Megali Sarakosti (Μεγάλη Σαρακοστή) is the 40-day period of Lent before Greek Easter, running from “Clean Monday” to Easter Sunday. The fasting rules prohibit consumption of any kind of meat or animal-derived products like dairy and eggs. Fish is not allowed either (with a few exceptions), but bloodless seafood like crustaceans, shellfish, fish roe, calamari and octopus are fair game. What always fascinated me is the fact that in Greek folk tradition, Sarakosti is personified as a woman, named Kyra Sarakosti (Mrs. Sarakosti), often made out of paper (still a common activity in schools – my son Apollo loves drawing her!), but also sometimes out of felt or even a basic dough.

After a year spent refining the art of stocking, and then cooking from, our pantry – what else to do when cooped up at home? – there’s one ingredient that we are eager to evangelize about: tahini, the paste made from grinding roasted sesame seeds. It has a lot going for it: Tahini has a long shelf life, is packed with calcium, iron and Omega 3 and 6 fatty acids, and is a good source of energy. In fact, tahini has seen a comeback lately, as part of the greater attention being given to plant-based diets, together with all the various nut butters and non-dairy milks.

Located south of Naples, Cilento is a region that has it all: sea (the Tyrrhenian), mountains (the Apennines), the second largest national park in Italy, and, perhaps most importantly, excellent food. Not only has Slow Food recognized eight products from the region that are worth protecting, but the area is also inextricably linked with the Mediterranean diet. In the mid-20th century, the American physiologist Ancel Keys decided to live in Pioppi, on the Cilento coast, where he had noticed that the inhabitants were living longer than most. It was here that he studied and began championing the Mediterranean diet, which has since been inscribed on UNESCO’s list of Intangible Cultural Heritage.

This year Greek Easter will be celebrated a week later than Catholic Easter. I guess “celebrated” might not be the right word, as everything – for the first time in recent history – will be shut, even the churches. In Greece, Easter is as important as Christmas. If they can, most Athenians leave the city to spend the holiday in the countryside or on an island, where the setting is ideal for the ultimate Easter tradition – a whole lamb on a spit, roasting in the open air on Easter Sunday. Everyone gravitates toward this central attraction, sipping on tsipouro and wine and munching on meze till the feast is ready to officially commence.

In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, Italians – particularly southern Italians – immigrated to the United States in droves. Seeking their fortune in a distant land, they boarded ships with cardboard suitcases containing only a few clothes. But there was no shortage of good food in those suitcases: bread, cheese and even soppressata, cured pork salami made with the best pieces of the pig (and thus low in fat content), a perennial favorite in southern Italy. Alas, once they arrived on American soil after the long journey, their soppressate were seized because of a law prohibiting the import of cured meat, among other meat products (a ban that still exists today).

Walk in through an anonymous iron gate, halfway down a road you would assume to be completely spoiled by mass tourism, and a surprise awaits. Casa do Alentejo in downtown Lisbon is one of the many old-school regional associations in the city – but none of the others look quite like this. Many who come across this 17th-century building think they are visiting a Moorish palace, perhaps a remainder of the time Muslims ruled over Al-Ishbuna. It’s a misleading impression. In fact, this was a generic building that served different uses over its long history, including as a residence and as a school.

In the 1980s and 1990s Bairro Alto was the epicenter of Lisbon nightlife: Bars here had the best DJs, and interesting restaurants were opening more often in this neighborhood than in any other in town. Although Bairro Alto lost some of its more compelling spots over the years, it’s still a party district and on a recent upswing, with promising new restaurants cropping up. Among these is Zé Varunca, a notable ambassador for the food of Alentejo, one of Portugal’s best regional cuisines. Having limited resources, Alentejo cooks learned how to go far with a little, deliciously using, for example, stale bread as a staple ingredient along with chouriço or other sausages, pork fat and sometimes a bit of meat.

It’s a crisp and cold winter morning in Alentejo. We are in Mora, a one-and-a-half-hour drive from Lisbon, to visit Susana Esteban’s winery, a very simple adega where her award-winning wines are made. Susana welcomes us at the door and leads us inside, where, sitting among the barrels, we taste her wines. They leave a strong impression on us, and not just because of the early hour – the wines have a distinct personality, one that’s formed on the vine. Yet when we peek outside, there are no vineyards in sight, only oak and cork trees. That’s because Susana grows her grapes in Serra de São Mamede, a mountain range in Portalegre, one-hour east of Mora and close to the Spanish border.

Kadıköy’s Kimyon is a friend of the after-hours and the booze-fueled denizens who are done at the bar but have yet to call it a night. It is the buffer zone between too many drinks and a brutal hangover, and doesn’t judge those who are still up at 6:30 a.m., because it’s still open and orders of grilled chicken skewers are freshly sizzling above the charcoal. Kimyon runs nearly around the clock, save for perhaps an hour at dawn when operations shut down for cleaning. Appropriately, it’s located in the dead center of Kadife Sokak (Velvet Street), whose elegant name belies the revelry that takes place inside and frequently spills out of the numerous drinking establishments that give the street its de-facto moniker: Barlar Sokağı (Bars Street).

Editor’s Note: This photoessay was created by CB’s Lisbon-based photographer Rodrigo Cabrita. The subject is a year in the working life of João Rafael, an agricultural worker living in Portugal’s interior and struggling to maintain his way of life. In the text below, Rodrigo explains how his project got its start. I first met João while on assignment for a Portuguese magazine that covers the agricultural sector. It was the harvest time and he was finishing his day working on the grape harvest. He was splattered with grape juice and tired because of the long day’s work, but agreed to my request to take a picture of him. We ended up talking more, with him telling me about his everyday life, and that’s when I thought his story could make an interesting project.

From Rio to Venice, from Cologne to New Orleans and from Patras to towns all over Greece, Catholics and Orthodox (along with believers and nonbelievers of every description) celebrate Carnival – the three weeks preceding Lent – with parades, masquerades, pranks, Dionysian revels and Lucullan feasts focusing on roasted meats. After all, the word “carnival” is thought to have come from the Italian carne levare or “abstain from meat” – which is also the meaning of the Greek Apokreas – and heralded a time when many religions prohibited consuming flesh during the sacred fast before Easter.