The era of Portugal’s seafaring might was so long ago, it seems almost like a myth – one still patriotically related by locals today. Gastronomic evidence of the country’s imperial past remains, however, particularly in Lisbon, where Angolan, Brazilian and Goan eateries can be found among the many other restaurants serving non-Portuguese food. Yet, despite Macau being under Portuguese control for around four centuries, passing into Chinese administration only in 1999, Macanese cuisine is still a mystery. Lisbon has yet to see even one Macanese restaurant open. There is a place here, however, to eat food from Macau: a cultural association in between Alvalade and Areeiro on a main road that leads to the airport, far from Lisbon’s center.

The small, spicy piripiri, or African bird’s eye chili, is one of Portuguese cuisine’s most unexpected ingredients, one that has travelled thousands of miles across many continents to find its place there. When the Portuguese began navigating around the globe as early as the 15th century, spices like black pepper and cinnamon became some of the most important and expensive goods on the market. Piripiri didn’t reach quite the same renown, but they have influenced many cuisines in their travels East. Initially they were taken from Brazil to Africa, where they thrived. After Vasco da Gama established the maritime route to India, the Portuguese introduced the peppers to Asia, namely India, Thailand and Malaysia.

It’s a buzzing Thursday night at Associação Renovar a Mouraria (ARM), a one-room bar and eatery found in a nook at the top of some ancient stone steps leading up from Rua da Madalena. Dani, a local tattooist born in Java, is cooking for around 35 people as part of the weekly Jantar Cruzado (“dinner crossing”), an initiative aimed to improve social inclusion in this old part of town through the simple act of making food.

Every late morning from the ground floor of a typical Lisbon building, the façade of which displays a tile-painted Madonna, a hunger-inducing scent pervades the street. Dhaka Restaurante is one of many canteens in the Mouraria neighborhood preparing its lunchtime curry. Along Rua Benformoso, among the small shops selling jewelry, trinkets and Chinese-made goods, are several restaurants that have fed the local community from the Indian subcontinent for years. Today, however, they aren’t just cooking for them. Due to a rapid process of urban transformation, mainly thanks to tourism and interested investors, more and more people from Lisbon and further afield are passing through this winding thoroughfare looking for alternative flavors.

Whether you call it steamboat, hotpot, Chinese fondue or shabu shabu, one thing is certain: Nothing warms you up in the depths of winter like a steaming bowl of bone broth. As winter continues its dreary hold, here are five of the best places to get hotpot in Shanghai.

Palanca Gigante is an Angolan tasca in multicultural Mouraria, Lisbon’s medieval downtown district. The restaurant is named after a critically endangered species of antelope (the palanca negra gigante, or giant sable antelope) that was adopted as an Angolan national symbol after that country’s independence from Portugal in 1975. Though regular Portuguese tascas – no-frills eateries – in Lisbon are far less endangered, it is harder to find authentic food from Portugal’s former colonies at such approachable prices in the city center.

Offering some of the world’s purest, most passionately produced chocolate, along with some of the best coffee in Lisbon, Bettina & Niccolò Corallo on Rua da Escola Politécnica in the Príncipe Real neighborhood has changed the tastes and habits of many locals. There’s no milk chocolate available at this family-run shop, only dark chocolate. And yet Portuguese chocolate lovers – who have a notorious sweet tooth – will swoon when one mentions Corallo’s products. As for the coffee, area residents now wait until 10 a.m., when the café opens, to have their morning brew here.

Our “Culinary Secrets of the Old City” walk goes beyond the major monuments and into the backstreets where all of the serious eating is done. We’ll set off through the atmospheric, lesser-explored market streets around the Egyptian Spice Market and then go deeper into the untouristed Fatih neighborhood.

Lisbon seems to be getting its groove back. Or at least, more people are taking notice of this city’s unique character and clearly taking to it. Recently, Vogue and The New York Times profiled the Intendente district, an up-and-coming neighborhood in the city center; Monocle magazine held its first “Quality of Life” conference in Lisbon; and many friends of ours, from Istanbul to San Francisco, are sharing beautiful photos of their latest trip to the city. Oddly, in a city on the upswing with such a rich culinary heritage, we found there was little storytelling on the subject of food and how it impacts Lisbon’s urban culture, be it in print, on the Web or on the ground (as in a tour or other guided experience).

