The Neapolitan stairs are ancient urban routes that connect the upper city (the Vomero district) to the lower city (the historic center). The most famous of these stairs is the Pedamentina di San Martino, a staircase of 414 steps dating back to the 14th century, which starts from the old center and reaches the Castel Sant’Elmo, on the Vomero hill. Along the way there are beautiful panoramic views of Naples. One reason to walk these Neapolitan stairs (besides the views) is to look for Totò Eduardo E Pasta E Fagioli, an old tavern with an amazing terrace overlooking historic Naples. The name is dedicated to two great masters of Neapolitan theater and cinema: Totò (Antonio de Curtis) and Eduardo de Filippo.

Stretched to translucence by a series of acrobatic, table-slapping wrist flips, then stretched just a bit further until it seemingly must tear under its own weight, the palata dough passes from the hands of Myo Lin Thway. In a moment, other hands take over. Perhaps they fill it with minced spiced chicken, for keema palata, or perhaps they fold it instead into an empty square, soon to be the conveyance for masala-red curry. After a brief interlude at the griddle, the flaky flatbread is surrendered to still other, hungrier hands. Myo, in the meantime, has swirled a little oil on his tabletop and patted down another wad of dough, pressing it wider and flatter until it, too, can take to the air.

For a century and a half, the building housing Guixot has taken on many personalities – though one thing has remained the same: It’s always housed some type of bar that also served food. Now a tapas bar celebrated for its sandwiches, brothers, partners and cheery owners Francisco and José Gutiérrez Murillo have been running the iconic eatery in the Raval neighborhood since 1986. Here we can find some of the more interesting sandwiches of the Old City, along with good tapas and a lunch menu of daily specials. Exuding a relaxed, familiar and friendly atmosphere, the space still keeps an old school look with its marble tables and thin iron columns from the past century dotting the interior. It makes good use of its walls, exhibiting paintings that seem to recall its previous life – and it’s had many.

The downright whimsy of Filomila is hard to ignore – or resist. Perhaps it is the red exterior with the French-inspired script or the vintage bric-a brac and posters that cover the walls. Or it could very well be the sight of all the pies, sitting patiently by the window just asking to be eaten. One thing is sure, most of the shop’s allure stems from the energy of its owner, Efstathia, who four years ago decided to go rogue after working in various Athens restaurants and open up with just 3,000 euros to her name, against all advice from friends and family.

Saturday, late afternoon, Jackson Heights. In the shadows of the 7, the elevated train that runs along Roosevelt Ave., sunlight is already giving way to street light; music spills from passing cars and lively watering holes; a few men and women hurry along on neglected errands. More than a few step into La Gran Via Bakery, lured by a show-stopping array of cakes and a long line of display cases filled with individually portioned pastries. At the back counter, Betsy Leites is poised, pastry bag in hand, over a bright white tres leches cake rimmed with strawberries and peaches. She squeezes out a cursive "Feliz Cumpleaños."

We are in the Vasto district, a difficult to navigate maze of narrow streets that criss and cross, a market area squashed between Naples’ central station and Centro Direzionale, the business district. The district’s Via Nazionale, a street adjacent to the station, is a shrine to local gastronomic treasures, and we consider it a true paradise for lovers of good food. It’s a jewelry box of flavors, ideas, and unique and original products. The daily street market on Via Ferrara, another local artery, is one of the city’s most colorful and fascinating – mentioned several times in renowned author Elena Ferrante’s “My Brilliant Rriend.” It was here, in 2016, that Dario Troise brought to life a project 15 years, if not centuries, in the making: a panini bar that serves only cuzzetiello (which roughly translates to bread bowl sandwiches).

You would think Sérgio Oliveira, the owner of Conga in Porto and the secret-keeper of its legendary recipe for bifanas, would be tired of the restaurant’s signature dish. But you’d be wrong. “As much as I try not to eat it, I cannot. It is impossible,” he says. "One always eats it; there is no chance not to.” It’s a simple but addictive dish. Pork, cooked all day in a mysterious spicy sauce and stuffed into a piece of bread that looks a bit like a roll– at first glance, it does not seem to impress. But Porto continues to hide the best and tastiest of its secrets in the simplest things in life. "It was my father who invented the famous bifanas with this wonderful sauce,” says Sérgio, who’s been running Conga the last eight years. It’s been more than 40 years since Manuel Oliveira returned to Portugal from Angola and opened the restaurant in 1976.

