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.

Fried pig’s ears fortified with garlic and parsley, veal cheek and tongue laced with vinaigrette, hefty veal and pork meatballs, creamy artichoke or eggplant omelets or a hearty bocadillo of marinated tuna, red pepper, anchovies and olives: these esmorzars de forquilla, or “fork breakfasts,” are how a Catalonian might start his day – especially at Can Ros, a tapas-and-bocadillos joint that’s open every day from 7 a.m. until midnight. Office workers might drop by for a coffee at mid-morning, followed by the lunch crowd, which takes over from 2 p.m. to 4 p.m. Dinner, of course, lasts well into the night. It’s breakfast, however, that has made Can Ros most popular among locals.

Editor’s note: This is the final installment of “Best Bites of 2013,” a roundup of our top culinary experiences over the last year. Be sure to check out the "best bites" in all the other cities CB covers. Breakfast in Erzincan We were strangers in a strange land – eastern Turkey’s Erzincan, to be exact – and Yalçın Kaya welcomed us into his cheese shop with such gracious fervor that it didn’t surprise us to find out that this Anatolian cheesemonger moonlights as an imam.

Rio’s Port Zone is undergoing a major facelift, and whether that will nicely polish its tired face or look like a botched Botox job remains to be seen. The port is the heart of Rio Antigo and particularly central to Afro-Brazilian history.It’s home to Rio’s first favela (squatter settlement), called Providência, which was originally populated in 1897 by veterans of the War of Canudos who were told the government would provide housing when they returned to Rio and found those promises to be delayed and elusive. At this port, up to an estimated half million slaves walked in from Brazil’s shores to then be sold in the port’s slave market, treated in a hospital if they were sick or buried if they died after arrival in Gamboa, where a fascinating makeshift museum called the Cemitério dos Pretos Novos offers a view of the human bones a homeowner found while digging on her property.

For too long retsina has been thought of as a cheap, oxidized, overly pungent bad wine made from mediocre grapes, its poor quality disguised by an overdose of resin and exacerbated by being stored in questionable conditions in the backyards of seaside tavernas. To say the wine has an image problem is an understatement – but that may be changing. Regardless of its reputation, retsina is a true Greek original. It dates back to the Ancient Greeks, who would coat the interiors of their otherwise porous earthenware amphorae with resin to make their wine storage airtight. Wine drinkers grew to like the taste, and winemakers consequently began adding pine resin to grape must during fermentation.

In Shanghai, a pretty surefire way to tell whether a dining establishment deserves your attention or not is by the presence of a line in front of it. (A corollary might be that the amount of attention the place deserves is commensurate with the size of the line.) Lao Shaoxing Doujiang passes the test. This ramshackle stand in the Huangpu district serves traditional breakfast foods all night long. Until recently, the stand was run by a granny in her nineties who would ladle out bowls of hot soy milk (豆浆, dòujiāng) into the wee hours of the morning. She retired this year, but her less-than-friendly son has taken over, and the buzz remains (as does the inevitable line).

It’s been two weeks of cycling through China’s Qinghai province, and the food selection is slim. The majority of the province sits on the vast Tibetan Plateau, well above the tree line in conditions too harsh for significant cultivation. Yaks graze on well-trampled grass as far as the eye can see, with white yurts and colorful prayer flags dotting the hillsides and each summit pass. By Chinese standards, six million inhabitants in the country’s fourth-largest province make Qinghai practically deserted. For long stretches, only nomadic yak herders can be spotted between the tiny villages. Stopping for a roadside lunch in the small, isolated towns inevitably means a bowl of either mutton or yak chopped-noodle soup (羊肉面片, yángròu miàn piàn or 毛牛肉面片, máo niúròu miàn piàn). Served up in a tomato-chili broth, it’s a tasty meal, but repeated daily, it inevitably becomes tiresome. Additional ingredients sometimes includes julienned zucchini or green peppers, depending on the remoteness of the particular town and their staggered vegetable shipments. After just one week, we’re eagerly awaiting more fruitful pastures, and Sichuan province, located just to the east on our route, is a culinary paradise.

