Considering its prime location between the Acropolis and the neighborhoods of Petralona, Kallithea and Neos Kosmos, the fact that Koukaki has seen a wave of development in the last 15 years is no surprise. Cafés, bars, restaurants, hotels and Airbnbs have sprung up all over the neighborhood, making it an increasingly popular destination for visitors. At the same time, life has become something of a headache for long-time residents – with so many apartments being turned into Airbnbs, property prices have gone up significantly, and the neighborhood has become too noisy and busy, particularly during the high season.

Last week we stopped at Prego, a Georgian-owned Italian restaurant, for an extra-large pizza paradiso, a delicate thin crust brushed with a light tomato sauce and baked, then topped with thin slices of ham, fresh tomatoes and shredded lettuce, and sprinkled with fresh parmesan. For summer, there isn’t a more refreshing pizza pie. We were the only seated customers and had to wait around 30 minutes for the kitchen to finish an enormous two-scooter delivery order. We might have grumbled had this not been July 2020, when a global pandemic has every restaurant owner in the country gnawing their fingernails to stubs. We were happy to see that our favorite place for pizza was serving at all.

In Spain, the word chiringuito evokes fond memories of summers spent at the beach. While the country’s coastline is famous, chiringuito technically refers to something more beach-adjacent: the small, mostly permanent bars and restaurants that line the sandy shores. The term, which has post-colonial Caribbean roots, is relatively recent, having been used for the first time in 1949, as the name for a restaurant in Sitges, a village southwest of Barcelona (that restaurant, by the way, is still frying squid on La Ribera beach). But the tradition of eating and drinking by the beach in Spain goes back further than that. Covered wood terraces or open-air tables with fishermen grilling sardines and serving wine were widespread along the Andalucia Coast over the last couple of centuries.

The officials from the Ministry of Health came late in the evening on a Friday night and entered Tbilisi’s popular gastro-entertainment complexes Fabrika and Ghvinis Karkhana-Wine Factory #1. They knew there would be a lot of people here celebrating life again after two and a half months in lockdown. They also understood that even with tables spaced two meters apart, as required, it is difficult to control social distancing after people have had a few drinks. For authorities looking to tally up some fines, it was like shooting ducks in a wine barrel. A total of 16 establishments were fined 10,000 lari ($3,273) in what restaurant owners have described as “raids” two weekends ago for violating Covid-19 regulations. Among the six places at Ghvinis Karkhana that were penalized was Number 8 BBQ House for not having a list of employee temperatures and violating social distancing rules.

Screens, social distancing, masks, constant cleaning, diminished room capacity, “Covid-free” stamps… gloves? Are gloves still in the protocol or is hand sanitizer enough? What exactly are the municipality’s formal requirements for opening or expanding a terrace? Why are restaurants across the board forced to operate at 40 percent capacity for indoor seating when the alternative – requiring a certain amount of space between tables – would allow places with larger rooms to do more business? These are the questions that surface in our conversations with Barcelona’s restaurant owners as they try to get back on their feet. Josep María Solé, co-owner of the iconic La Cova Fumada in La Barceloneta, recounts having to ask a client at the door to put on their mask before coming inside – otherwise, they risk a fine from the City Council.

Everything is ready at Mangia e Bevi. The tables are spaced out, the seats reduced from 60 to only 18, in the kitchen Marilena – owner Luigi Grasso’s wife and the trattoria’s cook – is dressed like an astronaut, the wine is chilled and wonderful smells waft from the kitchen. My favorite restaurant, “my” Trattoria Mangia e Bevi, has reopened after being closed for 80 days. And that’s already good news. “I’m so happy to see you again,” Luigi exclaims, while we touch our elbows, both protected by masks that hides our smiles.

Covid-19 has brought most of Mexico City’s restaurants to a halt. But Antolina in the Condesa neighborhood has found a way to keep its kitchen active. “We were about to shut [the restaurant] down when we got the idea of doing something different to keep breathing,” says owner Pedro Sañudo. Pedro, known to his friends as Pete Mezcales, has long collaborated with maestros mezcaleros (mezcal makers) to promote the drink and ensure that they are paid fair wages for their labor. As part of this work, he founded Corazón de Maguey, which offered craft mezcals as well as superb food, in partnership with the restaurant group Los Danzantes, a collaboration that lasted 10 years.

When France’s confinement forced many businesses to shutter, certain Marseille restaurants, cafés and bars found a way to keep busy. Some made meals for healthcare workers or packed their dishes in to-go containers. Others became pick-up points for produce-filled paniers from local farms, or makeshift épiceries – topping tables with artisan foodstuffs, booze and flowers. Like other cities across the globe, home cooking became the rage. A constant line snaked from the Monoprix on the sidewalk below my balcony. The owner of my organic market said they’ve never been busier since people had “more time to cook” and “less places to eat out.” I joined the culinary masses, making time-consuming comfort food like slow-roasted lamb and chicken stock. Monotonous tasks like peeling fava beans became meditative rather than annoying.

Over the last three months, as the Covid-19 pandemic forced us indoors, the members of my family have put on an average of two kilos. We spent lots of time cooking and talking about food, planning out the week’s menu well in advance. We prepared everything at home: bread, pizza, noodles, cakes and biscuits. My daughters even made sushi! In supermarkets, yeast was nowhere to be found, and we witnessed frenzied scenes whenever flour arrived. But there are some foods that just cannot be prepared at home, and these were the ones we craved.

I didn’t take the coronavirus seriously at first. In fact, its severity didn’t hit me until a few days ago. Earlier this month I was in Berlin, visiting my brother. The city’s tourism fair was abruptly canceled as a result of the virus, but we weren’t worried. We went out at night, eating and drinking and having a good time, as one does in this capital of debauchery. Upon return to Istanbul, I still wasn’t particularly concerned. There still had not been a case of the virus confirmed in Turkey at that point. I went on a gastronomic trip to Nevşehir and Kırşehir where I feasted on Central Anatolia’s delicious regional specialties and enjoyed numerous bottles of the Cappadocia region’s famous wine.

This past Friday I wrote the following reflection on how Marseille is coping with the coronavirus crisis: “Marseille’s most visited monument, Notre Dame de la Garde, hasn’t seen a decline in visitors to her golden beacon. At La Samaritaine, the iconic Vieux Port café, locals pack the terrace to soak up the sun. And, when taking public transit, I rarely spot a face mask. Unlike the empty piazzas in Milan and the masked subway riders in NYC, it’s been smooth sailing in this port city.” That was clearly the calm before the Covid-19 storm.