Mark Twain once famously remarked, “The reports of my death are greatly exaggerated.” Perhaps Tokyo’s beloved and historic Tsukiji Market can say the same. Several years ago the Metropolitan government declared that Tokyo’s Tusikiji fish market needed to be relocated to a more efficient and workable location. Construction was begun on a new state-of-the-art site 2.3 kilometers away in the Toyosu area of Tokyo, strategically located facing Tokyo Bay.

Lisbon, as we’ve written numerous times before, is visibly changing every day. Consequently, there aren’t many restaurants in town that have survived in the same venue, with the same name, continually serving proper meals for the last 100 years. If memory (and Google) serve us well just nine of those century-old venues remain open: Café Nicola, Cervejaria Trindade, Estrela da Sé, Faz Frio, João do Grão, Leão d’Ouro, Martinho da Arcada, O Polícia and Tavares. This, of course, in a city that according to INE, the Instituto Nacional de Estatística (the National Statistics Institute), has more than 20,000 business premises registered as restaurants or something similar.

Whenever I hear Annie Lennox singing, “Sweet dreams are made of this, who am I to disagree,” I like to think she’s looking at a bowl of pumpkin doughnuts. I’m sure she never heard of sonhos, but let me explain. Traditionally, the Portuguese consume huge amounts of sugar and cakes at Christmas time, from the Bolo-Rei (a circular cake with nuts and candid fruit) to broas (small cakes, sweet and moist usually baked with sweet potato or corn flour), arroz doce (rice pudding), azevias (a fried pastry with a chickpea or sweet potato filling) and lampreias de ovos (an odd-looking lamprey fish made of egg yolks and sugar). But during this sugar overdose between Christmas and the New Year, the deep fried sonhos (literally “dreams” in Portuguese) are my favorite.

There was no wind and we were in the middle of the Black Sea on a bright summer day, puttering across the deep blue expanse in a chaika, a small wooden Cossack war ship that its Ukrainian sail-ors had equipped with a diesel motor. We were two days out from Yalta, and our captain, Myron, was looking eastward towards our destination of Batumi, his blue eyes glazed in a dreamy state of longing. “Ah, Georgia. Satsivi,” he sighed. “Satsivi,” he repeated sensually to Roman, the first mate, as if it were the name of a beckoning siren. “I cannot wait.” I was impressed he didn’t sob for khinkali and khachapuri like everyone else. But still, I had to quickly snuff out his reverie.

From a distance, 2018 may look like the calm after the storm in Barcelona, the tempest of 2017 being the independence referendum and its fallout. Yet this isn’t quite what we’d call calm – the city is still convulsing, swinging between action and reaction, as it struggles with gentrification and social upheaval. The independence of Catalonia is not the answer to everything anymore, but it is still a mood, a political cause and door that could be half closed or half open, depending on your perspective. Chefs are looking outside of the center, and even the city itself, in search of better opportunities. Numerous restaurants have moved elsewhere, while others have shuttered their blinds, like a skin of eateries that the city is slouching off.

2018 in Istanbul seemed to be dominated by discussions of financial woes. Amid an ongoing economic crisis, the lira shed half of its value between January and August, resulting in a spike in prices of even the most basic staples. Everything seemed expensive in relation to Turkish wages, which dramatically declined in value literally overnight. People who wanted to leave the country couldn’t, as foreign currency became too expensive to obtain. Naturally, prices on the menu also shot up, but Istanbul’s restaurant scene has remained thriving amid the recession. In 2018, we found a number of the city’s classic establishments doing business as usual, while some well-received newcomers joined the fold to major success even in these troubled times. Allow us to present Istanbul’s Best Bites of 2018.

El Racó de l’Agüir (“Agüir’s Corner”), a restaurant in Barcelona’s Sant Antoni neighborhood, has been a long time in the making: it represents the life’s work of the Agüir family, the culmination of their talent and experience. Two generations can be found here – parents Roser and Ferran, who have managed four different restaurants over the course of their careers, and their sons, Iván and Ferran, both of whom are now in their 40s and grew up working with their parents. Mom and dad opened El Racó de l’Agüir in 1990, but after two years their progeny took over the reins.

