Although reputed for its meat, La Femme du Boucher is nothing like your classic steakhouse. Plants dangle from the ceiling and sprout on shelves, making the covered patio feel like an outdoor garden, and a heap of roasted vegetables gets equal footing with our huge hunk of boudin, or blood sausage. We have chef Laëtitia Visse, the woman behind “The Butcher’s Wife,” to thank for this departure from the clubby, gentleman vibe. The young chef’s first restaurant reflects her simple desire: to serve up great food and good times. The generous plates and convivial space help see to that.

We recently spoke to Sharon Brenner about her mini-cookbook, “Athena: Cooking from Athens, Greece,” which introduces readers to Athenian-inspired dishes – with a focus on everyday food – as well as the experience of cooking and eating in Athens. It’s a small volume that opens the door to the city’s food culture. Now based in Los Angeles, CA, Sharon previously lived in Athens from 2014-2017 and has been regularly visiting Greece since 2011. The creator of the website Records in the Den, she has also published work, including food writing, in a number of zines and digital publications. Her various other culinary ventures include teaching cooking classes, running a monthly cookie pop-up and founding the dining series Athena Dinners, to be held at Marta Gallery in LA.

Lemongrass kölsch, jalapeño rye, blackberry pomegranate sour, sweet potato farmhouse. Beers at Big aLICe Brewing, in Long Island City, can be eye-catchingly colorful, but they also embody deeper stories, with local color not apparent at first sight. Big aLICe is a New York State farm brewery. That status, which mandates certain levels of collaboration with local growers and other producers, also dovetails nicely with the predisposition of co-founder Kyle Hurst toward wildly varied styles and flavors of beer. The brewery’s “two longest-standing relationships,” Kyle says, are with Native Coffee Roasters and Wilk Apiary; coffee and honey each figure in the regular rotation of Big aLICe beers.

Cava, the Spanish sparkling wine, is an indispensable part of celebrations in Barcelona – though we’re happy to find other reasons to raise a glass of the stuff any day of the week (particularly on a dreary Monday). It’s produced using the same méthode traditionnelle that is used for French champagne: after the base wine is fermented from the pressing, it’s bottled, usually with a mixture of sugar and yeast, to undergo a second fermentation to produce that ebullient fizz. While cava is produced in many areas of Spain, most production takes place in Catalonia, and especially Penedès, an area of historical importance for this type of wine.

Giuliano Granata and Federica Palumbo first met while on holiday in Calabria, in 2009. At the time, Giuliano was working as an accountant, and Federica as a lawyer. But the two fell in love, and soon after decided to take a sommelier course together. And so two became three: Giuliano, Federica and the wine. This passion quickly consumed their lives. “We decided to leave our jobs and, in 2016, opened a bistro in Vomero [a hilltop district in Naples] with a very rich cellar called Granafine,” Giuliano, 42, tells us. After operating the bistro for two years, they closed their doors and turned to a new venture. “Vineria Bandita, a project focused on natural wines, was born,” he says.

“You’re going to need this,” the owner winks, handing us a steak knife to dig into our colossal calzone. When a customer wanting a quick bite orders macarronada (penne topped with meatballs, sausage and tomato sauce) he warns that it’ll take some time since “we make our pasta fresh.” Clearing the table next to us, he teases a woman for not finishing her plate, like she was family rather than a customer. Fitting for a restaurant that feels like you’re dining in an Italian home. Tucked away on the sloping side streets of Saint-Lambert, Le Vésuvio is a slice of Italy in the heart of Marseille. For 20 years, Salvatore and Anne-Marie have dished up wood-fired pizzas and hearty pastas from their homeland. Garrulous Salvatore runs the front of the house while his more discreet wife – whom he affectionately calls “the boss” – cooks unfussy Italian classics.

We have a Georgian friend named Besik who worked in the Sudanese desert removing landmines. At base camp he came across an old pressure cooker and copper tubing and fashioned himself a little still he filled with fermented bananas. To his workmates, Beso was nothing less than a hero, as Sudan had been dry since 1983. “But banana chacha?” we cried. “Sure,” he said. “You can make chacha from any fruit.” Technically, chacha is fermented grape pomace, but the word is also synonymous with “white lightening” and is used to describe any fruit-based spirit, including quince, feijoa and melon. There is now a flower-based chacha, too, thanks to a Tbilisi woman who has created a smooth distillation from lilacs.

A part of the Allium family, which also includes onions and garlic, leeks (prasa, πράσα, in Greek) are native to the Middle East and the eastern Mediterranean region. The hardy crop has been widely used since at least the second millennium B.C., first by the ancient Egyptians and Mesopotamians and later by the Greeks and the Romans, who spread it across Europe. Nutrient dense, leeks are rich in vitamins and minerals. The ancient Greek physician Hippocrates recommended the vegetable for the proper functioning of the urinary system and as a treatment for excessive swelling (it had additional medicinal uses in ancient times, including as a remedy to strengthen the throat and voice).

