At any time of day you’ll see crowds of people at the ancient, welcoming restaurant. At lunchtime, many regulars come daily not for the pizza, but for Maria’s home cooked dishes. “Here we serve traditional Neapolitan dishes,” says the 74-year-old. “Pasta and potatoes, pasta and beans, pasta sorrentine style or bolognese. The menu changes every day, and the bread is made every morning, here, directly in the pizza oven … with my hands.” There’s something about the pizzeria that transmits a sense of history, particularly its inner room, the walls of which are covered in declarations of love for the restaurant and drawings made on paper napkins by loyal customers over the decades. “It is as if customers wanted to leave something of themselves,” Attilio tells us proudly. “They wanted to return some of the goodness they just tasted with something that would last.”

Where the A train dead-ends at Lefferts Boulevard, Liberty Avenue stretches on into the heart of the enclave known as Little Guyana, part of the larger Richmond Hill neighborhood. To most Americans, and even New Yorkers, this population remains obscure. “People don’t know who we are,” says Lakshmee Singh, a talk show host and community leader in Queens, Richmond Hill, once a predominantly German and Italian neighborhood, has seen a steady stream of Guyanese immigrants since the 1970s. Today, it’s home to the largest Guyanese community outside of Guyana itself, with Guyanese immigrants representing the second largest foreign-born community in Queens.

Christos Mplantis, a 37-year-old farmer based in Marathon, a region in northeastern Attica, has farming in his blood. His father, Alexandros, was a farmer too, and starting at the age of ten, Christos began joining his father at farmer’s markets, or laiki (λαϊκή), around Athens any time he was off school, particularly during the summers. Although working the land and selling at markets became second nature to him, Christos didn’t immediately think to follow in his father’s steps. He went to technical school to become certified as a plumber but couldn’t find a decent job after graduating. So, around 17 years ago, he found himself in a familiar spot: working next to his father.

Retsina has a bad rap. Many locals and foreigners associate this Greek classic with cheap “house wine” served at tavernas – you know, the stuff that is bright yellow in color, has an intensely resinous flavor and practically guarantees a headache the next morning. But we think retsina is just misunderstood. Increased demand in the 1960s for this resin-infused wine led to a plunge in quality, sullying its good name. Yet a new generation of Greek winemakers and sommeliers has worked tirelessly over the last decade and a half to restore retsina’s standing in the international world of wine, experimenting with different grape varietals and methods of fermentation in the process.

When it comes to Chinese dumplings, fish is likely not the first filling that springs to mind. But that’s probably because you haven’t had the chance to try Liaoning province’s specialty: boiled mackerel dumplings. Dishes from Liaoning, which is located northeast of Beijing, fall under the regional umbrella of Dongbei (northeastern) cuisine. The staple grain up north is wheat and corn, with noodles, steamed breads and dumpling wrappers supplying most of the carbs in the local diet. The area wraps around the coastline of the Yellow Sea, bringing fresh seafood to the table, and its proximity to the Korean Peninsula means an abundance of pickled veggies.

When Brenda Miranda and her partners started Chilakillers seven years ago, it was on a lark. They were freelancers – like so many young professionals in Mexico City – who needed some extra cash and thought, “Who doesn’t love chilaquiles?” The only problem? None of them had much experience in the kitchen. But the mother of Brenda’s ex agreed to give them her salsa secrets – verde, mole, refried beans with chipotle, and a super spicy version (to which they would later add an avocado salsa and a vegan salsa). Plus, while Brenda may not have cooked much growing up, she did know meat – her father worked as a butcher all through her childhood in Mexico City’s Obrera neighborhood.

As one of the world’s most densely populated urban centers, Mexico City can feel intimidating at first; the hustle and bustle is as inspiring as it is exhausting. To better understand the complex cultural identity of this vibrant megacity, where pre-Hispanic, colonial, and contemporary influences collide, we organized a five-day trip – “Layer by Layer: A Mexico City Culinary Adventure” – in partnership with Atlas Obscura. Led by veteran Culinary Backstreets guide and Mexico City native Paco de Santiago, this unique trip gives a broader understanding of the city’s natural landscape and intimate culinary traditions. Through Paco’s personal anecdotes and encyclopedic knowledge of Mexican culture, the group was able to better understand the harmony as well as the dissonance that define this layered city.

