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.

Back in our college days, in the mid 2000s in Mexico City, we spent hours talking with our fellow students about the foods we missed the most from home. When we, the “Oaxacan delegation,” brought up piedrazos, everyone in the room laughed. They could not fathom something with such a name – piedrazo literally means to be hit with a hard stone in Spanish – as being edible. We had no idea that our beloved snack, a true classic in Oaxaca, was totally unfamiliar to the rest of our friends. A piedrazo is a piece of very, very hard crunchy bread (hence the name) with pickled carrot, onions and potatoes, dunked in a fruit- and chile-based vinegar and dusted with chile powder and – if you’re feeling fancy – quesillo (fresh Oaxacan cheese).

Outside of Kristal Ocakbaşı, a small grill joint tucked away on a side street in the Pangaltı neighborhood, Obama sat greeting the regulars who streamed in to watch a soccer game while feasting on kebab. “What’s the news, Obama?” asked one man with shoulder-length white hair. “Selam aleykum, Obama,” said another. One woman patted him on the head and baby talked to him, calling him by the affectionate nickname “Obiş.” Though we’d never heard such fond regard for the American president, Obama – the tanker-sized street dog of Eşref Efendi Sokak – took it in stride, yawning lazily. It was just another Monday night among his adoring constituents.

Cabana do Pescador (the fisherman’s hut) got its start some 50 years ago with a very simple premise: A fisherman named Luís Maria Lourenço decided to sell his leftover daily catch by grilling it on iron barrels halved lengthwise – an old-school upcycled getup that can still be seen at many popular tascas. Since then, this no-frills fish shack has become such an institution that the strip of Costa da Caparica coastline where it sits has come to be known as cabana de pescador as well. Costa da Caparica was originally comprised of small fishing villages. In the 1970s, it became the favorite seaside getaway for Lisboetas, owing to its proximity to the Portuguese capital and its numerous spacious beaches.

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 2021, the U.S. Open begins with practice sessions and qualifier matches on Tuesday, August 24, and concludes with the men's singles final, scheduled for Sunday, September 12. The tournament site does provide hungry fans with several cafés and casual bar-restaurants as well as a pair of “food villages.” 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.

Happiness comes in all forms, but according to Aristotle’s scale there are four distinct levels to this particular emotion – say, for example, waking up to a glorious sunny day (laetus), getting a special discount from your local green grocer (felix) or watching your dog do its business in a sinister neighbor’s yard (beatitudo). Looking out the window, the snow-capped Caucasus along the horizon on this bright day, our eyes scan the city and settle over our own neighborhood of Vera, below. We sigh a sensual “yes” and nod smugly with our arms crossed because now there is a place in the hood where we can experience each of Aristotle’s levels of happiness in one splendid sitting.

After a long, hot day of shopping (locals) or visiting museums (tourists) in Mexico City’s Centro Histórico, La Azotea rooftop restaurant may seem like a mirage at first. Located on the terrace of Barrio Alameda, a boutique mall and Mexican Art Déco building that was charmingly restored several years ago, La Azotea looks out over green trees, colonial bell towers, blue-tiled cupolas and the avant-garde buildings of Mexico City’s center and Alameda Central park. This oasis is for real, says its bartender, Ángel Salatiel Flores (32), who is quenching people’s thirst with more than just sparkling water. Dating back to the 1920s, the Barrio Alameda building was constructed by a German doctor and soon after became a professional services buildings for folks like lawyers and accountants.

In the West, tofu is considered a boring dish desperately in need of other ingredients to make it interesting. Not so in Japan and especially in Kyoto. Tofu is a well-known component of Kyoto regional cooking, and locals consider tofu to be the star of the show. When visiting Kyoto during November and December’s peak leaf-viewing season we always make sure to book a meal at one of the city’s wonderful selection of tofu-centric eateries. Our very favorite is Tousuiro, a Kyoto institution where the tofu is made in house from domestically grown soybeans. At Tousuiro, tofu turns into a dazzling spectacle. The meal is not only delicious: It is the perfect Kyoto experience.

Order a grenadine in France, and you’ll get a glass of bright red syrup made from pomegranate to sip with water for a refreshing quaff. In Armenia, the grenade – pomegranate – is a national icon, depicted in art, consumed at meals and made into a local liqueur. Stemming from the country’s ancient mythology, the grenade symbolizes fertility and abundance, making it a fitting name for Couleur Grenade, a female-owned Armenian restaurant in Marseille. From stuffed eggplant to tchi kefté (beef tartare), Couleur Grenade offers a lexicon in Armenian cuisine. Growing up in Lyon, the restaurant’s owner, Gayane Doniguian was French at school – her friends called her Delphine – and Armenian at home. Cooking with her grandmother at an early age sealed her love for Armenian cuisine.

