It has the makings of a sitcom: two itinerant chefs, one Greek and the other Peruvian, meet in Portugal and decide to open up a restaurant devoted to their home countries’ cooking. Rather than pratfalls, though, we get Pita.gr, a charming restaurant where during the course of one meal we can feast on ceviche, fresh moussaka and tiropita (a Greek pastry made of phyllo dough, feta cheese, honey and sesame seeds), all at the same table. Having the chance to eat delicious food from both countries feels like a privilege in this corner of the Margem Sul (South Bank), half an hour’s drive from central Lisbon.

In summer, there are just a couple of things that lisboetas will queue for: the beach and ice cream. The city is blessed with good places for both, but between the two, we prefer the latter, which in Lisbon tends to be Italian-style gelato, as served in the most long-standing and successful shops in town. Tucked away in a corner of Restauradores, A Veneziana still has the same façade and is run by the same family as when it opened in 1936. The shop is small, with a big esplanada, or terrace, on which customers can sit and enjoy their treats.

The Mozambican community in Lisbon may be small, but the city is blessed with several delightful restaurants serving the food of Mozambique – one of them even a neighborhood landmark.

Lisbon is a city that knows how to keep a secret. In the early days of World War II, German, American and British spies overran the capital – Portugal was officially neutral during the war – and many of the city’s bars and casinos were hotbeds of international (in)discretion. Later, just before the Carnation Revolution in 1974, many central cafés were meeting points for covert leftist associations. Today, the hidden bars in Lisbon are decidedly less cloak-and-dagger. Yet there is still a real sense of intrigue when you ring the bells of exclusive clubs, private cultural associations and former brothels, and step inside for a hush-hush drink.

For a few weeks during June, large swathes of Lisbon turn into one extended outdoor cookout. It’s the festival of Santo António, Lisbon’s favorite local saint, and the city celebrates his memory by way of grilling up copious amounts of sardines, so much so that during this period the scent of sizzling fish rolls through the streets of the city’s historic neighborhoods like a bank of fishy fog. In these old-time neighborhoods, the festival also provides residents a chance to play caterer to the masses, with seemingly every local with a halfway decent charcoal grill setting up shop outside their home and grilling sardines for the revelers partying in the streets. The whole scene is a complete departure from the more staid rest of the year and it often feels as if these neighborhood grillers live for just this time, allowing them to play the role of guardians of Lisbon’s most important social tradition.

Bread may be fundamental to Portugal’s food culture, but over the last few years the baked goods landscape in the country has begun looking increasingly uniform, with fake neo-classic franchising playing no small part in its decline. Although many old and family-run bakeries can’t keep up with the competition – especially in the cities – there are a few initiatives kneading a small revolution. Courses, workshops and experimental research are creating a new class of future bakers who often rework old techniques. Among them is 21-year-old Diogo Amorim. Gleba, his bakery, with its contemporary look and historic techniques, attracts customers from all over Lisbon. It opened six months ago in Alcantara, a neighborhood that shows traces of many past lives, from industrial working-class to the aristocratic.

Though it’s an age-old method for preservation and flavor enhancement all over the world, the smoking of meat, fish, and cheese is not a notable tradition in southern Europe. In Portugal, in the old days, salt curing was more common – particularly for the national staple, cod. However, the presence of smoking traditions in the north, particularly around the Minho river, indicates the possibility that the Vikings’ favorite method for cooking fish may have reached all the way to the northeastern Iberian peninsula.

Although Angolans are not known to emigrate en masse like their continental counterparts, they do form the second largest African diaspora community in Lisbon. The seventh largest country in Africa, Angola has undergone considerable upheaval, which has contributed to this. Violent civil conflict began after the country gained independence from Portugal in 1975 and continued – with a few interruptions – until 2002. Caused by a power struggle between two former liberation movements influenced by the larger cold war, this conflict has caused half a million deaths, significant displacement and severe damage to national infrastructure, stoking a steadily burning atmosphere of social instability and insecurity.

Although it opened four years ago, Shilabo’s has gone mostly unnoticed by many lisboetas – perhaps due to its minimal size (only 12 seats) or to the discrete nature of owner Santiago Afonso Julio. From his tiny open kitchen, he serves up just three or four daily dishes, indicated on the menu outside the door. Most are traditionally Angolan, such as the iconic national dish, moamba. The classic format is made up of stewed chicken pieces served with funge, the gelatinous porridge of cassava (or corn, in the southern part of the country), and can be prepared either with peanut butter or with palm oil. Afonso Julio’s version is a fusion of the two.

The menu at Com-Tradição might not be as revolutionary as the vintage posters on the walls, but it’s certainly democratic and affordable. After all, Com-Tradição is the restaurant of the Associação 25 de Abril, founded by the military men who planned the 1974 Carnation Revolution, the coup that ended Portugal’s fascist regime and restored democracy. Nowadays anyone can become a member of this non-profit association. Besides preserving the spirit of the revolution, it also aims to preserve documents and memories of this historical event. The association is located in a beautiful Bairro Alto old building, whose renovation and interior design were overseen by the renowned architect Álvaro Siza Vieira.

In downtown’s Chiado, a slightly bougie-looking restaurant profits from the crowds leaving weekend performances at the São Luiz theatre, a former 19th-century cinema. This place also takes advantage of a common and ubiquitous Portuguese ingredient – rice. Bagos (“grains of rice”) has just a few tables over two floors; the upstairs level is the more suitable for a business lunch partaken while tram 28 trundles by. The vibe is refined but simple, and that is reflected in how the humble staple on its menu is reworked in the kitchen. Chef Henrique Mouro explores the many ways in which different varieties of rice are prepared across the country, revealing a very typical component as the basis for all sorts of invention.

Once the hub of a trading empire that connected Macau in the east to Rio de Janeiro in the west, Lisbon today can at times feel like a sleepy town of nostalgic storefronts and scenic churches. But that’s only its façade. Take a closer look and you’ll discover a city that still maintains deep-rooted links around the world – just consider the local obsession with African piri piri sauce. But there’s an even stronger tie to Portugal’s past in Lisbon, one that can be found in the form of the city’s communities from the former colonies. 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.

On the last floor of a high building in Marquês de Pombal – Lisbon’s financial and commercial area – is the headquarters of the Associação Cabo Verde, the oldest of its kind in the capital. Its unexpected location aside, it draws many from the community who need support with issues relating to law and integration issues and acts as a central meeting point for all types, including academics. As well as organizing events focusing on post-colonial Cape Verde and its diaspora, the association also hosts regular festive lunches (almoço dancantes), with live music on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Inside the humble municipal market building of an elderly neighborhood between Belém’s touristic spectacles and the sprawling Monsanto park is the oldest Azorean restaurant in the Portuguese capital. In non-descript Ajuda, with a view over Ponte Abril 25, this place transports Lisboetas with tastes of the remote and alluring Atlantic archipelago. When Espaço Açores opened 10 years ago it was one of four restaurants in Lisbon serving the food of the Azores. The others have since closed, a fact that at first seems difficult to understand: food from these islands is incredibly good and more often than not reproduces traditional dishes from the mainland, albeit with considerably better ingredients.

Located in the Atlantic at the same latitude as Casablanca, Madeira may be a small island, but there’s so much to see that it takes three to five days to get a real sense of it. An hour and a half by plane from Lisbon, the capital and largest city is Funchal, a historic town whose claim to fame is a more recent one: it’s where soccer star Cristiano Ronaldo was born (a statue and a museum in his honor can both be found here). Historically one of the first settlements of the golden age of Portuguese exploration, the island became an outpost for trade and ships going to Brazil or India.