“I don't want to die, because I just can't get enough of Istanbul,” proclaims Mari Esgici, chef and owner of Marinee Kaburga, a small, cozy restaurant specializing in kaburga (beef ribs) and brisket that is a delightful addition to the Kurtuluş neighborhood's culinary patchwork. Hailing from an Armenian family with roots in the southeastern city of Diyarbakır, Mari came to Istanbul in 1980 as a child and has seen a great deal of the City. In the process, she has become a vital part of its culinary scene, in no small part due to her larger-than-life personality. It would be an understatement to say that Mari is a character, her intense vibes radiate from the kitchen and you know exactly where you stand with the chef.

After the Vietnamese War, many of the refugees bound for France landed in Paris. A minority spread out to other French cities like Toulouse, Lyon and Marseille, the latter being a ville refuge (refuge city) due to its bustling port. The small community in Marseille used to be concentrated near Joliette, before its building boom. But now they’re scattered across the city, taking their cuisine with them. No matter, for we know exactly where to go whenever we’ve got a hankering for Vietnamese: We join the line of people waiting for a bowl of pho outside Nguyen-Hoang.

The year 2021 has been as unpredictable as 2020. At its start, we were thinking the lockdowns had run their course, only to be mistaken. Once restrictions were lifted, it still took several months for businesses to fully reopen. As is the story the world over, many restaurants, street stands, eateries and markets could not make it and have closed their doors permanently. We lost many people; some were dear friends who could not afford to stop working during the lockdowns – either their businesses were considered essential or the income was needed at home. Knowing that, we in Mexico City took what opportunities we could to celebrate life and its continuation in the shadow of the pandemic.

For the first time in 14 years, I have not left China for an entire calendar year – actually 620 days, but who’s counting? It’s a weird feeling, and one that makes me more than a little sad, so I’ve been trying to make up for it by eating delicious food as often as possible. Luckily, Shanghai was spared the brunt of the pandemic. The shutdown was never an official lockdown in China’s financial capital, although very few restaurants were given official permission to offer in-person in early 2020. Shanghai didn’t shut down in 2021 either, and while some restaurants went bankrupt, the pandemic pushed other great local spots into offering delivery services when they never had before.

Walking inside the bright Café (R)égal, the familiar ingredients of a sustainable restaurant can be seen. Here, a chalkboard lists the local farmers from which foodstuffs are sourced. Each table is topped with cloth napkins instead of disposable paper. A poster on the wall shows the happy chickens that benefit from the kitchen’s compost. All these elements minimize Café (R)égal’s impact on the environment. What makes them unique, is how this conscientious café is also making an impact on people’s lives. Café (R)égal is a restaurant d’insertion, meaning it offers work training to people with disabilities. These apprenticeships provide a much-needed springboard into the workforce and something even more essential: a place where folks of all backgrounds are on the same footing.

Amaghleba Street and its environs stretch like a long arm of the Sololaki neighborhood up into Tbilisi’s hills. The broad main street is lined with 19th-century brick buildings, some of them graced with the magnificent wooden balconies characteristic of Old Tbilisi. At No. 16 sits Terracotta, where a patinaed metal awning hangs over steps heading down into the small, welcoming restaurant and wine bar below. The warm earth tones inside evoke its history as a ceramics studio, and the vases, cups and plates on display are a direct inheritance of Tata Samkharadze, who took over her parents’ art space when they chose to close it in 2018. In its place, she opened a small restaurant a year later with cook Anna Burduli.

Historically, Guizhou is one of China’s most overlooked provinces. The landlocked location in central China is sandwiched between the famous spice havens of Sichuan and Chongqing to the north and Hunan to the East, and tucked behind the tourist destination of Yunnan to the west. It has the largest population of people in poverty and lowest income per person in China, and the geography of the province has made it tough to travel around; mountainous roads and lack of infrastructure don’t make for easy tourism. Its biggest claim to fame has been Kweichow Moutai (Wade-Giles Romanization of Guizhou Maotai), the famous state-owned baijiu brand served to Richard Nixon when he met Mao Zedong.

