Typically eaten at Christmastime in Spain, turrón (a type of nougat) originated centuries ago. Some historians believe it was a sweet paste with nuts eaten by athletes in ancient Rome, while others trace its origins to a more elaborate medieval Arab delicacy that combined various toasted nuts with spices and honey. First documented in Spanish by an Arab physician writing in 11th- century Andalusia, “turun” may have been introduced to the Iberian Peninsula by Arabs or Jews from North Africa during the period of al-Andalus. Either way, by the 16th century, the Spanish aristocracy was crazy about turrón, and its popularity eventually spread to all social classes and to other parts of Europe. Over time, this sweet with ancient culinary roots was further refined, becoming Spain’s most popular Christmas treat.

On Sunday around lunchtime, the streets of Sanita can get almost eerily quiet. Where normally children play, scooters zoom past, shopkeepers haggle loudly with old ladies, and neighbors stick their heads out of their windows and discuss the latest gossip, suddenly nobody is to be seen or even heard. Sanita is still a very traditional working-class neighborhood in the heart of Naples, and tradition has it that on Sunday afternoon everybody feasts: The whole family gathers around mama’s table for an hours-long lunch. If you happen to wander Sanita’s deserted streets at that time of the week, you’ll constantly catch whiffs of familiar smells: frying garlic, roasting onions, and meat simmered in sauce for many hours. And, more and more often, the tempting, spice-scented smell of curry.

As amazing as Lisbon’s food and drink scene is, many of its markets are underwhelming. The sad truth is that it’s necessary to head outside of the capital to witness spaces that showcase the real bounty of Portugal’s fields, orchards, vineyards, farms and waters. The recently-renovated Mercado do Bolhão, in Porto, is one such place. Or the expansive, seafood-forward Mercado de Olhão, in the country’s far south. From Lisbon, visits to either of these would involve time-consuming trips, but thankfully, one of the country’s best markets is located an hour south of the city. 

Over many epochs, Marseille has experienced waves of immigration and is considered to be an invaluable gateway city to France. Italian immigration to Marseille began in the late 18th century and increased significantly after the end of World War I, when France's industrial development required a great deal of labor. During the interwar period, 90 percent of the foreign population in Marseille was Italian. Still today, 30 percent of the city’s population is of Italian origin. The current mayor of Marseille, Benoît Payan, is from a family with Italian roots. The similarities between Provençal and Italian dialects are evident. There is no doubt that this cultural history has influenced the culinary tradition of the city. Pizza was first introduced to France in Marseille. All over the city, there are small Italian épiceries (specialty food shops) and restaurants.

Tomoyuki Kohno seems like someone who would rather be making pizza than talking about pizza. He speaks slowly, probing the words as they emerge from his mouth as though he’s hand-writing them down; we struggle to hear him over the background music. Our conversation is pregnant with pauses. We’re at Pizzeria GG, a cozy basement-level pizzeria in the backstreets of Kichijoji near Inokashira Park. Today’s ominous skies meant that the lunch service was relatively quiet for a Friday, but the restaurant was still full of customers, right until the pizza oven went dark at a quarter to three. It’s nice to know you can get a pizza at half past two – lunch options in Tokyo dramatically dwindle after 1:30pm.

Important holidays have long been associated with large feasts and for centuries have functioned as an excuse to treat family and guests to something special. Christmas in Greece is no exception: there are many culinary traditions associated with the Christmas season, known as Dodekaimero (twelve days), which officially begins on December 24 and ends on January 6. Nowadays many Greeks associate the Christmas table with a roast stuffed turkey, a tradition that arrived in Europe from North America, particularly Mexico, around the 1820s. It gradually became fashionable in Greek cities and over time turned into a Christmas staple, with a traditional stuffing prepared mainly with chestnuts, chopped turkey liver, minced meat, pine nuts and raisins.

The black-and-white photo shows a crowd, a policeman and José Martins holding a piece of salted cod, all crammed together in Manteigaria Silva, a small, historic shop in Baixa. It’s from a newspaper clipping dated December 10, 1977 – Christmas season. That year Portugal experienced a shortage of bacalhau, the beloved salt cod that was (and still is) a Christmas Eve favorite, and the people of Lisbon were so desperate to get their preserved fish that the police were often called in to maintain order. The scene at Manteigaria Silva played out at shops across the city. José, who still oversees the bacalhau section at Manteigaria Silva, remembers those days well. “Hard to imagine now but people were fighting for salt cod, that’s why we had to call the police,” he recalls.

