Don’t be fooled by the name of Lil’ Dizzy’s Cafe. There’s no coffee, and in fact, the iconic establishment feels more like an auntie’s overstuffed living room than a café. Situated in the heart of Tremé, the oldest African-American neighborhood in America, Dizzy’s is crammed with family paintings and inauguration memorabilia for President Barack Obama, with signed jerseys of retired Saints football players dotting above the doorway. The celebration of community is the norm in New Orleans. And Dizzy’s is an exemplar of this – purer than the sugarcane used in its sweet tea. Customers stream in – men in suits, others in shorts, cops, families, out-of-towners, mailmen and more as soon as the clock hits 11 a.m. The door unlocks, and Dizzy’s staff begin to shout out “Welcome to Dizzy’s” to first-timers and “Hey, baby! How ya doing?” to regulars.

As difficult as the last two years have been for food businesses, it has offered many establishments an opportunity to rethink how they do things and come back with a greater sense of purpose. Take the example of Oaxaca’s Oscuro Brebaje, a café that took a pause, only to emerge stronger and more inviting. Founded in 2015 by a young barista, Andrés González Martell, Oscuro Brebaje started off serving artsy frappés, light breakfasts and unforgettable cakes – all of which have become the signature bites of this unassuming café located in the old neighborhood of La Noria. Here, locals and visitors interact in the peaceful and picturesque streets full of old houses and colorful facades.

It was an unusual night. But Black Sheep is, admittedly, an unusual venue. Lucas Ferreira, one of the co-owners of the Lisbon wine bar, had pulled out a guitar and was engaging in a jam session with a former bandmate. For a good 45 minutes, the normally buzzy bar was on pause: the chatter had ceased, glasses were not being poured. The only interruption was the occasional bark of an elderly dog that was wandering the space. Customers were singing along, the lights were low, and the vibe was less of a wine bar and more of a private party.

Mexico City has a complex and fascinating cultural identity, a place where pre-Hispanic, Colonial, and contemporary influences collide in a riot of street food, bustling markets, Cathedrals built atop Aztec ruins against the backdrop of a megacity thriving with regional migrants as well as long-established locals. There are tens of millions of souls who make Mexico City what it is; this trip is a celebration of the harmony as well as the dissonance.

Rissóis (plural) are half-moon-shaped savory pastries of peasant origins, and from grandmothers' houses to bakeries to the classic tascas, they are as ubiquitous in Portugal as cod fritters. However, the rissol is less popular than its contender, even though it is the perfect appetizer for any occasion, with a variety of different fillings which range from minced beef to shrimp.

With its sloping streets and large, narrow buildings on the outskirts of the city, the Sant Gervasi-Galvany area once served as the site for the summer houses of the 19th-century Barcelonean bourgeoisie. These days, among a seemingly infinite number of cute little shops and kids running around dressed in private-school uniforms, Sant Gervasi-Galvany is a densely woven fabric of office buildings, top medical clinics, consulates, advertising agencies, extravagant cultural spaces, art galleries, decadent old mansions and an assortment of lovely gardens like the Turó Park, Monterols or Moragues. Between a steady demand from locals willing to spend their money in gourmet shops and office workers ready to pay a bit more for really good meals come lunchtime, the neighborhood is also a top-tier food destination.

Mexico City has a complex and fascinating cultural identity, a place where pre-Hispanic, Colonial, and contemporary influences collide in a riot of street food, bustling markets, Cathedrals built atop Aztec ruins against the backdrop of a megacity thriving with regional migrants as well as a stylish modern set. There are tens of millions of souls who make Mexico City what it is; this trip is a celebration of the harmony as well as the dissonance.

In San Sebastian, talking about food, but above all, about cooking, is the norm. Here, something as small as a gilda is of the utmost importance. To stick anchovies, olives and guindilla peppers on a stick is not enough; together these ingredients must contrast and balance, living up to the gilda’s reputation as one of the city’s most celebrated pintxos. A good gilda comes with a punch of flavor and freshness; an ideal combination of textures and acidity that is eaten in a single bite.