Dear Culinary Backstreets, Where can I go in Barcelona when I'm tired of sightseeing and I just want to sit down and relax with a cup of coffee? Visiting museums and landmarks can be a lot of fun when you're a tourist but sometimes you can learn more about the life of a city by sitting in a chair in a café than you can by reading any guidebook. In Barcelona, there's no shortage of cafés but like anywhere else, it can sometimes be a bit tricky to find one that has just the right ambiance.

Editor’s note: This post wraps up our special series this week featuring our top street food picks in all of the Culinary Backstreets cities. As rapidly as Istanbul marches toward its modern destiny, street food in this city is still served the old-fashioned way, by boisterous ustas with a good pitch and, sometimes, a really good product.

Editor’s note: This is the fourth installment in our street food series this week, featuring dispatches on the best streetside eating in all the cities Culinary Backstreets covers. Before we get down to the business of discussing the best of Athens’ street food, a disclaimer: Athens is at a disadvantage when it comes to streetside eats. For one thing, a lot of venues – souvlaki joints, pizza parlors and even offal soup places – are open all night or even 24/7; they are just not serving on the street, though.

Editor’s note: This week we are celebrating street food, in all its fascinating, delicious and sometimes offbeat forms. Each day, we’ll take a look at the top street foods in a different city that Culinary Backstreets covers. This feature from Shanghai is the first installment. 1: Shengjianbao A Shanghai specialty, shēngjiān mántou (生煎馒头) – or shēngjiān bāo (生煎包), as they’re known everywhere else in China – are juicy pork buns wrapped in bread dough, then arranged in a flat, oil-slicked wok in which the bottoms are deep-fried till they are crispy. Although shengjian mantou can be found on most street corners in the morning, we’re especially fond of the delicious misshapen buns at Da Hu Chun. A Chinese Time-Honored Brand (老字号, lǎozìhào), Da Hu Chun has been splattering grease since the 1930s and, nearly 80 years later, has six restaurants across Shanghai. The venue’s chefs use the rare “clear water” technique, frying the pinched side of the dough face-up to create little Frankenstein buns that might not be as photogenic as the more common “troubled water” variety, but that have a thinner skin that gets extra crisp – and we’ll sacrifice good looks any day if it means better flavor.

Considering Athens’ position as a top tourist destination, it may come as a surprise that it is only recently that local museums have decided to up their game when it comes to their dining offerings. Worldwide, a good restaurant and café are now considered part of the whole museum-going experience, but it took a little time for Athenian museums to catch on to that, though catch on they have.

On the diner intimidation scale, Shanghai’s Chenghuang Miao Tese Xiaochi – which can be loosely translated as “City God Temple Snack Shop” – ranks pretty high, with aggressive lunchtime crowds and nothing but Chinese character-laden menus for guidance. But the payoff, a baptism by fire in authentic Chinese eating, is worth it. The hungry masses that congregate here have discovered a simple truth: the food here is quick, tasty and cheap – a gastronaut’s holy trinity.

Lantern Festival (元宵, yuánxiāo, or “first night”) is the fifteenth day of the Chinese New Year, and marks the last day of Spring Festival. This “first night” is actually the first full moon of the lunar new year, and in the Year of the Snake it lands on February 24. On this holiday, it’s customary for revelers to light red lanterns and eat sweet stuffed dumplings called tāngyuán (汤圆).

Dear Culinary Backstreets, I keep hearing about Greek coffee but is it any different from Turkish coffee? And do most Greeks actually drink Greek coffee these days or do they drink other types of coffee? Greek coffee is exactly the same as Turkish coffee – and it was in fact called just that in Greece until Turkey invaded Cyprus in 1974, at which point, for political reasons, the Greeks decided to rename their coffee “Greek coffee.” The process and preparation, though, are identical to the Turkish way.