Le Mistral, as the strong northwesterly wind is known here in Marseille, returned on a recent September day for the first time in a long while. It is an indicator of the change of seasons and that autumn is upon us. A driving wind that blows directly down the Rhone Valley to the Mediterranean, it averages 30-50 miles per hour. Le Mistral is so celebrated that for 30 years, Marseille has held La Fête du Vent (The Wind Festival) and ironically, it coincides today with its return. It is also the reason that we enjoy 300 days per year of luminous, sunny skies. The wind is said to bring good health, and one reason for good wine, because it clears the vines and dries the soil.

You are motionless, stuck in a traffic jam after a long day at work while your stomach growls. You know the rest of the family will be hungry when you get home and that the fridge is empty and sad. Shopping and cooking is out of the question, so you turn onto a Vera side street, zig-zag through one-way lanes to Tatishvili Street, double park, and run into a tiny gastronomic oasis that has been saving lives like yours for nearly a decade. Its name is Tartan. Located in a step-down ground-floor apartment, takeout cafeterias don’t get homier than this. The front room is taken up with a long counter of refrigerated display cases half filled with enough ready-made dishes to lay down a feast when you get home.

The quick trip to France for indulgences not found in Spain is something of a tradition among the Catalan people. During the Francoist regime, many people used to drive to France to skip the dictator’s censorship and wait in long lines in the Perpignan cinemas to see classics of erotic cinema of the time – like The Last Tango in Paris – or to get books and magazines forbidden in Spain. Nowadays, you’d still be hard-pressed to find a Catalan who travels to southern France for the weekend and returns empty-handed, though now they’re like to bring back wine, an artisan pâté, or one of hundreds of wonderful French cheeses.

Le République may be one of the most beautiful restaurants in Marseille. A historic space that once housed Café Parisen (from 1905, with its boulodrome for games of pétanque on the lower floor), it has been elegantly renovated and was reopened at the beginning of 2022 as a restaurant gastronomique solidaire—a gourmet “solidarity restaurant” and unique community project that embraces both guests and workers. But, without reading about it, diners would never guess this. Instead, they would take a table in the luminous space (1200 square meters!) with minimalist aesthetics, lofty ceilings, cornices, and great, dried flower-and-leaf chandeliers. There, they would discover Michelin-star chef Sébastien Richard and his team’s delightful creations, refined and simple, kindly served. Unknowingly, these guests participate directly in Le République social project.

It’s a Thursday morning at Katsuo Shokudo, a basement breakfast diner in the backstreets of Shibuya decorated with fish-themed paraphernalia. Today is slow and relaxed. Dressed in shades of indigo, most notably a T-shirt proclaiming “KATSUO 100%,” proprietor Mai Nagamatsu is a one-woman show in charge of the entire operation today, washing and draining rice, frying fish, taking orders, sharpening her knives, now and then breaking out with a stream of lively banter in her bright, ringing voice. The name of her restaurant translates to “Skipjack Tuna Cafeteria,” and as the name suggests, it’s all about the eponymous fish. It specializes in all things katsuobushi, or skipjack tuna flakes – the smoky, piscine backbone of Japanese cuisine.

It was our first Tbilisi summer stroll down the city’s main drag, Rustaveli Avenue; two sweaty, newly arrived pie-eyed tourists tripping on the 2001 reality. There were billboards advertising the recent kidnapping of a Lebanese businessman, policemen in crumpled gray uniforms extorting money from random motorists with a wag of their batons, and at the top of the street, a former luxury hotel looking like a vertical shanty was full of displaced Georgians from Abkhazia. Parched and cotton-mouthed, we entered a café of sorts for cool respite. The room had high ceilings, was stark and all marble-tiled, including the long, wide bar. A splendid social-realism mosaic of women, grapes and wine was laid into the back wall. The counter was decorated with a few tin ashtrays and a spinning rack holding several tall cone-shaped beakers filled with technicolored syrups.

During our visit to Mescladís Borrel Restaurant & School, Victoria Gio, coordinator of the Mescladís program, is on the phone for a long time. She smiles and looks around trying to find someone – she has good news for one of the students. It is Ibrahima, a tall, shy student from Senegal who at the moment is concentrated on preparing bissap, a delicious hibiscus flower infusion that is served as cold refreshment in the Mescladís restaurants. Ibrahima has secured a job in a local restaurant, and together with Gio will start the process to help him to arrange all the documents he needs. We congratulate him.

