Every late morning from the ground floor of a typical Lisbon building, the façade of which displays a tile-painted Madonna, a hunger-inducing scent pervades the street. Dhaka Restaurante is one of many canteens in the Mouraria neighborhood preparing its lunchtime curry. Along Rua Benformoso, among the small shops selling jewelry, trinkets and Chinese-made goods, are several restaurants that have fed the local community from the Indian subcontinent for years. Today, however, they aren’t just cooking for them. Due to a rapid process of urban transformation, mainly thanks to tourism and interested investors, more and more people from Lisbon and further afield are passing through this winding thoroughfare looking for alternative flavors.

In Tbilisi, we have mornings when we wake up wrinkled and dehydrated, and as we lie in bed knuckling the sleep from our eyes, we hear an all too familiar chorus beckoning us to “bite me, slurp me, gobble me down….” That is khinkali singing, and when you hear the melody, your day has been cast. You can forget about work and responsibilities. We used to fritter away our afternoons with a platter of khinkali at Pasanauri, but when it changed owners and attitude and our beloved waitress Irma packed her bags, it was clear an era had passed. A period of pretty good khinkali at pretty good restaurants followed until we asked local filmmaker and fellow gastromaniac Levan Kitia where he goes for khinkali.

Wave after wave of migration from Anatolia has bestowed upon Istanbul a population of 15 million at bare minimum, with countless pockets of the city representing villages and districts from every last corner of the country. In the neighborhood of Feriköy, those originally hailing from the eastern province of Erzincan have managed to consolidate their presence on an entire street. Lined with a number of restaurants and shops selling fresh goods typical of the province, and a row of village associations established for the purpose of maintaining cultural ties between those living in Istanbul and their relatives back home, Feriköy's Gediz Sokak is all about Erzincan, a land of sheep and mountains famed for its dairy products.

After four generations of doing business in the same shop – housed since 1907 in a beautiful moderniste building between Paseo de Gràcia and Gran de Gràcia – the beloved patisserie La Colmena has closed. One of Barcelona’s most iconic and historic establishments, La Colmena made some of the best artisanal candies, turrón de Jijona, Lenten fritters and Swiss rolls (called a brazo de gitano, or “Gypsy arm” in Spanish) in the neighborhood, and was run by siblings Cristina and Francesc Font, the fifth generation of the family. The venue was effectively forced to close because its rent was set to more than triple, and because of a requirement by City Hall that they restore and update the premises. Although Barcelona residents were aware of the situation, the owners’ decision to close still came as something of a shock to longtime customers.

Beneath modern Lisbon lies a complex network of galleries belonging to the city’s 18th-century aqueduct, a monumental structure that resisted the 1755 earthquake that devastated much of the capital. The aqueduct’s 58 km of tunnels and underground channels distributed water to 33 chafarizes (fountains) – often ornamental – to supply the city with drinking water. One of them, located along the steep steps connecting the Avenida and Príncipe Real neighborhoods, now houses Chafariz do Vinho, the Portuguese capital’s oldest enoteca, or wine bar.

Whether you call it steamboat, hotpot, Chinese fondue or shabu shabu, one thing is certain: Nothing warms you up in the depths of winter like a steaming bowl of bone broth. As winter continues its dreary hold, here are five of the best places to get hotpot in Shanghai.

Editor's Note: We’ve worked together with Brooklyn-based graphic designer Jeff Yas to create distinctive icons for all the cities we work in. We recently spoke with Jeff about the creative process behind creating these edible visuals:

“No hamsi, no money.” Mert Kanal hoses down empty Styrofoam containers and surveys the leftover catch in his market in Sinop, on Turkey’s Black Sea coast. The gulls squawk, fighting over scraps on the dock while fishermen tidy their nets for another night of fishing. The hamsi, or anchovies, are gone for the season, moving up the coast in dwindling numbers as hulking factory ships chase them. While mackerel, turbot and whiting are all fair game for fishmongers, hamsi holds a special place in Turkish cuisine. Unlike the slimy, salty canned form of the fish reserved for eccentric pizza toppings in North America, anchovies are eaten fresh in Turkey. Lightly battered, quickly fried and served with a slice of lemon, hamsi are gobbled down by the kilo, bones and all.