Though Brazil is rich in mother earth’s most colorful produce – like passion fruit, guava, papaya, collard greens and sweet abóbora pumpkins – residents of Rio nonetheless have a steady love affair with hot dogs, which are pronounced “HOH-tchee DOH-geey,” or literally translated into Portuguese as cachorro quente. Vendors across the city pile the bunned favorite with a set of toppings as elaborate as they are consistent from one cart to the next: hard-boiled quail eggs, green peas, corn, potato straws, stewed onions and Parmesan cheese. “Tia” was a young mother of three with a husband whose blue-collar salary as a cop meant life was a hustle in their working-class neighborhood of Freguesia. “I had to take them all to school, prepare breakfast, the school uniforms,” she said. “I got no rest.” Her hot dog vendor days began in 1982, when her daughter was a newborn, and she had what she now says were two decades of busting her chops before the cachorro quente da Tia would become one of the most in-demand snacks in this periphery neighborhood of Rio. “Thank God,” she says of her success in her hot dog business, which now encompasses both a quiosque and a store, with 16 employees in total.

When we picked up a cab from Meşhur Unkapanı İMÇ Pilavcısı recently, it turned out the driver had just been there for a refuel himself. Sensing a captive yet interested audience, he held forth all the way to Beyoğlu about where to eat well and cheaply – without stomachaches ensuing – in Istanbul. We’re always happy to discuss the finer points of kuru fasulye (stewed beans), but this driver seemed to have a particularly deep interest in the subject. After debating the merits of various canned brands (“Yurt” brand or nothing, in case you were interested), he dived into the subject of soup.

Editor's note: As Rio gears up for the 2016 Summer Olympics, CB has been exploring the backstreets of the city's Olympic Zones in search of gold-medal eateries. This is the first dispatch in the series. Barra da Tijuca was meant to be the best of Rio without its worst. Sandy beaches with no pickpockets. Top-notch shopping with no annoying squawking vendors. Playgrounds with no worrisome outsiders – because those playgrounds are inside gated condominiums with guards who sometimes have pistols tucked into their belts. The Avenida das Américas is 14 lanes wide, enough space for everyone to have their own car and leave the bus lanes to the white-uniformed maids and servicemen and women who bustle into Barra each day.

You can’t have Christmas in Greece without melomakarona and kourambiedes, two traditional cookies that are present in every household this time of year. The former were once prepared for Christmas and the latter for New Year’s, but gradually the two treats became inseparable (because why have one when you can have both?). Kourambiedes (the singular is kourambies) are believed to originate from the Azeri Iranian city of Tabriz, where they are called qurabiya. The Greeks, it appears, borrowed the name for their cookie from the Ottomans, who called them kurabiye (kuru meaning “dry” and biye meaning “biscuit”). Besides in Greece, variations of kourambies can be found throughout the Middle East, Turkey (kurabiye), Cyprus (kurabies), Albania (kurabie) and Bulgaria (kurabiiki), as well as the Andalusian part of Spain and Mexico (polboron).

Editor’s note: Tbilisi was a new addition to Culinary Backstreets this year, and as we look back on all the great eating we did in 2015, we can’t help but notice that so much of it took place in the city's Sololaki area. There’s a typecast in Georgia that when somebody wants to go into business, they open up a khinkali restaurant. There is a logic to that. About a million people live in Tbilisi, a city built impetuously along the hilly banks of the Mtkvari River. And the adoration every single one of these people has for this boiled dumpling is so reverent, it is as if they see Jesus and his disciples feasting on a steaming platter of kalakuri khinkali for the Last Supper as they bite a hole into the dumpling and slurp its tasty broth.

Editor's note: This is the first installment in our new monthly series, Tbilisi Sketches, with illustrated dispatches covering local spots in Georgia's capital. Contributor Andrew North is an artist and journalist based in Tbilisi who spent many years before that reporting from the Middle East and Asia.