On this tour we will focus on one of the most neighborhoods of the city. Located in the northwest area of the city, Azcapotzalco is both ancient and anachronic, a place that has witnessed centuries of history passing through its fields and streets.

When it first opened in 2017, Hualing Tbilisi Sea Plaza was supposed to be the largest shopping mall in the South Caucasus. But all signs suggest that the gigantic commercial center has yet to live up to its great expectations, with one journalist noting that at times “shoppers were outnumbered by shops.” The mall was one of the flashy elements of a $170 million investment by the Chinese Hualing Group that went into transforming 420 hectares of a desolate eastern Tbilisi suburb called Varketili into Hualing Tbilisi Sea New City, with developments that included a colossal glass-shrouded 5-star hotel, rows of 10-story residential complexes and expansive avenues that abruptly adjoin wiggly side streets at the borders of the project site.

The annual Congresso dos Cozinheiros (the Congress of Cooks) returns to Lisbon this 25th and 25th of September, with two days of events, workshops and conferences. It’s one of the highlights of the year for professional chefs, but also an event open to all food and restaurant lovers. The theme of this year’s Congress is a particularly rich one: Conexão Africana – the African Connec-tion. The gathering is organized, as always, by Paulo Amado, a man who has battled and worked end-lessly for chefs and restaurants in Portugal. Paulo is a jack of all trades; an author, musician and songwriter. He is perhaps most widely known for Edições do Gosto, his multidisciplinary company dedicated to Portuguese gastronomy.

Japan is well known for its variety of national dishes, as well as local specialties claimed by individual regions and cities. Tokyo, which boasts more Michelin stars than any city in the world, is a natural nexus for these disparate eats, as well as more international fare. It may come as a surprise, then, that Tokyo itself only really has one true homegrown specialty: monjayaki. The baseline ingredients for monjayaki, often referred to simply as monja, are nothing more than wheat flour and dashi, that ubiquitous Japanese broth made from kombu (kelp) and shavings of katsuobushi, dried, fermented and smoked skipjack tuna. Cabbage is also common enough to be considered a third basic ingredient.

Dreamers make the world more beautiful. These extravagant eccentrics fascinate us with their seemingly impossible, utopian ventures, while equally making us wonder how their projects endure. Mario Avallone, 62, is one of these people. Get to know him, and he’ll happily tell you his tale: his travels around the world, his years living in Sicily, his incredible projects and the Mediterranean goods that he sources from A-to-Z. It is this truly extraordinary expertise in gastronomic culture that feeds his Neapolitan pantry – Drugstore Napoli – and the attached tasting room, La Stanza del Gusto, which was created to satisfy the most discerning palates, Neapolitans and travelers alike.

We were surprised to learn that Jack Dempsey’s restaurant was named after Richard “Jack” Dempsey, a straw hat wearing, cigar chomping former police reporter for the defunct States-Item newspaper, and not after the professional boxer Jack Dempsey, famously known as the Manassa Mauler. Dempsey’s, which occupies a white, converted double shotgun house across from the now deserted F. Edward Hebert Defense Complex, is a throwback to a different era of New Orleans, when neighborhood restaurants dominated the landscape, and you never had to walk too far to get a good meal.

It has been an endless summer in Barcelona. The temperatures are historically high and use of public air-conditioning historically low due to government-imposed energy saving measures. We are learning to live with what looks like a constant heat wave, where the best hours of the day start at night. The city is now recovering its social and cultural activity after the holidays and the urban and green spaces, with its open-air terraces and inner patios, are still the authentic heart of the city where to meet up with friends and indulge yourself with a delicious bite and a cold glass of wine.

Much has been written about the yamabushi of the Dewa Sanzan mountains in Yamagata Prefecture, about two and a half hours north of Tokyo via bullet train. The yamabushi are followers of Shugendo, an ascetic mountain religion best thought of as an amalgamation of Shinto, Buddhism, Taoism, and mountain worship. Shrouded in secrecy and more than a little mystery, their ascetic practices might seem more like superhuman feats to the layperson: yamabushi famously commit to often physically grueling, spiritual practices of self-denial, like circumambulating mountains on straw sandals year-round, or meditating for hours under freezing waterfalls. Food might not seem of great importance while in pursuit of enlightenment, but it turns out that what you eat in your spiritual practice is just as important as your other activities.