Cecina is a food for the road. In its most common form, the salted and dried meat can last for months, which explains why it was a main source of sustenance for travelers, sailors and soldiers in colonial Mexico. Nowadays, cecina is still known as a thin cut of cured meat – almost always beef – that can be eaten completely dry, similar to beef jerky. Yet in central Mexico, specifically in the state of Morelos, cecina is normally salted (tiny cuts are made in the meat and fine salt is added) and then sun dried and air cured for two or three days (the thin sheets are usually laid out on tables or hung over wires), before being grilled over charcoal.

In Kadıköy Kooperatifi, located on a residential street in Moda, a peaceful, almost sacred atmosphere reigns supreme. It’s a modest and sober place – quite different from the retail experience we’re accustomed to nowadays – but by no means dull. For months we had heard bits and pieces about the shop – a cooperative selling goods sourced directly from small producers across Turkey – before we finally decided to see it for ourselves, right before the pandemic hit Turkey. What we found was a small space that, despite the peace and quiet, was more bakkal – the corner store that plays an integral role in neighborhood life – than exclusive organic shop.

Olhão in the Algarve doesn’t have the picture-perfect scenery – the beautiful rocky cliffs cascading into the sea – normally associated with the region. But this fishing town managed to avoid the overdevelopment that has plagued other fishing villages in the region, like Albufeira or Armação de Pêra, now cautionary tales of how not to approach urban planning. At the heart of Olhão’s fantastic old city center, known for its cubist architecture, is one of Portugal’s best markets. It’s divided into two large red buildings with green domed towers, a distinctive feature that defines the town, especially when seen from the water. One building sells fish and shellfish from the rich Atlantic waters while the other has fruits, vegetables, nuts, cakes and cheese from the eastern side of the Algarve.

“Ó freguesa hoje temos a bela sardinha!” From afar, the fishmonger calls me to see her “beautiful sardine.” It is indeed a thing of beauty, this fish that the Portuguese love, especially in the summer when they are at their best – fat and full of flavor. Maria Alice has sardines, but also an incredible array of fresh fish from the waters south and north of Lisbon: cuttlefish, octopus, horse mackerel and mackerel as well as the prized ocean sea bass, sea bream and red snapper. Her friendly face is a reminder of how welcoming Mercado da Ribeira has been for generations of sellers and customers. Just as stalls are passed down from parents to children, so too is the habit of shopping there.

When épiceries first set up shop in France in the Middle Ages, they predominantly sold spices – les épices, as their name implies. In the 19th century, they added foodstuffs on their shelves, evolving into magasins d’alimentation générale. Some of these general stores are North African-owned corner shops. Open 24/7, they play an indispensable, yet oft-unsung role in the social fabric of a neighborhood (similar to NYC’s bodegas and Lisbon’s minimercados.) Others are épiceries fines, offering gourmet goods and seasoned advice on how to cook with them. Unlike impersonal supermarkets that sell pre-sliced salami suffocating in plastic, these intimate shops spark a conversation on the difference between coppa and bresaola. Épicerie l’Idéal fits somewhere in between, both a community fixture and culinary wonderland.

Normally when you cross Las Ramblas, it’s like trying to navigate a river coursing with energy; more often than not, the current is too strong. On some days, the rush is easier to manage and more enjoyable. Lately, however, a strange emptiness has descended on the boulevard – no more crowds, no more buzz. But if you listen closely, a pulse remains, that of the area’s historic resilience, which is baked into the very stones that pave this famous thoroughfare. So many things have happened here, and Las Ramblas has endured so much. As Barcelona struggles with the current pandemic, which has brought a surreal silence to the city and raises difficult questions about how to reopen and rebuild, La Boquería, the 19th-century market at the heart of Las Ramblas that in recent years had become overrun with tourists, is reclaiming its role as a neighborhood market.

It’s been interesting to see how Queens has adapted to life in lockdown. Personally, I have been cooking at home a lot, particularly for breakfast and lunch, which are basically the only two meals I have every day (usually I have a snack late at night, right before I go to bed). I have been staying in as much as I can. I exercise in front of the TV. I try to ride my bicycle on rollers for at least an hour every day. I lift weights and stretch as much as I can. I go to the farmers’ market – it’s fantastic to see the farmers that are still making it into the city and providing us with access to fresh fruit, vegetables cheese, eggs, etc. I talk to Nestor from Tello’s Farm, who makes the trek down from Coxsackie, New York, with his fresh eggs.

Editor’s note: We don’t operate in Milan, but it's the home of our managing editor, Emma Harper. So we asked her to share her experience living under lockdown in the epicenter of Italy's outbreak. The first thing I noticed on lockdown in Milan, and the thing that has stuck with me the most, is the barking. Our apartment sits on a noisy thoroughfare, with cars and trams running by at all hours. But now, save for the errant tram, it’s quiet and still; the piercing, fearful dog barks ring out and bounce between the buildings that line my street, amplified by the silence. The only sound that can drown them out is an ambulance siren. It’s safe to say that the Milanese are dog people: Canines crowd the parks and streets, join their owners on the metro, and tag along for caffè and a brioche at the bar.