It’s 9 o’clock in the morning and the narrow streets that fringe Inokashira Park are largely empty. This part of Kichijoji, a lively neighborhood in west Tokyo, has yet to wake up. Storefront shutters are yet to be lifted; staff inside cafés can be glimpsed preparing for the day. Yet, on one corner, a couple of girls duck into an enclosed alleyway and reappear five minutes later. Next, a solo lady strides inside, emerging after a minute or two. People drift in and out, marking an unusual pattern of activity. This is the entrance to Kooriya Peace, a renowned kakigori (shaved ice) store that’s so popular customers secure their dessert hours in advance – although for early birds it might become their breakfast.

Take a small space in a strategic location, add two young and idealistic owners, and finish with traditional Neapolitan dishes made with the finest raw ingredients – this is Taverna a Santa Chiara’s recipe for success. Everything began with the passion of two young Neapolitans, Nives Monda and Potito Izzo, for specialty artisanal food products from the Campania region. These types of products are not necessarily hard to find – Campania is home to many excellent small producers. Yet high quality often comes at a high cost, especially when compared to mass industrial products sold through large distribution chains.

“The future is the past,” says Salva Serra, quoting winemaker Pepe Raventós, the latest in a long line of winemakers to run the famed Raventós i Blanc. While his lineage might not be quite as storied, Salva knows a thing or two about preserving the past – the Serra family has owned La Perla BCN, a restaurant located in the upper Poble Sec neighborhood, very close to Montjuïc Park, since 1965. It’s the type of old traditional restaurant that you only learn about from word of mouth – a friend who only went there because another friend told him about it. The wonderful area where La Perla BCN is situated, with the Poble Sec residential neighborhood on one side and the nearby gardens of Montjuïc hill, home to museums and theaters, including the Grec Theater (built for the Universal Exhibition of 1920), on the other, was not always so charming.

Editor’s note: It’s Beat the Heat Week at Culinary Backstreets, and in this week’s stories, we’re sharing some of our favorite spots to visit when the summer temperatures soar. Yelo, Roppongi’s kakigori (shaved ice) mecca, summoned the faithful with free samples on April 1 like some kind of cool April Fool’s joke for the not-quite-warm weather. The line stretching to the Hard Rock Café a block away was a reminder of things to come. Now the weather has turned much warmer, and the wait is daunting. The line snakes out the somewhat hidden doorway along the outside of the restaurant, winding down a street housing an artisanal-beer darts bar and a club featuring a Beatles cover band.

A few intrepid trajinera (gondola) operators sit along the Cuemanco Dock, waiting for tourists to take through the canals. We’re in Xochimilco, the southern-most borough of Mexico City. It’s a popular weekend destination for trajinera rides, when entire extended families float along the canals, drinking micheladas (beer cocktails) and eating elotes (grilled whole corn cobs) sold off canoes. But this weekday morning is quiet. As the morning fog burns off, we set out on a green, motorized trajinera into Xochimilco’s Natural Protected Area. Before it was a preferred weekend getaway for chilangos, Xochimilco was the agricultural heart of the Aztec capital Tenochtitlan. Our destination is a chinampa, a man-made agricultural plot that “floats” on the city’s shallow lakebeds.

Dozens of urban legends swirl around the city of Naples – strange stories repeated a thousand times that, somewhere along the line, become credible. One of those urban legends concerns biscotti all’amarena, or black cherry cookies: people often say that they are made from day-old cakes. To create this typical Neapolitan sweet, bakers chop up pan di spagna (sponge cake) – the bit that is supposedly reused – and then mix it with black cherry syrup, cocoa and cinnamon. The mixture is then covered with a short-crust pastry shell and baked as a loaf, after which they’re cut into small rectangles.

“I still don’t know where the siphon bottles for the vermut are,” says an employee of Marina, a small bar in the newly renovated Mercat de Sant Antoni. It’s clear as we’re walking around that the staff of the market’s few bars and its many vendors are still settling in and adapting to their brand new spots. At the same time, hundreds of visitors have been exploring the revamped market each day since its opening last week asking, “Where can we eat or drink something?” So far, that seems to be the question on everyone’s mind, particularly locals. But this is not another food hall, this is a proper neighborhood market focused on selling quality fresh produce and other food product

We’d passed Noisette many times in the (not quite) year that it had been open. But whenever we’d walked down those sometimes clamorous blocks of 30th Avenue in Astoria, Queens – not far from a bagel shop, a pizzeria, a comfort-food hotspot and a New Orleans-themed bar-restaurant, whose windows open wide toward the street during happy hour – we’d given little notice to the quiet bakery-café with the French name. That changed during one recent stroll, not long before dark, when a hand-drawn signboard beside the door wished us “Ramadan Kareem” and beckoned us to come inside.