In 1654, Dutch refugees, including 23 Jews, traveling on a French ship from Brazil, arrived in North America. The refugees set foot in Peter Stuyvesant’s New Amsterdam village, now called New York. Stuyvesant did not want to accept Jews, so he imposed trade, property and tax restrictions to stifle their advancement. Most of the Jewish community consequently returned to Amsterdam or left for the Caribbean, where they could live under more hospitable conditions with relatives. When Stuyvesant ultimately ceded control of New Amsterdam to the English, the small Jewish community that had remained swore allegiance to its new rulers and began to grow.

Wild greens or horta (χόρτα) are an ancient and still very important ingredient in traditional Greek cuisine (and happen to have exceptional nutritional value to boot). Every season brings different varieties: some more bitter, some milder and sweeter, some naturally salty, all with different textures and shades of green. Almost every single taverna around Greece includes horta in the salad section of the menu. These boiled greens served with virgin olive oil, sea salt and plenty of freshly squeezed lemon juice are one of the most common salads enjoyed throughout the year, usually with fish, but sometimes also with meat. When eating out, Greeks typically ask the waiter what type of horta the restaurant serves, as they know it depends on season, region and availability of each variety.

In the heart of Alfama’s historic flea market is a surprise: Lisbon has a small restaurant dedicated entirely to mushrooms. Located inside the charming old market building from where there is an excellent view over the Tagus river, Santa Clara dos Cogumelos (Saint Clara of Mushrooms) is a very peculiar eatery: from starter to finish, including desserts, are unexpected combinations of shiitake, oyster, porcini, black trumpets or truffles, all cooked using a variety of techniques.

The working-class area of Brahami has never been Athens’ hottest gastronomic destination. It is a mostly residential neighborhood, halfway between the city center and the exotic beach-loving southern suburbs. Like most of the city’s suburbs, in the not-so-distant past, this area was once made up mostly of fields. Now formally named Agios Dimitrios (St. Dimitrios, after St. Dimitrios’s church), it has a vibrant local market. It’s also home to Remoutsiko, a family-owned, family-friendly taverna focusing on meat. Housed in an old converted barn, the restaurant has been around for some 30-plus years.

It’s a buzzing Thursday night at Associação Renovar a Mouraria (ARM), a one-room bar and eatery found in a nook at the top of some ancient stone steps leading up from Rua da Madalena. Dani, a local tattooist born in Java, is cooking for around 35 people as part of the weekly Jantar Cruzado (“dinner crossing”), an initiative aimed to improve social inclusion in this old part of town through the simple act of making food.

Like many other cities in Europe, Lisbon’s burger trend has been growing strong, with gourmet versions and strange national adaptations overtaking the capital. But the bifana, Portugal’s quintessential hot sandwich, will always trump any trend for locals who want quick nourishment. Composed of a thin pork filet cooked in a sauce made from white wine, garlic, bay leaves, lemon and lard, the bifana is an irreplaceable cultural habit.

Fresh pomegranates await to be squeezed into juice near Istanbul's iconic Grand Bazaar .

Wave after wave of migration from Anatolia has bestowed upon Istanbul a population of 15 million at bare minimum, with countless pockets of the city representing villages and districts from every last corner of the country. In the neighborhood of Feriköy, those originally hailing from the eastern province of Erzincan have managed to consolidate their presence on an entire street. Lined with a number of restaurants and shops selling fresh goods typical of the province, and a row of village associations established for the purpose of maintaining cultural ties between those living in Istanbul and their relatives back home, Feriköy's Gediz Sokak is all about Erzincan, a land of sheep and mountains famed for its dairy products.

Beneath modern Lisbon lies a complex network of galleries belonging to the city’s 18th-century aqueduct, a monumental structure that resisted the 1755 earthquake that devastated much of the capital. The aqueduct’s 58 km of tunnels and underground channels distributed water to 33 chafarizes (fountains) – often ornamental – to supply the city with drinking water. One of them, located along the steep steps connecting the Avenida and Príncipe Real neighborhoods, now houses Chafariz do Vinho, the Portuguese capital’s oldest enoteca, or wine bar.

On our Plaka walk, this four-legged friend was begging for food, so we couldn't help but share some of our sheep's milk yogurt. We are expecting more animal followers on our Athens walks from here on out.

For more than a year, we’ve been trying to find a way to approach the mammoth subject of Spanish wine with a suitable culinary activity. Barcelona has a sophisticated wine scene representing the best of Catalonia and all of Spain. In sober rooms, we attended tastings that were a bit too academic for our taste. We visited new-age wine bars with a list limited to Catalan bio/organic wines and nothing else. In Barcelona’s many wine shops, we sampled when we could and shopped for bottles, as we might in any international city. During this research, we got up close and personal with what was in the glass but often felt disconnected from the local culture of drinking wine.

Offering some of the world’s purest, most passionately produced chocolate, along with some of the best coffee in Lisbon, Bettina & Niccolò Corallo on Rua da Escola Politécnica in the Príncipe Real neighborhood has changed the tastes and habits of many locals. There’s no milk chocolate available at this family-run shop, only dark chocolate. And yet Portuguese chocolate lovers – who have a notorious sweet tooth – will swoon when one mentions Corallo’s products. As for the coffee, area residents now wait until 10 a.m., when the café opens, to have their morning brew here.

Our “Culinary Secrets of the Old City” walk goes beyond the major monuments and into the backstreets where all of the serious eating is done. We’ll set off through the atmospheric, lesser-explored market streets around the Egyptian Spice Market and then go deeper into the untouristed Fatih neighborhood.

A fresh walnut is completely different from the type found in a package on a supermarket shelf. The nut is pale and soft, the flavor light and creamy, with not a trace of bitterness. It almost melts in your mouth. Rarely is it possible to eat just one. I can vouch for this because, last autumn, I ate more walnuts per day than I would usually consume in a year, thanks to a six-week stint on an Anatolian walnut farm. Having decided to move from London to Istanbul for work, my husband and I wanted to begin by improving our Turkish. We stumbled upon Tatuta, a matchmaking site for organic farms in Turkey and volunteers willing to lend a hand. It was something of a challenge for us – a pair of city dwellers with little agricultural experience – to come up with a compelling account of why we would be useful. In the end, we just decided to sound enthusiastic and willing to learn.

Editor’s note: This is a new installment in an occasional series about where to wet your whistle in true Tokyo style. Every Tokyo neighborhood has its standing bars, usually near the train station. Azabu Juban’s most popular, Juban Stand, is located on a backstreet running parallel to the shoten gai shopping street. It spills out onto the sidewalk, where old kegs offer patrons the chance to drink a few beers while enjoying life on the street. Inside, a standing area snakes down the bar to the back, ending with a jumble of stools and stairs leading to a small balcony with a few wonky tables for those who prefer to sit and linger.