Oaxaca, in southwestern Mexico, is one of the country’s most biologically and culturally diverse states, with its Pacific coastline and confluence of mountain ranges at a tropical latitude and the numerous indigenous groups that have populated the area for centuries – or longer. All of these influences have produced a regional cuisine that is incredibly rich and deep and beloved among food-loving Mexicans (and non-Mexicans). Many immigrants from Oaxaca have brought this diversity of food and culture to Mexico City.

Brazil, as everybody knows, was colonized by the Portuguese. But even with the end of colonial Brazil, the Portuguese continued to come: at the beginning of the 20th century, thousands of them immigrated to flee poverty in Europe and to start anew in Brazil – especially in Rio. As the capital of the colony for more than 400 years, Rio has been the most influenced by Portuguese traditions, architecture and, of course, gastronomy.

There is a certain rite of passage associated with being invited to dinner or coffee at a Greek friend’s house. Not so much because of what you will end up eating or drinking there, but because of what the other guests will be bringing as gifts. To most Western Europeans’ surprise, one of the most popular gifts for the host is a big dessert – the kind of cake that is usually reserved for birthdays or big celebrations in other countries. Greeks often arrive bearing big, rectangular patisserie boxes containing anything from a large cheesecake to ice cream- and sorbet-layered cakes. And of course, very often these boxes contain a pan of the Greek national dessert, galaktoboureko.

Unwieldy English restaurant names often lose a lot in translation. Take Zhu Que Men, or “The Gate of the Vermillion Bird.” The name, which draws on Chinese astrology and Taoism, might seem a little highfalutin’ for a home-style noodle joint, but the subtext speaks volumes.

Editor’s note: In the latest installment of our recurring feature, First Stop, we asked Lillian Chou, former food editor of Gourmet and now a freelance writer in Beijing, where she heads first for food when she arrives in Shanghai. There are several factors that decide where I eat first when I arrive in Shanghai – mostly, it’s whether I’m alone or with friends and what kind of eaters they are and how much time we have.

Spring arrives at the markets in Istanbul with a great deal of color and fanfare. Vendors arrange peas in perfect diagonal rows, displaying their goods to lure you into a multi-kilo purchase. Men furiously carve out artichoke hearts and toss them into lemon-water-filled bags, step around massive piles of trimmings and hand you what feels like a new goldfish purchase. Fava beans are ubiquitous in their fuzzy pods, although less appealing because of all the prep work that comes with them. Best to enjoy fava beans in a restaurant, zeytinyağlı-style (with olive oil) and or in our favorite preparation, a garlicky mash like the chefs make at Müzedechanga in the Sabancı Museum.

In Mexico, marketplaces have been the soul of communities for millennia, and of the many modern-day ones we’ve visited in Mexico City, the one we’re always most excited to return to is Mercado Medellín in Roma Sur. Recently, we visited with a guide, an American expat who gets her produce and meat there every week and could get us the inside scoop. Our first stop was La Sorpresa butchery. Arturo, the owner, shook our hands and continued breaking down a large piece of beef for a special delivery. He told us that his family has run La Sorpresa inside the market for 25 years. The meat they sell comes from different slaughterhouses in the country, and even from the United States.

Editor's Note: Sadly, these spots are closed now. In February, the Rio state assembly took an unprecedented measure and passed tax breaks for microbreweries that produce less than 6 million liters of craft beer a year. We don’t actually endorse such foregoing of public funds in a place like Rio, where a recent survey found 28,000 elementary schoolchildren to be illiterate and where a responsible young woman is told in a public health clinic that it will take her four months to get an appointment for an STD test.

Some people argue that it’s not KFC’s secret blend of 11 herbs and spices that makes their fried chicken so successful, but rather the cooking technique. Deep-frying the chickens in a pressure cooker saved on oil and time in the 1930s, making the crispy bone-in chicken a feasible option for fast-food chains. Until this new gizmo became popular, the fast-food industry was almost exclusively made up of quick-serve burgers and fries.

Editor’s note: We asked writer Anya von Bremzen where she heads first for food when she arrives in Barcelona. She is the winner of three James Beard awards, a contributing editor at Travel + Leisure and the author of five cookbooks, including the recently published Mastering the Art of Soviet Cooking: A Memoir of Food and Longing.Most Barcelona tapas haunts, old and new, pay homage to the bares de producto, the astounding ingredient-laden kioskos (dining stalls) of the buoyant Boquería market. It might be crowded and touristy but on my first morning in town, Boquería is still my Holy Grail. The best time to go? Around 10:30 a.m., when the stalls are less crowded between lunch and dinner. Right by its entrance, I stop to pay my respects to the legendary chickpea-and-butifarra sausage stew at Pinotxo. Its owner, the venerable Juanito Bayen, is now nearing 80 but looking dapper as ever in his satin vest and bow tie. Juanito is still a maestro of counter banter, spiking coffee with brandy for dour resident fishmongers, plying Japanese tourists with pristine razor clams, smiling for cameras next to Ferran Adrià.

It is impossible to sleep late in Gaziantep, despite the tranquility of the historic quarter, the calming, hunker-in-and-go-back-to-sleep effect of the hotel room’s thick stone walls and the comforting, dusty smell of antique furniture. Even the promise of a nice breakfast spread served between 7:30 and 10 a.m. could not keep us from hitting this ancient southeastern Turkish city’s streets. At 6 a.m., we were rambling through Gaziantep’s coppersmiths’ bazaar. As we walked by, the metal shutters of spice shops were thrown open in a clattering roar, whooshing an aromatic cloud into our path. Street sweepers worked their beat with twiggy, homemade-looking brooms as groups of shopkeepers lingered over the first of many more teas and smokes at the corner çayhane. Exiting another artery of covered bazaars, we stepped out into bright morning light, which shot through the brooms of street sweepers at rest, creating crazy mangrove-like shadows on the sidewalk. We were close now, so close we could smell it.

The reach of globalization and industrial agriculture is such that you can find pretty much any kind of vegetable all year long at markets throughout Spain, but there are a still a few holdouts that arrive at very specific times of the year, and only for a fleeting moment. This is the produce we look out for, along with signs indicating the precise provenance. Artichokes from El Prat and the Ebro Delta are nearing the end of their all-too-brief visit, while the rare strawberries and wonderful peas of Maresme, on the coast of Barcelona province, have just begun appearing at market stalls. Others, such as the humble fava, arrive with less heralding but are no less welcome.

Editor’s note: Award-winning cookbook author, chef-restaurateur and television personality Rick Bayless is a renowned expert on Mexican cooking and a frequent traveler to Mexico City. He recently shared with us his list of must-visit places in Condesa, Roma/Roma Norte and Polanco.

In a country where the traditional way to greet someone translates to “Have you eaten yet?” (你吃了吗? Nǐ chīle ma?), it should come as no surprise that food idioms permeate everyday language in China. Chinese culture also prizes indirectness, so idioms are the perfect way to portray deep meaning without being overt. Frustrating for cross-cultural businessmen and language students or not, chengyu (成语), the ever-present four character idioms, and xiyu (习语), which are generally longer, are often the source of the hilariously mistranslated Chinglish you still see on street signs and menus today.

Editor's Note: Sadly, this spot is now closed. The locals of the Morro da Conceição are a proud bunch, and with good reason. To the north the cargo and cruise ships of Rio’s Port Zone steam in and steam out of Guanabara Bay. To their south the centro overflows with working cariocas during commercial hours. By evening, the centro becomes sparsely populated stretches of concrete and highway. The residents of Morro da Conceição have witnessed Rio history on its various sides.