Cava, the Spanish sparkling wine, is an indispensable part of celebrations in Barcelona – though we’re happy to find other reasons to raise a glass of the stuff any day of the week (particularly on a dreary Monday). It’s produced using the same méthode traditionnelle that is used for French champagne: after the base wine is fermented from the pressing, it’s bottled, usually with a mixture of sugar and yeast, to undergo a second fermentation to produce that ebullient fizz.

At first bite, the flavors don’t seem that different. But then comes a rush of spice or an unfamiliar herbal note, and it’s clear that this isn’t standard Greek fare – in fact, it’s not Greek at all. It may serve a community of Greeks, but – as its name implies – the Association of Greeks from Egypt (SAE) specializes in Egyptian food. What began as a small canteen providing the familiar tastes of home for the association’s members has grown over the years into a popular local hangout, dishing up traditional Egyptian dishes to Athenians of all persuasions. Despite the long and storied history of Hellenistic culture, which stretches into antiquity, the modern state of Greece is relatively young, and like many nation states, its story is bound up in migration.

There’s a joy in staying in China’s big cities over the upcoming Lunar New Year (春节, chūnjié). As people start the “great migration” back to their ancestral hometowns to enjoy the annual reunion dinner (团圆饭, tuányuánfàn, or 年夜饭, nián yè fàn) with their family, Shanghai becomes a ghost town. Nearly every shop and restaurant closes up for at least a week (and sometimes more like three), as employees travel back to inland provinces like Anhui and Henan for a well-earned break and the chance to eat traditional, home-cooked meals with relatives. So long as you have a well-stocked fridge, the New Year is a peaceful time to explore the empty streets.

Sweets can stir up feelings and evoke memories of particular times of the year in a way that other foods can’t. This is particularly true in Naples, where there is a dessert for every holiday: struffoli (small fried dough balls doused in honey) and cassata (sponge cake with ricotta and candied fruit) call to mind lively and colorful Christmas celebrations, while the pastiera (a cake filled with ricotta cheese, eggs and custard) reminds us of the exuberance of Easter. While those sweets are certainly indulgent, they don’t hold a candle to chiacchiere (a sweet crispy pastry sprinkled with powdered sugar) and sanguinaccio (black chocolate pudding), which immediately bring to mind the most eccentric and unruly party of the year: Carnival.

Lisbon’s communities from Portugal’s former colonies provide the strongest link to the country’s past, when it was the hub of a trading empire that connected Macau in the east to Rio de Janeiro in the west. Though integral elements of Lisbon life, these communities can sometimes be an invisible presence in their adopted land, pushed out to the periphery of the city. With our “Postcolonial Lisbon” series, CB hopes to bring these communities back into the center, looking at their cuisine, history and cultural life. In this fourth installment of the series, we look at Lisbon’s Brazilian community.

Brasuca owes its existence to Mr. Oliveira da Luz, known to locals as Juca, a trade unionist who escaped from political pressures in his homeland in 1976 to settle down in the Portuguese capital. Two years later he opened this restaurant in Bairro Alto. It wasn’t the first kitchen serving Brazilian dishes in the district, as a few other tascas – particularly those with Portuguese owners who had connections to Brazil – had incorporated some Brazilian staples in their menus, particularly the feijoada, a dense meat and black bean stew, but it was the first Brazilian restaurant opened in Lisbon by a Brazilian.

Among the many bars of raucous Bairro Alto, Casa do Brasil is a steadfast nighttime institution for Lisbon’s Brazilian community, hosting concerts and cultural events in a non-profit capacity. This two-floor venue is the place to chat, drink, eat and dance to a myriad popular rhythms from the homeland, all performed live: the festive accordion-drone of forró, the fast, happy chorinho or 1960s bossanova, as well as samba, rock and maracatu. The grungy ground floor, which mainly functions as a bar and dance floor, also hosts poetry sessions, film screenings and gastronomic events. Usually held on Mondays, their dinners provide the ideal space for getting to know the regional specificities of Brazilian food – its 26 states occupy more than half the South American continent, meaning it will take more than a couple of visits to get a full sense of the national palate.

