Avenida da Liberdade is commonly acknowledged to be the most luxurious and expensive artery in Lisbon. It’s the obvious place to go to buy a famous designer’s dress or fancy jewelry. It might be surprising to learn, then, that it’s also the place to go for good pernil assado (roasted pork shank) or cabidela (chicken blood rice). The reason is simple: the area is filled with great tascas, which draw a wide range of local office workers, including lawyers, business consultants, public servants and unpaid interns. Among these tascas, O Cartaxinho is one of the best, if not the best. Unsurprisingly, it’s also one of the most popular – it’s not unusual to see groups waiting outside for a table during lunchtime.

Rio’s bar culture is crazy for chicken. It’s common to see at bars dozens of the cooked birds laying within heated glass cases, awaiting hungry customers. The more popular the botequim, the more parts of the chicken are available. In the fancy bars of Ipanema and Leblon you can only find voluptuous breasts and legs, accompanied by salads and risottos. But in more humble botequins in the North Zone or further out in the suburbs, you’ll find gizzards, feet, beaks, and even rear ends. Yes, cu de galinha is a rare delicacy in Rio... Not only is every part of the chicken appreciated, but also all ages of the bird.

When Wuyuan Bingjia first opened in 1936, it was one of many Shanghai-style bakeries around town, churning out trays of benbang dim sum dishes to be eaten on the go or taken home and enjoyed with the family. Now, as the city grows skyward and Shanghainese palates skew more international, these old-style bakeries are slowly dying out. Wuyuan Bingjia is one of the last ones standing, and it’s not thanks to the service. (Word to the wise: Be ready to order when you get to the cashier or you’ll get an earful from the waitstaff.)

The tables inside Bawabat Istanbul, a busy Syrian restaurant with one side open to the street, fill up the moment the previous guests pack up and leave. The food arrives fast as well: carefully decorated plates with grilled meat or falafel, hummus and fries, tomatoes and salad, all sprinkled with paprika and cumin. If it weren’t for the baguettes served along with the pita, one would guess that this was in Syria. But it is not. The street outside, lined with shops and small cafés, is the main thoroughfare in Bir Khadem, a suburb in southern Algiers. In one sense, Bawabat Istanbul is unique. It is the only place of its kind in Bir Khadem, otherwise dominated by Algerian favourites like loubiahand deep-fried sardines.

Some of the most unique and dramatic scenery in Greece can be found in Mani, a dry, wild region in the south-central part of the Peloponnesian peninsula. Bookended by the Messinian Gulf to the west and the Laconian gulf to the east, the area is a unique combination of stone, sun, sea and mountains. Here, in one of the most picturesque and untouched parts of Greece, you’ll find medieval villages, stone towers and fortresses, Byzantine churches, villages lost among olive groves, beautiful caves, rocky coasts and crystal blue waters. Until not too long ago, many of Mani’s villages were highly inaccessible; some could only be reached by sea. Locals are proud people with strong traditions and consider themselves direct descendants of the ancient Spartans.

Walking through Tokyo’s Shin-Okubo neighborhood – AKA Koreatown – can be sensory overload. It’s Saturday night, and we weave through throngs of people along Okubo Street, passing crowded cafes and Korean cosmetics shops. The soundtrack of Korean pop music drifting from every restaurant and café is punctuated by shouts from inside a Korean grocery or the blare of a pachinko parlor. Every shop is painted in an audacious purple or pink or else a dazzling orange or yellow, competing for attention. Scents of foods spicy and sweet drift from storefronts. Tokyoites come to Koreatown for two reasons: shopping and food, but we haven’t come to shop.

A legendary snack bar sits on a corner of Praça Luís de Camões, a busy square dedicated to one of Portugal’s most celebrated poets (his most famous work is the epic Os Lusíadas, a fantastical interpretation of the Portuguese voyages of discovery, narrated in Homeric style). The square is a major thoroughfare in Chiado and witnesses thousands of journeys daily. Many passing through make a pit stop at O Trevo. This tiny and perpetually packed eatery has historical roots in the area; traces of the old sign, “Leitaria Trevo,” over the marble entrance reveal its beginnings as a dairy some 80 years ago.

The Greek wine grape harvest is almost over. The dry and hot weather conditions throughout the year helped the grapes ripen earlier than usual, around ten days ahead of last year – a meaningful number when it comes to the delicate business of selecting what to pick for the harvest. After the previous year, a disastrous vintage for many, producers in Greece’s major wine regions finally have something to be excited about. The harvest that has us excited, though, took place just an hour’s drive from Athens, in a lesser-known wine region near Corinth. Here you can find the tiny vineyard of John Papargyriou, one of Greece’s most celebrated rising winemakers, with his wines selling out fast both at home and abroad.

