In most countries around the world, it’s safe to say that steak is a minimalist affair – a dish that, in some cases, combines perhaps no more than beef and salt. In Portugal, however, people tend to go in the other direction. “It’s a steak that’s pan-fried, and served with smoked ham, bay leaf, garlic and white wine,” says Manuel Fernandes, when we ask him to describe the country’s signature steak dish, bife à portuguesa, “Portuguese-style steak.”

Mount Everest Deli may appear, to many of its customers, interchangeable with its neighbors – Globe Smoke & Convenience, Seneca Deli Corp., or any of the dozens of Ridgewood bodegas that are instantly familiar to any New Yorker. Passersby on Myrtle Avenue dash in for a pack of cigarettes, a tube of off-brand super glue, or a turkey bacon-egg-and-cheese on a roll. But inhale deeply while shopping there and you’ll smell masala. Peek behind the deli counter and you’ll see momos – Himalayan dumplings – tumbling onto the griddle. Mount Everest isn’t just a corner store. It’s a distinctive, tradition-bending urban Nepalese restaurant.

Join us as we begin in Athens and then move to Tinos, where we’ll explore the unique island.

Join us as we begin in Athens and then move to Tinos, where we’ll explore the unique island.

Sicily’s rich, volcanic soil has borne many fruits: grapes, figs, peaches and citrus, to name just a few. It has also cultivated fiery debates and regional rivalries about details of traditional recipes; culinary wars whose significance is usually lost on most non-Italians. One such debate concerns the proper way of pronouncing one of Sicily’s most beloved snacks: the arancini (plural) – stuffed rice balls, battered and deep-fried. Whereas the west of the island refers to it as arancina, the east calls it arancino. Cue Spaghetti Western music. Over the centuries, Palermo has experienced and absorbed various cultures and their cuisines. The influence of Arabs and North Africans play an especially prominent role, dating back to the period of 827-1091 A.D.

As the call to prayer drifts from mosque to mosque and lights flicker on in anticipation of dusk, everyone around us takes a sip of water and wolfs down a date, almost in unison. It is the start of Ramadan and, here in Sultanahmet Square, folks are breaking their first fast of this holy month. They have been waiting patiently for the loud cannon blast which announces the day’s end – a tradition of old that still persists here in the square, though the loud bang often frightens unsuspecting tourists – sitting on blankets spread in the square’s grassy patches and pulling tupperwared iftar meals out of plastic bags and picnic baskets.

Aghmashenebeli avenue – the main street on the left bank of the Mtkvari River – is well-known for its Turkish eateries and the presence of Barbarestan, a popular Georgian restaurant. But a handful of new food joints have opened recently, serving mainly Indian and Middle Eastern food, and sometimes a mix of both. One of these new spots is Beirut Saj, which opened in April 2022. The venue is easy to miss when walking along the never-ending Aghmashenebeli avenue – its entrance is discrete and you have to take a few steps down to enter. A hint that you’ve arrived at the right place is the sight of barber shops. A Turkish barber is located upstairs, and next door, in the basement, is a Lebanese barbershop called Miami.

Lisbon’s communities from Portugal’s former colonies provide the strongest link to the country’s past, when it was the hub of a trading empire that connected Macau in the east to Rio de Janeiro in the west. Though integral elements of Lisbon life, these communities can sometimes be an invisible presence in their adopted land, pushed out to the periphery of the city. With our “Postcolonial Lisbon” series, CB hopes to bring these communities back into the center, looking at their cuisine, history and cultural life. In this third installment of the series, we dive into Lisbon’s Mozambican community. 

We didn’t exactly receive a warm welcome at Feira do Relógio, a weekly market that unfolds along a suburban strip north of Lisbon’s city center. “I saw you taking photos from the bridge! What are you doing?” shouted a man as he approached us aggressively. “You can’t take photos of people!” We explained calmly that we were taking photos for an article, and that people would not feature in those images. He hassled us a bit more before eventually wandering away. Later, we saw him selling knockoff socks from a bag slung over his shoulder. The rest of our visit was event-free, but the incident was a reminder of the occasional semi-legal nature of this market.

Every day, Yuki Motokura records the temperature and the humidity, and checks in on his pizza dough. He adjusts the flour, water and salt in minute increments, and logs the results with precision. “Even if the data is the same, it might not come out the same,” Motokura says. “Pizza is just that difficult.” While there’s no failsafe trick, he says he’s developed a kind of sense for how the dough might behave during his years of experience. “I lift the lid on the fermenting dough and I have a kind of discussion with it,” he explains. “‘What shall we do today?’”

The sunny, dry Oaxacan climate creates the perfect setting for enjoying cold drinks. While Oaxaca is known worldwide for its mezcal production, it’s beer that’s easily the most popular drink across the state. Whether served in ice-cold glasses with a plate of salty peanuts, alongside juicy tacos or guacamole, beer – affordable and easier to handle than other spirits – is very likely to be the local drink of choice. One of the oldest alcoholic drinks in history, beer entails a universe of styles, flavors and textures continually explored by brewers all around the world, and Oaxaca doesn’t want to be left behind.

Walk around Piazza Marina and you will come across several city monuments and historical sites. You’ll be enchanted by Palazzo Steri, which today houses the university rectory but until a few centuries ago was home to the infamous Inquisition Tribunal. You will also find the place where the famous New York policeman of Italian origin, Joe Petrosino, who came to Palermo to investigate the Sicilian mafia, was murdered in the early 20th century. At the center of the square, in Villa Garibaldi, designed by the famous architect Basile and dedicated to the leader of the Unification of Italy, stands the largest Ficus tree in Europe: a true natural monument that unloads the weight of its prominence on branches that end up expanding its roots by breaking their way through centuries-old sidewalks.

Like other young French chefs who receive classical training in their home country, Jeanne and Jean-Phillip Garbin headed abroad to gain some practical experience. The couple, in fact, went all the way to Australia, only to find themselves working brutally long hours and longing for home. The two eventually returned to France, landing in Marseille – Jeanne’s hometown – where for the last two years they have been running Nestou, a cozy spot in the Catalan neighborhood that allows them to cook a small selection of fine French-Mediterranean food and maintain a positive, comfortable atmosphere.

There’s something about Rakoumel that tastes like home. You might not have a Greek grandma, but dig your fork into any of the dishes here, and for a moment, you can almost imagine you do. The space itself is cozy, with indoor seats that look into a garden and the kitchen to the back. In the front, the sidewalk is speckled with tables that are almost always full, and live music spills into the street when bands set up at one of the tables. It’s a place where raki flows, where an electric energy invites you to come back and feel like you’re part of the family. And Rakoumel is, in fact, a family business. The owner, Yiannis, opened the restaurant 17 years ago with his mother, Argyro.

There’s something about Rakoumel that tastes like home. You might not have a Greek grandma, but dig your fork into any of the dishes here, and for a moment, you can almost imagine you do. The space itself is cozy, with indoor seats that look into a garden and the kitchen to the back. In the front, the sidewalk is speckled with tables that are almost always full, and live music spills into the street when bands set up at one of the tables. It’s a place where raki flows, where an electric energy invites you to come back and feel like you’re part of the family. And Rakoumel is, in fact, a family business. The owner, Yiannis, opened the restaurant 17 years ago with his mother, Argyro.