Turkish politics make for a great lunch counter conversation. These days, one of the hot topics is a perceived axis shift, as if Ankara, feeling burned by the West, has turned the gaze of the Republic eastward, as easily as a dönerci reverses the rotation of his spit. But down in Karaköy at NATO Lokantası, an esnaf lokantası named in honor of Turkey’s entry into the Western Bloc some six decades ago, the tenor of the debate is still decidedly Cold War-era.

We’ve previously extolled the pleasures of Cretan cuisine at Athens venues like Kriti and noted that Crete has one of the highest life expectancies in Greece, thanks in part to its healthy food. So we were particularly intrigued by “The Island Where People Forget to Die,” a recent New York Times Magazine article on Ikaria, a Greek island in the Aegean that’s home to some of the world’s longest-living people.

There are places that have been around so long that they've become emblematic of a city’s entire eating culture. In Athens, Stani (meaning "sheepfold" or "barnyard," depending on your definition) is certainly one of them. It may have a rustic-sounding name, but this wonderful, old-fashioned dairy bar – in business since 1931 – is an urban fixture.

The arrival of fall always finds us heading instinctively, like salmon swimming towards their ancestral headwaters, to the Balık Pazarı, Beyoğlu’s historic fish market. Autumn is quince season in Turkey and that means the appearance – for a limited time only – of one of our favorite desserts, ayva tatlısı (literally meaning “quince dessert,” although “quince in syrup” might be more accurate). Nestled in the fish market is Sakarya Tatlıcısı, a pastry and sweets shop with old-world charm that is one of our top stops for this dessert. The apple-like quince is one of those complicated, mysterious fruits that take on a new life when cooked. Raw, quinces are often astringent and inedible.

Breakfast in China traditionally consists of something brothy and stomach-filling, such as congee (a rice-based porridge), wonton soup or xiǎolóngbāo (soup dumplings). Also popular are savory fried foods like scallion oil pancakes – in Shanghai, lines of hungry customers waiting to get their morning pancake fix from places like A Da Cong You Bing can literally stretch around the block. It’s thus no surprise that Western-style grab-and-go breakfast options are of little appeal to locals.

The large banner in La Nena chocolatería proclaiming “No Hay Alcohol” (strung up between a rocking horse and a wooden toy kitchen) makes it fairly clear that this is not a place for sophisticated conversation and cocktails. That doesn’t mean that La Nena (which means “The Girl” in Catalan) doesn’t cater to any other vices. Indeed, its delicious homemade cakes, pastries, hot chocolates and savory snacks tempt the residents of Barcelona’s Gràcia neighborhood on a daily basis.

The rubbery, white Cypriot cheese known as halloumi in Greek and hellim in Turkish is without a doubt the island’s most famous culinary delicacy. Served grilled or fried, it has long been popular at tables in Athens, Istanbul and around the region. As demand from Western Europe and even North America has increased in the last decade, exports have shot up. But a new law regulating what goes into the cheese threatens to throw the industry into turmoil.

Like Clark Kent hiding his Superman tights beneath a brown suit and glasses, Klemuri maintains the appearance of a predictable Beyoğlu café – wooden tables, shelves loaded with knickknacks, Buena Vista Social Club on the stereo, spinach crepes and a crispy chicken salad on the menu. But down in the kitchen, out of public view, Klemuri’s alter ego – a spry Laz cook – is waiting to save you from another boring “café” lunch.

There’s nothing like a debate about “urban renewal” – often touted by municipal governments as a way to repurpose run-down urban areas for gentrification – to work up a good appetite. In a city like Istanbul, a teeming metropolis of 15 million people working to build a modern life among ancient ruins, these discussions seem to occur on every corn

There is often some confusion when it comes to the many varieties of dumplings in Shanghai. The city’s most famous snack, xiǎolóngbāo, is a soup dumpling that neatly encases its broth inside a thin dumpling skin. It is not, as many first-time visitors assume, a dumpling floating in soup. For that, we turn to the humble wonton soup.

Diners in Istanbul are spoiled with options for fresh seafood. But most venues are mere caricatures of places like İsmet Baba, where traditions have been kept sacred for more than 50 years. While many other such restaurants are kitschy, İsmet is gritty and authentic. Located in Kuzguncuk, a charming neighborhood on the Asian side of the Bosphorus, it may not be the best restaurant in the city, but it’s got something most of the others have lost: old-school Istanbul charm and character.

Turkey’s take on the pizza comes in two distinct varieties. There’s the Arabesque lahmacun, a round, ultra thin-crusted snack topped with a shmear of finely ground meat and seasoning. Then there’s pide, a more substantial canoe-shaped creation that’s a specialty of Turkey’s Black Sea region.

Don’t be fooled by the name: Derlikatesen does not stand for dirty and delicatessen, as online urban dictionaries would like you to think, but is a combination of “delicatessen” and the Greek slang verb ντερλικωνω (derlikono), meaning eating until one is ready to burst.

With a menu from the frigid provinces that border Korea, Dongbei Siji Jiaozi Wang – literally, “The Four Season Dumpling King from the Northeast” – is all about hearty dishes to warm you up from the inside out. The further north you head from the Yangtze River, the more the temperate climate demands that wheat trumps rice as the staple grain, often showing up on menus as dumplings and noodles. Yet despite its eponymous claim to represent China’s Northeast, not even the Dumpling King can escape Shanghai’s astringent influence, specifically in the condiment selection. Here you dunk your boiled dumplings in vinegar and sweet chili pepper rather than the typical Northern garnish that adds soy sauce to the mix (or sometimes boldly goes it alone with no vinegar), occasionally coupled with roughly chopped garlic.

Perhaps it’s the proximity of the waters of the Golden Horn or the weathered wood interior, but we get a distinctly maritime feeling at Köfteci Arnavut, a tiny köfte joint in the historic Balat neighborhood. The members of the İştay family, who opened the place in 1947, seem to think the same thing, running the place with ship-shape efficiency.