The name of a food stall followed by “del Carmen Alto” has a particular ring in Oaxaca, calling to mind a whole world of stands, all of which are located in the two blocks facing the church La Iglesia del Carmen Alto, in the heart of the city’s historic center. It’s not entirely clear why El Carmen Alto is a street-food hub, but it’s probably related to the fact that, back in the 1970s, the Plaza del Carmen used to host a weekly open-air market where people from all over the Oaxaca Valley would bring their produce. This market turned out to be so popular that it eventually moved into a permanent building, named Mercado Sánchez Pascuas, where it still operates today.

It all began with some cheese. In 1997, Salvatore Cautero had the idea of setting up a simple shop that sold a selection of latticini (dairy products) and cheeses. That same year, on September 6, Caseari Cautero (a “caseari” is a dairy) opened its doors. The shop occupies a small storefront in the market at Piazzetta Pontecorvo, a busy hub where Naples’ ancient city center meets the newer, hillier district of Vomero. Salvatore is the fourth generation to work in the world of gastronomy – his father, Luigi, sells baccalà cod and stockfish next door. The idea behind his shop was to look for and select niche products made by small, high-quality producers, a sensibility that was passed down from father to son.

On a quiet street in the Campo de Ourique neighborhood, a green awning hangs out front of Pigmeu, giving the restaurant a bit of a French look. But inside, the nose-to-tail menu couldn’t be more Portuguese: As one might guess from the restaurant’s name (it’s a play on the words pig and meu, “mine” in Portuguese), the dishes feature pork and offal as well as seasonal vegetables. Miguel Azevedo Peres is the mastermind and talent behind Pigmeu, which he opened in December 2014. Since his first kitchen job in 2007, Miguel has cooked at various restaurants in Lisbon, including Estrela da Bica, and for a time had the concession for the café at Museu do Chiado. But it was a desire to focus on sustainable meat consumption that led him to go in an entirely different direction with Pigmeu.

Spain, Italy, Greece, Turkey, Portugal, Morocco, Tunisia – one thing that unites this swathe of the Mediterranean is olive oil, whose use in the Fertile Crescent can be traced back to 6000 B.C.E. Olives arrived in the southern part of the Iberian Peninsula around 9th century B.C.E. with the Phoenicians. Ancient Rome saw huge quantities of olive oil from Hispania Baetica (currently Andalucía) being transported throughout the Roman Empire in millions of amphorae (made in Baetica). Spain leads production of olive oil to this day, with 45 percent of the global total. The majority (65 percent) of Spanish olive oil production is sold to Italy, where this oil is mixed with others (normally of the same quality, but not always) and sold under an Italian label.

After the pandemic shook Porto’s restaurant sector like an earthquake, the city’s eateries are trying to rebuild themselves. Those who are still standing have opened their doors again and are now offering more than delivery and takeaway. In this city we live for contact with other people, talking face to face; nowadays that means imagining a genuine smile behind the mask. A well-known Portuguese expression may be one of the best descriptions for what restaurants are currently experiencing in the time of Covid: “Fazer das tripas coração” (“Making heart from the guts”). It means something like turning adversity into fuel, and in Portugal we use it to describe a superhuman effort. Because that’s what we’re all putting in currently, right?

A man leans on the zinc bar, reading La Provence with his café. In wanders a helmet-clad father-daughter duo, searching for sirops (a sweet cordial) to cool off after their scoot. She looks hungrily at the platter of cookies on the bar, freshly baked for that afternoon’s snack. Beside them, the bartender peels a fragrant pile of ginger for the evening’s cocktail rush. At all-day café Le Parpaing qui Flotte, there’s good food and drink to be had at any hour. Neighborhood regulars ease into the day with a coffee. The tasty food draws a steady lunch crowd, and at apéro hour, the outdoor terrace fills up for post-work drinks. As night falls, a younger crowd enjoys some of the city’s best cocktails and tapas.

There’s a Vedic-era (c. 1,000 BC) quote that underlies much of contemporary Indian hospitality: “Atithi Devo Bhava.” This roughly translates to “the guest is equivalent to God,” which is exactly the sense we get when we sit down for dinner at one of the curbside tables at Fusion Indian Restaurant, perched on the edge of Kumkapı Meydanı. Located a short walk downhill from Beyazit and just around the corner from the well-lit, tourist-trawling meyhanes crowding around the square, here we are greeted by servers with smiles on their faces and a menu boasting options to be found in few other places in Istanbul. The sky above shifts from blue to pink as the sun begins to set. The conversations of our fellow diners mingle with the sounds of the city, a convivial polyglot hubbub.