In Palermo, we don’t need a time machine to travel to the past. Stepping into Trattoria Altri Tempi, it’s possible to be transported by the nostalgia of classic flavors from the late 19th and early 20th centuries, a time when Sicilian cuisine still retained its distinct identity, before the influence of other regional Italian cuisines and, later, globalization began to shape the local culinary culture. This small restaurant, in business for 29 years, is a cornerstone of authentic Sicilian tradition, a place where time seems to have stood still. Altri Tempi indeed translates to "other times." The atmosphere is warm and intimate, its walls adorned with old photos, handwritten notes, and paintings depicting still lifes. Copper pots, terracotta vases, and other unused objects complete the decoration, contributing to the feel of an old-fashioned tavern. At the entrance, a giant mortadella awaits to be sliced and tasted.

When it comes to where to eat in New Orleans, food is the primary language. A bowl of gumbo is not a recipe; it’s a novel of history, migration, and survival. This is a city that communicates its deepest truths – about joy, resilience, community, and conflict – through what it cooks. To eat here is to participate in a conversation that has been going on for 300 years. An essential New Orleans restaurant does more than serve a great meal. It provides a kind of spiritual and cultural nourishment, reminding the city of who it is, where it came from, and where it’s going. Our aim here is not simply to point you to good food, but to share with you places both close to our heart and our hope for the future of the city. They might not always be glamorous – the best booze can come in a plastic to-go cup and life-altering crawfish from a folding table in a parking lot. But they are all honest: neighborhood anchors, family legacies, or community hubs.

When it comes to where to eat in New Orleans, food is the primary language. A bowl of gumbo is not a recipe; it’s a novel of history, migration, and survival. This is a city that communicates its deepest truths – about joy, resilience, community, and conflict – through what it cooks. To eat here is to participate in a conversation that has been going on for 300 years. An essential New Orleans restaurant does more than serve a great meal. It provides a kind of spiritual and cultural nourishment, reminding the city of who it is, where it came from, and where it’s going. Our aim here is not simply to point you to good food, but to share with you places both close to our heart and our hope for the future of the city. They might not always be glamorous – the best booze can come in a plastic to-go cup and life-altering crawfish from a folding table in a parking lot. But they are all honest: neighborhood anchors, family legacies, or community hubs.

Astoria’s Steinway Street has become a mecca for all types of Mediterranean food. Middle Eastern groceries and sweet shops, North African tagines and hookah bars, kebab carts and fast-food falafel dot the road. Throughout the neighborhood, also known as Little Egypt, there are several places to try feteer – a flaky, layered Egyptian pastry that can be eaten with everything from meat off a spit to powdered sugar – including longstanding favorites like Mum Feteer and Mombar. But within this crowded field, Levant, the new kid on the block, offers up innovative in-house baked goods and delicious meze starters that have made it a contender for best on the block.

Ask anyone who has been in Thailand for a while what its national dish is, and they will invariably say pad kaprao. People like to think of pad Thai or green curry or spicy lemongrass soup as ubiquitous dishes in Thailand, but it’s really this holy basil stir-fry that millions of Thais eat every day, all over the country. Pad kaprao – which is most often made with pork, beef, or chicken – is a ubiquitous sight on office workers’ desks at lunchtime, as an accompaniment to a cold mug of beer in the evening, and can even be spotted streetside for breakfast. Every aharn tham sung (“made to order”) vendor serves it, and such is its unique mix of garlicky heat with meaty umami that makes for a delicious dish nearly anywhere you try it.

As he drove us to Tlacolula, some 19 miles east of Oaxaca City, in his burgundy-and-white taxi, salsa music in the background and a tiny bronze cross hanging from his rearview mirror, our driver Félix was philosophizing about migration. Like many other Oaxacan men, he had, at one point, crossed the border from Mexico to California in search of a better life. And like many fellow countrymen, he had come back home because he refused to live a life of persecution and uncertainty due to his legal status as an undocumented immigrant. His life back in Mexico was good; hard, yes, but joyful. “I can eat fresh fruits, dance with my kids, watch them grow. If this is not quality of life, I don’t know what it is,” he reflects. The music stops and so does Félix’s taxi. In the middle of the Tlacolula highway we’ve arrived at one of the area’s largest gas stations, and our destination.

The original idea was simple enough. “The plan was to make really good ham and cheese sandwiches,” explains Bruno Ribeiro of O Primo do Queijo, the Lisbon restaurant he owns with Francisco Nuno Silveira Bernardo. But rarely are things so easy.