When Ethiopian national Mimi Alemu Desta was proposed Georgia as a temporary place of refuge by to help her escape her war-torn country in 2021, she assumed it was the state in the U.S. Little did she imagine she would end up in the South Caucasus republic she didn’t even know existed till then, let alone that she’d be the first person to introduce the spice-and flavor-infused cuisine of her home country to residents of Tbilisi.

Imagine you are Marcel Proust at the beginning of his novel In Search of Lost Time, or the feared food critic Anton Ego in Ratatouille, the Pixar masterpiece that won the 2008 Oscars for Best Animated Film. In the exact moment you taste a madeleine dipped in tea or a forkful of ratatouille, your palate is activated you are catapulted back in time, to that first Sunday morning you tried the dessert or to that time when, after falling off your bike, the dinner your mother prepared you somehow seemed to make everything better. It is this emotion, this involuntary memory flashback, that cousins Nico Virga and Angelo Fascetta had in mind when they opened their restaurant. Located on Via Cavalieri di Malta, behind the Church of San Domenico – known as the Pantheon of Sicilians – Osteria Mangia e Bevi is a charming eatery that offers not only simple home cooking from Palermo, but also a true taste of grandma's cooking. Grandma Antonietta’s, more specifically.

Folar is the generic name given to traditional Easter sweet bread in Portugal. Making it from scratch is somewhat of a long process, but being confined due to the coronavirus crisis, we seem to have a bit more time on our hands than expected. My family’s folar recipe is from my grandmother Felismina, who was from Rosmaninhal, near Mação (in the center of Portugal). As long as I can remember we would have this sweet bread around Easter. (A similar type of sweet bread is also baked around November 1, for All Saints’ Day.)

Like the Proustian madeleine, sweets can stir up all kinds of feelings in the minds of those who eat them. In Naples, struffoli (small, round doughnuts glazed with honey) and cassata (sponge cake with ricotta and candied fruit) speak of Christmas, while chiacchiere (sugar-dusted fritters) and sanguinaccio (literally “blood pudding,” but actually made of chocolate) bring to mind Carnevale. And then there’s pastiera, whose very scent and taste make us think of Easter and spring. These days, pastiera can be made all year long, not only when the wheat has just sprouted, as was the case for our ancestors. Yet, when Easter approaches, all Neapolitans dream of this tart.

Thai Town, a six-block stretch of Hollywood Boulevard between Western and Normandie, has long been a destination for food-loving Angelenos – a pilgrimage, even. This neighborhood is home to some of the city’s best Thai restaurants – most of them tucked inside strip malls that get so busy at night they need valet parking. In 1972, Bangkok Market opened on the eastern edge of Melrose Avenue. It was the first Thai market in the United States, owned by the parents of celebrity chef Jet Tila, who has appeared on various U.S. food television shows.

Right where the Urumea river meets the Cantabrian sea, the striking Kursaal Congress Centre, designed by Spanish architect Rafael Moneo in the late 1990s, faces the Bay of Biscay. It is here, at the end of the Zurreola Bridge, that Muka welcomes the curious and the hungry. Carrots served with spinach and almonds, artichokes marinated in olive escabeche, or beetroots prepared with curd and citrus are enough for chef Juan Vargas to steal some smiles at Muka, where he is determined to pave the way for vegetables in a city with a penchant for meats.

Sōsuke Hirai’s hands tilt this way and that as the machine whirrs, raining large, fine flakes of ice into a bowl. He pauses the machine, lightly pats the ice and taps the bowl on the counter, allowing the ice to sink and compress. A swirl of persimmon tea syrup is added to the ice. Then it goes back under the machine for a second ice shower. Over this, several twirls of a cinnamon-infused milk syrup, a few tea-flavored meringue cookies, two large soup spoons of rum-spiked zabaglione. More ice. His hands gently coax the shavings into an elegant dome.