We crept down an almost unmarked flight of stairs, then through a dim, winding corridor and finally pulled back a noren curtain to find ourselves in the world’s only Ippudo ramen location that serves soba noodles instead of ramen. As we seated ourselves on stools around the U-shaped counter, the aroma of tonkotsu (pork bone) broth reached our sinuses and informed us that we had arrived in a place like no other. Shigemi Kawahara opened his first Ippudo ramen shop on the southern Japanese island of Kyushu in1985 and over the next 15 years became a revered ramen master by winning numerous ramen championships on TV.

Deservedly famous for its rich food traditions, the state of Oaxaca is one of our favorite culinary destinations in Mexico. But with Oaxaca City lying nearly 300 miles southeast of Mexico City, we’re always on the lookout for places to satisfy our appetite for Oaxacan cuisine in the D.F. Specializing in tlayudas, one of Oaxaca’s most typical foods, the recently opened Aguamiel is a very welcome addition to the local dining scene.

Palanca Gigante is an Angolan tasca in multicultural Mouraria, Lisbon’s medieval downtown district. The restaurant is named after a critically endangered species of antelope (the palanca negra gigante, or giant sable antelope) that was adopted as an Angolan national symbol after that country’s independence from Portugal in 1975. Though regular Portuguese tascas – no-frills eateries – in Lisbon are far less endangered, it is harder to find authentic food from Portugal’s former colonies at such approachable prices in the city center.

Editor's note: Our recurring feature, Building Blocks, focuses on foods and ingredients that are fundamental to the cuisines we write about. Here we look at phyllo, an essential element of the Greek kitchen that tastes best when made by hand. It is thin, fragile, difficult to roll out and fiddly to work with – at least to the uninitiated – and yet phyllo is one of the pillars of the Greek kitchen. This delicate pastry is almost as ubiquitous as bread, turning up in the form of scores of sweet and savory pies with myriad fillings and dozens of shapes that vary depending on what part of Greece you’re in or even whose home you may be visiting. The phyllo-based pita, or pie, is the most versatile of foods: It can be served hot or cold; as a starter, a main course or dessert; eaten on the run or sitting down; lifted out of the frozen food section or made at home.

For more than a year, we’ve been trying to find a way to approach the mammoth subject of Spanish wine with a suitable culinary activity. Barcelona has a sophisticated wine scene representing the best of Catalonia and all of Spain. In sober rooms, we attended tastings that were a bit too academic for our taste. We visited new-age wine bars with a list limited to Catalan bio/organic wines and nothing else. In Barcelona’s many wine shops, we sampled when we could and shopped for bottles, as we might in any international city. During this research, we got up close and personal with what was in the glass but often felt disconnected from the local culture of drinking wine.

Arataca boasts a title so extraordinary that, were it more widely known, we would expect the modest Copacabana snack bar to be covered with colorful Nossa Senhora do Bonfim blessing ribbons so that generations of pilgrims could light white, tapered candles and lay baskets of offerings at its sidewalk entrance. That designation is: First Açaí – the Amazonian superberry – served in Rio de Janeiro. Local lore says that the slushy, purple drink was first served here 59 years ago, and it was a hit. Nowadays, you’ll see cariocas all over the city with the drink’s trademark ink-stained teeth. Arataca was opened by two immigrants from the northeastern state of Pernambuco. One was in the military and, in his travels through Brazil, he developed a taste for the highly unique cuisine of the country’s north, particularly that of Pará state, considered the gateway to the Amazon region. Pará is also the cradle of the Amazonian berry açaí, which is sold in barrels at riverside marketplaces in the commercial and political capital of the state, Belém.

Offering some of the world’s purest, most passionately produced chocolate, along with some of the best coffee in Lisbon, Bettina & Niccolò Corallo on Rua da Escola Politécnica in the Príncipe Real neighborhood has changed the tastes and habits of many locals. There’s no milk chocolate available at this family-run shop, only dark chocolate. And yet Portuguese chocolate lovers – who have a notorious sweet tooth – will swoon when one mentions Corallo’s products. As for the coffee, area residents now wait until 10 a.m., when the café opens, to have their morning brew here.