On the walls at Haritna Restaurant are homages to simple sights: a large gate, ancient Damascene windows – it’s a scene that hopes to inspire the very particular feeling of sitting in the middle of a Damascus square, down a well-trodden, old lane. For in Arabic, haritna means “our lane.” Also a colloquial term for neighborhood, Haritna evokes a sense of home for those now living far away. In fact, owner Loay Bakdash, originally from Damascus himself, had dreamed of opening such a restaurant while working as a civil engineer in Saudi Arabia. But he didn’t want it to be a place where people would just come and eat. “I wanted the customers to feel that they are in one of Damascus’ neighborhoods, among their acquaintances in a family-friendly atmosphere,” he says.

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.”

Surrounded by construction sites, Salı Pazarı – literally “Tuesday Market” – is a huge open-air bazaar in Kadıköy, a district on the Asian side. This sprawling market, held on Tuesdays and Fridays, is a snapshot of life in Istanbul: old ladies plow through crowds, their trolleys overflowing with groceries; vendors scream at the top of their lungs; and cars rocket down the highway along the front side of the market. In addition to being a litmus test of Turkey’s economic state and the general mood of the people, the market and the produce showcased on its stands reflect the changes in the seasons. In fact, as spring has been struggling to assert itself this year, only a few stands are stocked with the typical spring products on the sunny but cold April morning that we visit.

Sold for one or two euros, the spritz, which at its most basic is a combination of bittersweet liqueur, sparkling wine and seltzer, has been dubbed “the champagne of the poor” – no wonder it has been the king of cocktails in Naples for at least a decade. Aperitif time – often starring a cool spritz – is the most relaxing, and thus most awaited, moment of the day. And Neapolitans have made an art of this pre-meal ritual. In a city that is known (although sometimes unjustly) throughout Italy as the city of the idle, the aperitif has come to symbolize living well, in the company of friends.

There’s something so soothing about taking refuge in a simple restaurant in the middle of a tough work day. These temples of comfort food dot Barcelona streets, with their daily specials written on a flimsy piece of paper or a blackboard. Come midday, laborers of all kinds – from blue-collar workers to executives in suits and freelancers in jeans – stream in, relaxing their minds in front of a good homey dish, one that’s free of ornamentation. In Spain, lunch is usually the main meal of the day, and most companies break for this midday meal between 2 and 4 p.m. This pause allows for a moment of spontaneous team building or a small escape; most people return to their workplace with a renewed vigor.

Rua Catalana is a very ancient road, a corner of Naples where time seems to stand still. Located next to the financial district and now squeezed by 19th-century buildings, it is curiously the only road in the city that, instead of the Italian “Via,” uses “Rua,” a distortion of the French “Rue.” In the mid-14th century, Queen Joanna I of Naples welcomed merchants from all over Europe to the city as part of her efforts to promote trade. She donated this area to the Catalans, and tinsmiths and junk dealers settled here. Even though 700 years have passed, a smattering of small copper and tin artisans continue to practice their craft on this street, now making artistic copper and tin objects for the increasing number of tourists roaming the city.

Behind the counter at Le Bon Pain in Queens Village, more often than not, is Ghislaine Clervoix, a woman in her 80s who has owned the place for more than 30 years. Ghislaine chats in English and Haitian Creole with her regular customers, a few of whom she’s known for decades and introduces as her “old-school friends.” Diminutive loaves of French bread are the namesake of the bakery, and plenty of customers come in to buy them fresh; the Clervoix family also bakes large quantities for supermarkets around Long Island and Queens. On a recent visit, though, the signature bread seemed like an afterthought to most customers, who were clamoring for the bakery’s patties.

Not many companies baking in Portugal can claim that they’ve been in business since 1756. But Queijadas da Sapa, the first bakery to make queijadas de Sintra, cheese and cinnamon tarts in a thin crust, can proudly display “Since 1756” on their labels and the doorway to their shop. These small and spicy bites are not only, as the name suggests, the pride and joy of Sintra, the fairy-tale-like town of castles located 40 minutes away from Lisbon, but they are also some of the best creations in the large catalogue of Portuguese pastries. In fact, they were already quite popular many decades before 1837, the year that the café in Belém began selling Pastéis de Belém, the famous custard tarts.