Like many of our favorite Lisbon restaurants, Modesta da Pampulha has very humble beginnings. Originally opened in 1920, the eatery started off as a shop selling charcoal and bulk wine with a simple tavern on the side, evolving over the years to become a temple of homestyle Portuguese comfort food. During the week, office workers from the Pampulha area – between the busy Lapa and Alcântara neighborhoods – along with staff from the nearby Ministry of Education and taxi drivers from a stand just in front of Modesta da Pampulha, gather for lunch in the small restaurant to eat the freshly-made daily specials or charcoal-grilled fish and meat.

Snail khinkali? It might sound, at first, like an odd combination. On closer consideration of Georgian cuisine and history, however, it makes good sense. For one thing – perhaps the most important – they’re tasty, and we have yet to hear anyone who’s tried them disagree. The signature dish at Metis restaurant, which is – for now at least –the only place in Tbilisi one can have them, they remind us more of mushroom than of meat khinkali: savory, smooth, a little buttery, with some brightness from parsley and a hint of pastis. Metis’ logo, a snail with a khinkali for a shell, expresses the playful blend of French and Georgian cuisines that owner Thibault Flament is pursuing in close collaboration with his chef, Goarik Padaryan.

In the summer of 2020, a close friend of Ioli Vrychea and Panos Stogiannis – Athens restaurateurs with plans for a new spot – arrived at the Tainaron Blue Retreat on Greece’s southern Mani peninsula. He sat down at the hotel restaurant and, after quickly falling in love with the meal he’d been served, knew he had found the chef Ioli and Panos were looking for. The friend was so enamored that he convinced the pair to make the drive down south to Mani to introduce them to the person who made the food, Stavriani Zervakakou, a 40-year-old chef with roots in Mani. The bond was instant. She quit her job at the resort and made the move to Athens.

In the 1960s, Mayor Gaston Defferre proposed a plan to give Marseille a beach that was worthy of the Mediterranean port. Despite the city’s 26 miles of coastline, there were very few public beaches at the time. One of them, Prado, was so narrow that waves would flood the coastal road beside it each time the mistral wind blew. In 1977, the Parc Balnéaire du Prado opened on an artificial embankment, cleverly built with leftover fill from the construction of the Marseille metro. With its gravel beaches and grassy lawns, the sprawling, 64-acre seaside park was an instant hit. Now, the beaches – known as Prado Sud and Prado Nord – are two of the most popular for Marseillais and tourists alike.

For Marina Liaki, Greece had long been a holiday destination, a place to visit family, soak in the sun and practice her Greek. So it was a shock when Marina, who is half-French, half-Greek and grew up in Paris, volunteered at a temporary refugee camp in the port of Piraeus in late 2015. The Syrian war was at its peak, and large numbers of refugees where coming over by sea every day. “It was so strange seeing the port of Athens, which I had always connected to careless summer holidays, in such a state,” she recalls. It was there, in January 2016, that Marina met Hasan Hmeidan, another volunteer who was originally from Syria but had moved to Greece with his family when he was five years old.

In the mid-1980s, a teenage Félicité Gaye left the Côte d’Ivoire to join her older brother in Marseille. Though their homeland had been independent since 1960, the siblings had grown up in the era of Félix Houphouët-Boigny, the pro-France president who kept close ties to its colonial ruler. “France is beautiful and there is money to be made here,” Félicité’s brother urged. Félicité’s plan was to get a good French education, and then put it to use back home. When visa problems prevented her from finishing university, the 21-year-old decided to stay, knowing her opportunities in the Côte d’Ivoire would be limited without a degree. She found work with a well-to-do Marseille family, cooking and tutoring their daughter.

Despite the fact that Porto has swelled with tourists in recent years, leading local establishments to evolve in order to cater to these visitors, there are thankfully many places that have swatted away all trends and remained faithful to their roots. In Miragaia, a typical Porto neighborhood that has resisted the pull of tourism, one can still find a place like this on each corner. A good example is Refúgio 112, which is located deep in the warren of narrow streets, where there are only houses and no awnings or anything notable to report. The restaurant is, as the name suggests, the refuge of Clarice Santos, or Clari for short. It opened eight years ago on the same day as the annual São João festival.