We have each got a couple of buckets and a pair of gardening clips and we are standing in a dewy vineyard in the middle of the majestic Alazani Valley. The autumn air is brisk, fresh with the fruity smell of grapes and the sun is warm, clouds permitting. Looming northward like some godly guardian of this huge, precious grape basket is the awe-inspiring Greater Caucasus range. It is rtveli, the harvest, and here in Kakheti, families across Georgia’s chief winemaking region are busy making wine much like their ancestors have done for centuries. They pick, crush and ferment wine in kvevri, enormous ceramic urns buried into the ground, or in oak barrels. They add nothing to enhance the fermentation process, the crushed grapes are stirred several times daily until they feel the maceration process is completed. The chacha, fermented skins, seeds and stems, is separated and set aside for distillation later, while the wine is left to age until the New Year feast season.

Wine and health: that was the prevailing philosophy of Joan Cusiné Hill, who in 1978 took over Parés Baltà wines, produced in Penedés, the land of cava. Cusiné Hill, who had already started working in viticulture at the age of seven, applied this philosophy first to himself – to what he ate and drank, to exercise, always with his focus on discipline and his vision. But he also applied it to his vineyards, using natural fertilization methods that included walking his sheep among the vines so that they could eat the grass and planting vines in the middle of the forest in an effort to harness the power and energy of those natural surroundings.

Over the last 20 years the wine industry in Baja California has grown exponentially, with the majority of production located in the Guadalupe Valley. The valley, which lies just 22 miles northeast of Ensenada, is about 14 miles long and is home to over 100 vineyards of varying sizes, from large-scale wineries like L.A. Cetto, to boutique operations like Monte Xanic, Vena Cava and La Lomita. Interest in the valley, both for its bright and rocky landscape and the unexpected wines it produces, has brought a boom in tourism. Design hotels and high-quality farm-to-table restaurants abound, making the valley a hot spot for food and wine enthusiasts.

There is a Portuguese word famous for allegedly being untranslatable in any language. That word is saudade, an emotional state caused by missing someone or desiring something that does not exist anymore. For years, children have been told that only lusophones are able to feel saudade, since others cannot express that feeling. It’s a compelling story, but, unfortunately, it’s also far from true: saudade means virtually the same thing as añorar or echar de menos in Spanish, nostalgic longing in English, or sehnsucht in German. If one is looking for a truly untranslatable word in Portuguese, he or she should look no further than right around the corner, to that cheap no-frills restaurant serving large portions of traditional food piled onto large aluminum platters.

Behind a discreet entrance on one of Lisbon’s principal avenues, a sophisticated environment with a minimal interior houses a loyal Luanda-Lisboa jetset crowd who is here for the great food – and great music. Poemas do Semba, its walls decorated with black-and-white photographs, is an unlikely find in this neighborhood. Santos is the former stomping ground of the Portuguese nobility; today some of their former palaces have been turned into embassies or luxury hotels. Students and a design-y crowd have taken over as well, thanks to the nearby college. This exclusive African restaurant was opened in 2014 by the famous Angolan singer Paulo Flores, a semba exemplar who has numerous albums to his name.

We got hungry after doing some serious exploration in the Asian-side neighborhood of Mustafa Kemal, a hotbed for left-wing groups and a melange of informally built homes in the shadow of the rapidly developing district of Ataşehir. Passing by a string of uninspiring döner and pide joints, we inevitably opted to do what works best: follow our noses. The ragtag quarter is better known as 1 Mayıs, taking its moniker from a bloody, chaotic scuffle in Taksim Square on May Day, 1977, that left over 30 dead. Home to a working-class Alevi population of Central and Eastern Anatolian migrants who came to Istanbul in the 70s, the neighborhood is tagged on every other wall with the acronyms of leftist groups (legal and illegal alike) alongside posters of martyred revolutionaries

Fun fact: More than 70 percent of the meat eaten in China is pork. And while stuffing yourself with xiaolongbao and hongshao rou is a must when eating in Shanghai, it can be nice to have a respite at halal restaurants like Miss Ali. Yan Ali, the owner and namesake of the restaurant, arrived in Shanghai from Xinjiang – China’s predominantly Muslim province in the country’s far northwest, where she previously hosted TV shows. Ali didn’t like the way her native cuisine was often represented in Shanghai – with waiters robed in garish “costumes” and performing songs and dances from their region – and decided to create a more accurate representation of the restaurants of Xinjiang.