Voilà vé is a Marseillais interjection meaning “look here.” Look – and taste, Victor Million-Rousseau and his partner Alix Huguet might add. They are the owners of the Camas neighborhood’s organic wine bar Voilà Vé, which opened its doors just six months before the first Covid-19 lockdown and the ensuing rocketing upsurge in the organic market with new concern for nature and health during the pandemic. The bar has survived the last couple of tumultuous years, sustained by the quality of its selection and its democratic approach to wine-tasting. Following a heatwave and cold beer summer, the splendid autumn weather in this capital of Provence invites new adventures in wine. At Voilà Vé, we can do this without ever leaving Marseille.

Ramen has been, arguably, one of Japan’s biggest culinary exports in the past few years. Across the globe, new legions of converts will proclaim to be tonkotsu (pork bone broth) fans, avid followers of the shoyu (soy sauce) style, or miso ramen aficionados. Yet a new store in Sugamo, a northern Tokyo suburb, is throwing its weight behind a type of ramen – iekei – still little known outside of Japan. Sugamo isn't the kind of place that's known for being trendy. In fact, it's colloquially known as "Obachan no Harajuku" (Grandma's Harajuku) due to the array of shops catering to the elderly – although there are a couple of less salubrious streets geared towards a certain male clientele.

A small group of sommeliers, oenophiles, and at least one intrepid food and beverage writer are gathered outside Grape Wine Boutique in Istanbul’s Teşvikiye neighborhood. More than once does a passing car feel the need to honk as the crowd, tasting glasses in hand, spills into the narrow street from the even more narrow sidewalk. As the first cork is pulled, a nervous energy spreads among the group.  We’ve gathered to taste the first official vintage of Mesashuna Wines, the only licensed winery in Turkey’s northeastern Artvin province, a rugged region not far from the border with Georgia.

While the pandemic has forced many restaurants in Lisbon to shutter their doors, even if only temporarily, and fight for their survival, it left chef Marlene Vieira with a related yet slightly different dilemma: Her latest venture, Zunzum Gastrobar, was scheduled to open in March, before being postponed indefinitely due to the Covid-19 lockdown. The delay worried Vieira – so much work had already gone into the project. As the city started coming back to life, the chef assessed the situation and felt it was better to open in the beginning of August rather than waiting for September, when the reopening of schools and other measures might bring new challenges to everyday life. “Now it’s a relaxed time, people are on holidays or feeling less stressed,” she says.

We're always glad for a second bite at a wonton. At Maxi's Noodle, in Flushing, this Hong Kong delicacy is notably larger than its Chinese forebears. The dumplings and fish balls at Maxi’s are hefty, too, each large enough to require two delicious bites, if not three. The size wouldn't matter, however, if the wontons weren't wonderful – the pale pink of fresh shrimp, combined with a little pork, gleams from within their translucent wrappers. The restaurant's namesake, Maxi Lau, 33, was born in Hong Kong. In 1997, not long before the handover of the territory from the United Kingdom to China, her family emigrated to the United States. They settled on Long Island, in the eastern suburbs of New York City, but the family did most of their shopping in Flushing – home to New York's largest Chinatown – and often ate dinner there, too. It was a "second home," Maxi says.

If there were ever such a thing as an oracle for gentrification, Eka Janashia believes her father could qualify as one. We’re sitting in Eka’s chic café, Satatsuri, with its earthy brick walls and warm wood floors – a space that used to be the family head’s modest two-bedroom ground floor apartment in a rather rundown corner of Marjanishvili. The district was established in the early 17th century by German migrants who were invited  by Tsar Alexander I to settle in what was then part of the Russian Transcaucasian Empire. 

“Can I have some wine? I’m a little sober now,” calls chef Katy Cole to sommelier and server Ben over the buzz of conversation and clinking cutlery. We’re two hours into the brunch service. He fills her glass, and she tips it back, taking a quick gulp. “I didn’t know it was going to be that kind of morning,” she says, laughing. “I’m in a good place.” It may be drab and drizzly outside in the backstreets of Meguro, but it is always warm and sunny inside Locale, Cole’s little farm-to-table restaurant.

The area around Mis (meaning “Pleasant-Smelling”), Kurabiye (“Cookie”) and Süslü Saksı (“Fancy Flowerpot”) Streets is as eclectic and appealing as these monikers would suggest, at least as far as we're concerned. This corner in the backstreets of Istanbul's Beyoğlu district is home to a trifecta of our favorite local haunts: Müşterek, its sister meyhane, Meclis, and a bar on the floor above, called Marlen. It’s also an area that has maintained the gritty yet lively character of the city's longtime entertainment hub in spite of profound changes that have threatened to strip it of that title.