“You’ve made me look angry,” laughs Marekhi Khatiashvili when we show our drawing of her making traditional Georgian bread in one of the tone bakeries in Tbilisi’s old city. “You’re concentrating,” I reply. “I was trying to show how hard you work.” It is incredibly hard work. Marekhi’s day begins at 4:30 a.m., when she and her co-worker Nona Khatiashvili (no relation) start making giant tubs of dough in the back of the low-ceilinged bakery, ready to be baked into the long, flat loaves of bread that Georgians call shoti. It’s a ritual of daily life here.

For those wishing to get into the true Neapolitan spirit, a visit to the Porta Nolana market – traditionally famous for its fish – is essential. It’s a place where time seems to have stopped a century or so ago. The market is named after the imposing Porta Nolana gate, which itself is an important piece of the city’s history, despite being dominated by ugly housing blocks today. It was where villagers from the surrounding areas used to enter the city, and thus it was a common spot for saddlers to set up shop – travelers were always in need of repairs to their horse’s equipment. One saddler remains today, although it has morphed into a leather shop, selling beautifully crafted pieces.

Editor’s note: To celebrate Ramazan Bayramı, also called Şeker Bayramı, the three-day holiday at the end of the holy month of Ramadan, we are republishing this 2014 article about our favorite spots for baklava – sweets are an integral part of the festivities, which began on May 13 this year. Turkey’s European Union membership bid may be stuck in the mud, but a different dynamic is at work on the food front. To wit: the European Commission has granted Gaziantep baklava a spot on its list of protected designations of origin and geographical indications. It’s the first Turkish product and the 16th non-EU food to make it on the list. In honor of this much-deserved recognition, we’ve put together our own list of favorite places to get baklava in Istanbul and Gaziantep.

From downtown Athens, one’s eyes rest on the timeless vision of the Acropolis up on the hill, looming grandly above this ancient Greek city. But in the bustling market streets below, another classic, though less well-known, Athens exists.

From downtown Athens, one’s eyes rest on the timeless vision of the Acropolis up on the hill, looming grandly above this ancient Greek city. But in the bustling market streets below, another classic, though less well-known, Athens exists.

Every decent taverna in Greece has a category on their menu called alifes (αλοιφές), or “spreads” in English. It usually includes popular choices such as tzatziki, skordalia, taramosalata, tyrokafteri, melitzanosalata and more. We treat these dishes either as mezes, to be paired with a variety of other small plates for the main meal, or as dips, which we normally order as an appetizer to start the meal. One of my favorite dips is melitzanosalata, made with roasted eggplant. Believed to originate in Southeast Asia, the eggplant was not used in Greece before Ottoman rule. Its cultivation and use gradually became widespread in the Mediterranean region during the Ottoman period; nowadays, the eggplant is a staple ingredient of Greek cuisine, as evidenced by dishes such as moussaka, papoutsakia and briam.

The historic Plaka district might be one of Athens’ most popular tourist destinations, but there’s another part of the area that visitors rarely see, one where the city’s ancient heart beats a little louder. Under the shadow of the Acropolis, this is the place that saw the birth of classical Greek and Western civilization and also the turbulent arrival of Christianity. There are traces here of the ancient Greeks, Romans, Byzantines and Ottomans, found in the ruins, churches, local houses and – most importantly – in the food

For thousands of years, snails have been an easy source of protein, particularly during lean times. But for the Romans, these slimy mollusks were more than just a back up – a meal of snails was considered an exquisite feast. The Romans were experts on the subject. They studied and classified snails; they knew where to find the edible species in the south of France, Greece, Italy and Spain, how to farm them, how to clean and prepare them and, of course, how to cook them. Records show that the snails were roasted with different seasonings, like garum, pepper or olive oil, or cooked in wine.