My memories of helados (ice cream) as a kid in the small Galician town of Vigo in the 80s are mostly of the signs outside kiosks advertising Colajets (a cola and lemon flavored popsicle) and Frigo Pies (strawberry ice cream shaped like a foot) – colorful, industrial fantasies on a stick. The quality ice creams of my town were represented by two unique parlors (Di San Remo and Capri), which always had long lines in the summer. However, these places were reserved for very special Sundays. Barcelona’s version of such traditional spots were the Valencian turronerías and horchaterías (orxaterias in Catalan), where locals could get tasty helados with a more artisanal bent. But as the city grows, many of these longstanding places have been disappearing, leaving Barcelona something of a dry desert when it comes to small-batch ice cream.

Legend has it that huangjiu, or yellow wine, was invented by Du Kang, the god of Chinese alcohol. Annual production starts in eastern China’s Shaoxing region in the tenth lunar month – the temperature and humidity at that time of year create the best environment for making the wine – with sacrifices to Du Kang. The wine is made from fermenting glutinous rice with wheat or rice qu, a cake of mashed grains that cultivate yeast; both convert the starch to sugar then to alcohol. The product of all that fermentation is a sherry-like amber liquid that is used in Chinese cooking or served as a drink paired with Chinese foods.

We are inside the renovated Galleria Principe di Napoli, right between the National Archaeological Museum and the Academy of Fine Arts. Tables line a corner of the gallery’s beautiful interior, and the art-deco ceiling arches above us– to sit at Lazzarelle Bistrot is a real pleasure, for the eyes and the stomach. But this cafe is more than a pretty little gem in the newly renovated galleria. It is a project long in the making for the Lazzarelle cooperative, which has been promoting the social and economic inclusion of women inmates and working to reduce recidivism for about a decade. In Naples, a lazzarella defines herself as a restless, lively girl, while others may use the definition “little rascal."

In business since 1887, Diporto – a defiantly traditional spot in downtown Athens – has no sign and no menu. The staff doesn’t speak a word of English, and you might have to share a table with eccentric old men who look like they stepped out of a folk ballad. You will probably have to mime your order or draw it on the paper tablecloth. But if you ever wondered what it would be like to eat in a working-class Greek taverna circa 1950, read on. Diporto is located smack in the middle of what is – at least by day – one of the Athens’ most fascinating areas, home to a variety of specialized marketplaces. Varvakeios, one of the few of its kind in Europe, is the city’s largest fish and meat market, in operation since 1886. Around this enormous, chaotic market, where vendors try to outdo each other in shouting, lies Athens’ traditional center of trade, with streets devoted to specific merchandise: hardware stores and bric-a-brac on Athinas Street; spices, cheeses, kitchen equipment and plants on Evripidou and Sofokleous; doorknobs on Vissis (yes, there is a street dedicated solely to doorknobs).

Before we cross the Bosphorus Strait to Asia, this story starts on Istanbul’s European side, at a small stand that has been operating in Beyoğlu since the mid-1970s. There, Muammer usta serves up expertly-cooked and sliced cuts of kelle söğüş (chilled lamb's head meat), perched in a strategic location across from the local fish market and a stone's throw from the Nevizade strip of meyhanes and bars. Over the decades, Muammer usta has become one of the most recognizable characters in the area. The usta’s influence cannot be overstated. His stand is beloved by locals, foreign tourists from across the globe and food critics alike.

“When you like what you do, and you're young, nothing is impossible,” says Doña Juanita Hernandez, one of a handful of female master distillers in Oaxaca, the heart of Mexico’s small-scale mezcal industry. She sits, tiny and relaxed on a wooden bench as we sip mezcal in her distillery, El Rey Zapoteco, in the Oaxacan town of Santiago Matatlan. Doña Juanita herself was just a young girl when she started filling and labeling the bottles at her uncle’s distillery. He was the first person to bottle in the town, which has a long-held tradition of mezcal production. “[His brand was] Mezcal Matatlan,” she remembers. “He bought a bottling machine – a tiny one for four bottles at a time, and he had me fill the bottles and put on the labels.”