspecting main character in the Brazilian epic novel The Devil to Pay in The Backlands, written by João Guimarães Rosa. For the Guaraní, an indigenous group of the southwest of the country, the buriti palm is a generous being from which each element can be used: fruit, bark, leaves, oil – it’s why its name means “Tree of Life.” Now, a new Buriti has flourished in Barcelona, just a stone’s throw from the shore in the beachside Poble Nou neighborhood. A Brazilian restaurant full of nostalgic flavors prepared with great skill and served in portions to share tapas-style, but with an authentic Brazilian taste.

Summer in Provençe ushers in a multitude of promises. In Marseille, it means waking to the song of the cicadas, day trips by boat to le Frioul to cool off in the sea and the afternoon rendezvous with friends for an apéro of pastis or rosé on ice. Saturdays bring the bliss of wandering through the markets in search for the perfect melon from Cavaillon, the ciflorette strawberries from Carpentras, or the succulent coeur de boeuf tomato. Perhaps the one market item that signifies the Provençal summer more than anything else is the fleur de courgette (zucchini flower). When this lovely little flower appears, we know it is officially summertime in the South.

Although there are plenty of bars on Copacabana’s famous Avenida Atlântica – or even at the beach, at the so called quiosques – very few are worth a visit. Many are just tourist traps. Others are much too expensive. No, the really good bars in Copacabana are inland, along Barata Ribeiro street. That road, along with some of the side streets that let onto it, reveals the true face of Copacabana's popular gastronomy. One of the first bars you encounter on Barata Ribeiro is Galeto Sat's. Open seven days a week, always until 5 a.m., the bar is a bohemian temple – but it’s far from being only that. For many cariocas, Sat's serves the best galeto in town. A galeto is a very young chicken (no more than three months old) cooked over a big coal-fired grill.

Stumbling upon a haggis toastie store in the middle of Tokyo sounds like a half-remembered dream where nothing quite makes sense. It was the minimalist black store front with white type that had initially drawn us to it. It looked like a store straight out of London, and certainly not like a café that one would expect to find next to Japan’s Olympic stadium. Its menu dripped with promise: toasties (toasted sandwiches) stuffed with glorious cheese. And real bread, granary bread, something we’d never spied before in Japan. Loaves of it were stacked in rows above the counter, and a griddle sat to one side, where butter-slathered slices, jammed packed with fillings, were being flattened into crispy parcels.

Upon entering Al Fresco in the Ballarò neighborhood, we are struck by both the kind welcome and the special location – the restaurant is set in a garden enclosed within the walls of Casa San Francesco, a former seventeenth-century convent, lit by strings of lights dangling between plants and saplings. There is an immediate sense of openness, freedom and freshness. This is no coincidence: while “al fresco” in Italian can refer to the chill of being out in the open air, it is also an expression used to mean “life in prison.” The double meaning makes sense in this case – despite its first impression as a regular eatery, perhaps the most special feature of Al Fresco is that working in the kitchen and in the dining room are former inmates who have joined the team following their release from prison.

The Galleria Principe di Napoli’s beautiful arcades and art-deco ceiling made of iron and glass – built in the second half of the 19th century at the site of an ancient grain storehouse – stood silent for long time. Once a buzzing commercial and cultural hub in the heart of the city, with two of its three wings connecting the National Archaeological Museum to the Academy of Fine Arts, the Galleria was confiscated during the Fascist era and used to project propaganda films, shutting down its shops and venues. In the eighties, it was used for public offices for a time before it was left abandoned. Recently, though, the space has been brought to life, thanks to a call for bids and a handful of businesses that took on the challenge, such as a bike shop, a B&B and the lovely Lazzarelle Bistrot, among others.

At lunchtime, a line starts to form in front of Lu’s Garden in San Gabriel. Right in front of the entrance is a narrow walkway and a long counter with a line of buffet trays filled with braised pork, lap cheong (a type of dried, sweetened Chinese sausage) and more. Stacked behind them are bowls filled with more dishes like sautéed string beans and bok choy. The kitchen staff can be seen replenishing the various buffet trays seemingly every five to ten minutes, keeping them full as hungry patrons file through. Both dine-in and takeout customers choose their dishes based on what’s at the counter – there are more than enough options, as Lu’s Garden generally has fifty different dishes at a time.