In France, the poissoneries (fish markets) are often decorated in a palette of blue to evoke the sea while boucheries and charcuteries are blood red. Rouge, the color of meat, pops up on tile walls, around deli counters and on awnings above shop windows so that customers can spot their meat purveyors from afar. That was the case at Maison Payany, an artisan charcutier in Marseille’s 6th arrondissement, until its new owner gave it a fresh coat of pink. Marie Caffarel took over Maison Payany in the spring of 2019. Despite the unorthodox paint job, in many ways she has upheld the traditions of this neighborhood institution, which prior to her arrival had been run by three generations of Payany men since 1932.

On this tour– our own take on a classic Athens Sunday – we will start off at a leisurely pace, enjoying the quiet streets of normally bustling downtown. At our first stop, a dairy bar that has been around since the 1930s, we’ll get a taste of true Greek yogurt, topped with nuts and honey, as well as of galaktoboureko, a traditional custard-filled dessert sandwiched between syrupy layers of phyllo. Crossing Aiolou Street – one of the oldest paved roads in Athens, dating back to the 3rd century – we’ll walk past buildings and monuments representing the breadth of Athenian history and then catch a glimpse of parishioners at a nearby Greek Orthodox church as they leave the Sunday service. From there we’ll continue to a local spot where we’ll taste loukoumades, small balls of fried dough drizzled in honey that are traditionally enjoyed at weddings, while in a neighborhood spot that serves regional delicacies from across Greece we’ll sample ladenia, parcels of dough filled with feta, capers and chopped tomato, a specialty of the small Aegean island of Kimolos.

Pastel de tres leches is beloved throughout much of Latin America, and yet its origins remain a mystery. Some people claim that it was first baked in Nicaragua, others that the recipe was first printed on the label of a well-known brand of canned condensed milk in Mexico. Tres leches is usually a sponge cake soaked – as you might have guessed from the name – in a mixture of condensed, evaporated and regular milk, which might be flavored with vanilla, rum and cinnamon. The cake is baked and soaked in the milk mixture while it’s still warm and in the pan. It sits overnight so that the milk and flavorings thoroughly saturate every bite.

The largest of New York’s five boroughs, Queens is the home of over two million people, half of them born outside the United States, speaking more than 140 different languages. It’s perhaps the only place on the face of the planet where Tagalog bumps up hard against Romanian.

Encompassing the entirety of the old city and all of its historic glory, Istanbul’s Fatih district is home to a large population of Syrians, who settled in certain neighborhoods following the outbreak of civil war in that country. Yusufpaşa is one such place, and so is the area around Akşemsettin Street, which is lined with a variety of shops and restaurants run by Syrians. Aksaray is another, with the working-class neighborhood now full of signs advertising “Syrian shwarma” and “Aleppo cuisine,” spelled out in Turkish and also in the curly, coiled letters of Arabic. Restaurants serving displaced Syrians familiar dishes like fatteh and muhammara now dominate the main boulevard.

The thrill of hanging out in Oaxaca’s historic city center is something that has always made me happy since I was young. Almost every afternoon, I would walk, together with my best friend, to the colonial-style streets of downtown. From buying comics to returning a book to the library, there was always some reason to go to El Centro. Before heading back home, one of our rituals was to stop at the long-gone La Esmeralda, our favorite downtown convenience store. We would sidle up to the vintage wooden counter and order a cold soda, a spicy tamarind candy or a torta, a savory sandwich that, along with tacos and tamales, forms the backbone of Vitamin T, as this holy trinity of Mexican grab-and-go foods are often referred to.

On the forested Mt. Oyama, only one and a half hours away from Tokyo, the sleepy atmosphere is broken by a cheering crowd. It’s mid-March and women are sitting in a row on a stage, shoveling cups of tofu into their mouths as fast as they can. It is messy, distinctly inelegant and a whole lot of mad fun. These women are challengers in the Wanko Tofu speed eating competition, which also sees men and children compete in respective rounds. All this, along with a gigantic four-meter pot of boiling tofu and several other street food snacks, is part of the annual Oyama Tofu Festival, which celebrates the area’s long history of producing especially delicious tofu and marks its 30th anniversary this year.