Happiness comes in all forms, but according to Aristotle’s scale there are four distinct levels to this particular emotion – say, for example, waking up to a glorious sunny day (laetus), getting a special discount from your local green grocer (felix) or watching your dog do its business in a sinister neighbor’s yard (beatitudo). Looking out the window, the snow-capped Caucasus along the horizon on this bright day, our eyes scan the city and settle over our own neighborhood of Vera, below. We sigh a sensual “yes” and nod smugly with our arms crossed because now there is a place in the hood where we can experience each of Aristotle’s levels of happiness in one splendid sitting.

CB has teamed up with the creators of “Native Dish: United Flavors of NYC,” NYC Media’s new food TV series, to offer a behind-the-scenes look at some of the New Yorkers featured in these short videos. The series, which aims to celebrate New York City immigrants from all over the world, focuses on one individual and one dish at a time as a means through which to explore the myriad cuisines represented in the city and the people who make them. While each episode features a general overview of the participant’s life story, particularly as it relates to food, we are expanding that narrative by providing the full interview transcript, albeit condensed and lightly edited. It’s their story, in their own words. To kick things off, we are spotlighting Esneider Arevalo, our Queens walks leader, and his family recipe for traditional golden arepas.

The Georgian culinary experience is all about the dinner, stereotypically a glutton’s nirvana of singularly delicious foods stacked plate by plate to the ceiling alongside beer pitchers full of wine. This might explain why, after a night of belt-popping gourmandizing, there is very little in the way of a breakfast culture in Tbilisi. Another explanation might be that Tbiliseli are not morning people. Most cafes open around 11 a.m., which is about the time our neighborhood baker is slapping his first batch of bread in the tone. Nevertheless, people do break the fast at home, often with leftover bread and butter or a chunk of cheese, or maybe day-old khachapuri.

It’s just shy of noon when we step into the new location of Ozzie’s Kokoreç in Istanbul’s Asmalımescit neighborhood. Proprietor and usta Oğuzhan Sayı and his wife Gizem are preparing for another busy day in their compact, sharply-designed new restaurant. As we begin to chat, Oğuzhan gets a call that he has to take. It’s from the Hilton, which has requested a large order of Oğuzhan’s specialty. And while kokoreç – rolled lamb intestines roasted over a spit before being chopped up, grilled and doused with a layer of herbs and spices – is primarily known as a humble street food staple, one that’s most popular among those who have had a few, we aren’t surprised at the loftiness of this order.

Ramen may have seen a worldwide boom in recent years, but when it comes to soba – Japanese buckwheat noodles – fans might say they’ve been unfairly neglected. “Soba have a history of at least 400 years, as long as sushi. Yet they’re almost completely unknown abroad,” chef Yoshinobu Saito says, pondering the concept behind his first ever restaurant. “I guess I don’t have a specific concept for the store. But I do want to promote soba worldwide.”

The sensation of entering A Cozinha do Manel (“Manel’s Kitchen”) in Porto is so similar to entering grandma’s house on Sunday that it almost confuses us. There is no one to greet you at the door, no cloth napkins folded over employees’ arms. We walk confidently, as we would at home, with the sense of comfort that only intimacy is capable of inspiring. From the wall, among the many clocks, vintage plates and drawings made on cloth napkins by customers with an artistic bent, dozens of familiar faces look back at us. They are actors, musicians, politicians and soccer stars all standing next to Zé António, the owner and manager – a confirmation of the restaurant’s popularity.

For Josué Barona, the Mercado San Juan has always been part of his life: his mother and father both have stalls there, just around the corner from each other, and he has been working among the bustling food stands from a young age. While the stand that the now 35-year-old works at doesn’t really have a name – it is simply number 259 – many know it as Rosse Gourmet, the name he has given to the side of his business that sells edible flowers and micro greens. “We have been selling edible flowers for the last ten years,” he tells us as he counts colorful pansies into plastic containers ready for a big order he was preparing to send out. “Before that, the flowers didn’t exist [for sale] like this in Mexico.”

At the corner of Psaron and Salaminos streets, in a quiet neighborhood of Piraeus, there’s a place that looks straight out of a 1960s Greek black-and-white movie. Its name, eidikon, means “special,” and it’s the last of its kind: a bakalotaverna, or grocery store and eatery, all in one. The shop opened in 1920, when the three Papakonstantinou brothers from Gardiki, an impoverished village near Trikala in central Greece, came to Athens in search of better prospects. The building was the tallest in the area. It had large windows, and in good weather, one could even see the sea on the horizon.