Despite Brazil being the largest of Portugal’s former colonies, the presence of its people in Lisbon has only been felt recently. During the 1950s and 60s, Brazilians in Portugal were limited to small groups of students, a few migrant adventurers and those Portuguese descendants born in Brazil who decided to return to the motherland. However, since the 90s, a more regular coming-and-going has been taking place between Brazil and Portugal. This pendulum-like swing of migration is a consequence of their respective political and economic crises and moments of growth. At the beginning of that decade, many Brazilians moved to Lisbon in the wake of the difficult inflationary crisis that was affecting South America’s biggest nation.

When it first began five years ago, Põe na Quentinha was an informal get-together for people who were equally passionate about food, beer and samba; they spent the day eating, drinking and dancing in preparation for Carnival. Fast-forward to 2017, when what had now developed into a proper street parade drew in over 5,000 people over three different days during the Carnival Season. This year, the food-focused event, the only one of its kind in Rio, is even larger, hosting a full month-long schedule of parades that started in mid-January.

The entryway of Espai Mescladís is jam-packed with people: neighbors, workers and visitors who come and go all day long, and waiters walking from the kitchen to the tables on the terrace. But there are also dozens of people staring out from black and white photos that cover the restaurant’s walls; some are alone, others in couples, families or groups, smiling and laughing. All the people pictured at one point emigrated to Barcelona, and whether they’re still living in the city or have moved elsewhere, their stories are always present at Espai Mescladís. The photos, taken by the photographer Joan Tomás, were originally part of an exhibition organized by the Mescladís Foundation, a multifaceted initiative that provides tangible and sustainable economic programs, particularly in the form of job training, for migrants and refugees in the city.

The city of Tokyo has over 1,000 train stations, which translates to just about that many neighborhoods. In recent years many of these communities have succumbed to top-down corporate “urban renewal,” losing the small shops and restaurants that created distinctive local flavors. With an average shelf life of 30 years for buildings, most Tokyo real estate is rebuilt as opposed to being renovated for further use. Bottom up gentrification and the repurposing or renewal of buildings is rare. Change has always been an integral part of Tokyo life, but as we begin the new year, we thought it was worthwhile to honor some of the old institutions of Tokyo and enjoy them anew.

Neapolitan cuisine is an impure thing, the result of culinary influences from every part of the old continent. One of the most famous dishes this cross-pollination has produced is the Neapolitan potato gattò, a potato tortino rustico (a tall, square cake) with layers made of mozzarella, scamorza, ham, salami and more. A baroque dish, this gattò transforms the simple potato into a true miracle of gastronomy. The word “gattò” (not to be confused with “gatto” without the accent, which means “cat” in Italian) is the Neapolitanization of the French “gateaux” (cakes). But the Neapolitan potato gattò recalls the French gateaux only in form – taste-wise, it’s very far from a sweet French cake.

There’s one thing about Rio’s gastronomy that just about everyone can agree on: feijoada, the glorious black bean and pork stew served with cabbage, toasted manioc flour, rice and oranges, can (and should be) eaten all year long. But during the Carnival season (a non-specified period that begins in early January and extends until one week after the Carnival holidays), the Brazilian national dish becomes the official meal of all parties and events. From Friday to Sunday, feijoada is everywhere – at samba schools, bars, restaurants, fancy hotels, and even on the streets – and almost always accompanied by samba. This year is no different. The feijoada season has already begun, and the agenda is packed until Carnival, which in 2018 runs from February 10-14.

Walking down Pallados Street, located a few steps away from the Athens Central Food Market, is like a treasure hunt, one where the riches are the old-time kitchenware stores where past generations of Athenians used to shop for their cutlery and crystal, be it glasses, vases or chandeliers. As the years went by, the shops began adding more variety to their stock, mostly kitchen equipment and home goods. But as they grew bloated with objects charming and tacky, delicate and bulky, useful and meaningless, these shops also began to dwindle in number. Few survive among the bars and eateries that now line the street. We first stumbled upon tiny Tsiknaboom while on the hunt for these bastions of old Athens.

It’s not easy to get to Mania de Boteco. You have to go up, up, up, first by car (or, for something more thrilling, on the back of a motorcycle taxi) and then by foot, cutting across alleys and climbing narrow stairwells. But this spot is worth all the effort. Tiny and humble, Mania de Boteco has an almost improvised feel to it, teetering at the top of Vidigal, one of Rio’s most scenic favelas. The first thing noticed here is the astonishing view of the ocean and Leblon and Ipanema beaches down below. But Mania de Boteco is more than just a scenic spot: it also happens to be a top-notch botequim serving wonderful food and amazingly good drinks.