Each year in late summer, some of the best athletes on the planet converge on Flushing Meadows Corona Park to compete in the United States Open Tennis Championships. In 2025, the U.S. Open begins with practice sessions and qualifier matches on Monday, August 18, and concludes with the men’s singles final, scheduled for Sunday, September 7. The tournament site does provide hungry fans with several cafés and casual bar-restaurants as well as a “food village.” But when in Queens – where some of the best food in the city is so close at hand – why would we confine ourselves to the boundaries of the tennis center? To energize ourselves beforehand or wind down afterward, here are a few of our favorite nearby dining destinations.

It doesn’t matter how early you show up to the Black Salami Microbakery – there’s always a line. Even right at 9 a.m., when the gates have just been pulled up, tourists and locals alike are waiting for fresh, flaky sandwiches and crusty loaves of bread. Clean, sleek, and cool, with funky marbled counters like a refrigerator mosaic cake, the bakery floods with light on sunny days, illuminating a display case filled with breakfast and lunch options. This is one of a number of new spots that have popped up in the Exarchia neighborhood recently. It’s also part of a transformation the neighborhood has been seeing for some time now – one that has accelerated in the past year, as the city’s newest metro line raises questions about the pros and cons of opening a major transit station in the main square.

Oaxaca City has a mysterious hour, a period of the day when time is suspended. As we walk through a hot day of Oaxaca’s eternal summer, the sun is at its zenith and the mind starts slowing down. The streets feel emptier and quieter than ever, though the soundly closed doors hide lively households of buzzing fans and cool adobe walls. When we need respite from the heat, we remember that, just around the corner, salvation awaits at Mezcalite Pop, a lush paleta (popsicle) and ice cream shop that since 2017 has been an oasis in the middle of the green quarry stone desert of Oaxaca’s historic center, always surprising us with its bold, fresh creations.

When we meet Mr. Giovanni Scalici, owner of the gelato shop La Delizia, he explains the formula for his success in one word: "Simplicity." We are in Sferracavallo, a seaside suburb of Palermo located between the mountains and a beautiful gulf. Here the coast is filled with dozens of seafood restaurants, but if you venture slightly off the promenade you will find this gem of a gelateria on Via Dammuso.

Evi Papadopoulou is no stranger to the culinary arts. A well-regarded food journalist who has written articles on pastries and desserts in the top Greek gastronomy publications, she is also a classically trained chef. She studied at the culinary school of renowned Italian pastry chef Iginio Massari and followed that up with specialized training in making artisanal gelato at Francesco Palmieri’s prestigious laboratory in Puglia, Italy. In July of 2014, Papadopoulou opened Le Greche, a gelato parlor tucked away on Mitropoleos Street, right off Syntagma Square. The parlor itself is straight out of an Alphonse Mucha painting and has an Art Nouveau feel, with its airy, muted color palette. Since it opened, the shop has accumulated quite a cult following – and for good reason.

The origin of Gelataria Portuense is not your average love story. It is a more intricate tale, worthy of the universe of writer Isaac Asimov, as it begins with a woman's passion for a machine. In this case, the woman is the Porto-based gelatiere Ana Castro Ferreira, and the device is called Effe, a prodigious gelato machine created at the hands of Otello Cattabriga, an ingenious and talented Italian inventor. When Ana – who formerly worked as a researcher on sustainable energy systems for buildings – took an interest in gelato, she went about searching for a gelato-making class. While investigating online, Ferreira came across a video in which skilled hands demonstrate the agility and elegance of the Effe machine.

The smell of clean clothes with a lavender sachet from grandma’s closet; the family farm in nearby Lleida province during summer with apple trees and wild aromatic herbs growing all around; peaches washed in seawater during a beach day; an afternoon snack of popsicles while playing under the pine tree in the garden. These are just some of the memories that neighbors left in the mailbox of Mamá Heladera in Barcelona’s Poblenou, where owner Irene Iborra turns them into gelato flavors – an initiative that was recently awarded by the Barcelona City Council as best new innovative business (XVII Premis Barcelona Comerç). Mamá Heladera sits next to Tío Che, a classic horchateria and ice-cream parlor on Rambla del Poblenou that opened in 1912.

When we first arrived in Marseille, we heard rumblings about a most intriguing ice cream flavor. A “black vanilla” whose color and savory taste was rumored to come from squid ink, fitting for the city’s Mediterranean perch. In a city where exaggeration is the norm, we had to go check it out for ourselves. A long line snaked from Vanille Noire, the name of both the ice cream shop and famous flavor. The vendor handed us our scoop, so black it looked like a photo negative of a vanilla cone. Our first lick was rich Madagascar vanilla. A few seconds later, the sweet became salty like the seaside air. We were hooked – regardless of what it was made of.