We wind our way through the narrow streets of the Cours Julien, filled with warm-weather revelers who gather in the lively neighborhood’s bars and restaurants. Tonight our destination is Rue des Trois Rois (Three Kings Street), where we have dinner reservations at Zesti, a Greek restaurant that opened in fall 2024. The small, quaint room is already packed with diners. We are quickly greeted by Fiola Lecuyer, Zesti’s co-owner and charming front-of-the-house extraordinaire. She moves through the crowded room with the grace of a dancer and somehow manages to remember everyone’s name.

There’s a pocket of Tokyo, strolling distance from the stock exchange and the former commercial center, which feels like a step back in time. Ningyocho is filled with stores specializing in traditional crafts, some more than 100 years old. Here you can buy rice crackers or traditional Japanese sweets or head for a kimono, before watching kabuki (traditional Japanese theater) at Meijiza. On Ningyocho’s main street, just a few minutes from Suitengu Shrine which couples visit to pray to conceive a child or for safe childbirth, is a window. The window isn’t very wide, but a flurry of movement draws the attention of passersby. There, a broad-faced Kazuyuki Tani is making udon, bouncing – no, dancing – as he works.

There’s a pocket of Tokyo, strolling distance from the stock exchange and the former commercial center, which feels like a step back in time. Ningyocho is filled with stores specializing in traditional crafts, some more than 100 years old. Here you can buy rice crackers or traditional Japanese sweets or head for a kimono, before watching kabuki (traditional Japanese theater) at Meijiza. On Ningyocho’s main street, just a few minutes from Suitengu Shrine which couples visit to pray to conceive a child or for safe childbirth, is a window. The window isn’t very wide, but a flurry of movement draws the attention of passersby. There, a broad-faced Kazuyuki Tani is making udon, bouncing – no, dancing – as he works.

North and South Korea may be separated by a heavily fortified border, but there’s a culinary link that defies that separation. In fact, there are many types of North Korean foods that are popular in South Korea, and dumplings are one of them. Korean dumplings share a similar shape with Chinese jiaozi and baozi, as well as Japanese gyoza, and are all referred to as mandu in Korea. Due to the colder climate, rice cultivation is less viable in North Korea, leading to a greater reliance on flour- and buckwheat-based dishes. Mandu, made from wheat flour dough, is a staple food in the north, typically larger, more rustic, and filled with a generous mixture of tofu and mung bean sprouts. Compared to South Korean mandu, North Korean-style dumplings are known for being milder and more comforting.

On this weeklong exploration of pizza's birthplace, Scott will lead us on a quest to understand all the working parts of traditional Neapolitan pizza while chasing the subject's more ethereal elements. We'll tuck into perfect pizza of all shapes and sizes – fried, baked, crowned, folded up like a wallet – and learn pizza-making techniques directly from the cadre of pizzaioli who have dedicated their lives to this tradition.

It might have become one of the more fashionable places in Rio for a caipirinha, yet the simple name of this father-son joint – “Portuguese Kiosk” – suggests humility. Indeed, the pair got their start a decade ago in one of the numerous huts that line the city’s beaches. While the majority of their competitors served the tasty, tried-and-true Rio basics – traditional caipirinhas made with cachaça; beer, and French fries – to sandy-toed beachgoers, Manoel Alves wanted to offer something different.

For years, Syrian chef Syliman Al-Abiad didn’t dare to decorate the walls of his tiny Istanbul restaurant with the Syrian opposition flag that became a symbol of the protests against the regime in 2011. “My parents are still in Syria, and Assad was very cruel,” he explains, referring to the recently fallen Syrian dictator Bashar Al-Assad. Al-Abiad smiles when he points towards the two black-white-green flags with three red stars now hanging in the windows, the first thing that catches one’s eye in Abu Shamso, his basement restaurant.

Naples is often celebrated as having a long-established coffee heritage whose fame is deeply grounded in a number of cherished rituals and literary tributes. But savoring a proper Neapolitan espresso at a café could prove to be a challenging experience for an unaware visitor: usually served in a scalding coffee cup, the hyper-concentrated concoction is very strong and intense, with a fiercely bitter edge, and it’s gone in just one sip. Neapolitans like their coffee "with the three Cs," meaning caldo (hot), comodo (no rush), and carico (strong, to give you a boost), and they indulge in it many times a day. One of the city’s most heartwarming traditions is caffè sospeso, the widespread habit – now also applied to pizza – of paying for one additional cup to ensure that even a person in need can be granted his daily shot.