Beignets & More is the kind of place you want everyone to know about – and you don’t want anyone to know about. Tucked between a defunct Cineplex and an Off-Track Betting location in a strip mall in Chalmette, a downriver suburb of New Orleans, it is a family-run gem of Vietnamese cuisine. But the name is a cloaking device of sorts: The beignets, which are made fresh daily, seem like an afterthought. Until recently, we’d never even had them. In all the years we’ve taken the short drive to this nondescript restaurant, we have always stayed on the “More” side of the menu.

One of the great joys of spring in Japan is anticipating the appearance of sansai, or mountain vegetables. When cherry blossoms begin to flutter on warming breezes, hikers take to the hills to forage for the first wild edibles. Supermarkets mount special displays of packaged (and unfortunately often hot-house-raised) young sprouted leaves, shoots and tubers. Restaurants proudly offer up special seasonal dishes, providing an opportunity to bring the freshness of the outdoors to the table, even in the inner city. A bounty of deliciousness awaits those fortunate enough to get out of Tokyo and roam the hills. Fukinoto, taranome and warabi form a trifecta of green vegetables gleaned from mountain walks. Cooks wait all year to prepare dishes of these fragrant yasai veggies.

At the cusp of winter’s end, men across Georgia balance on wobbly ladders and trim their grapevines. The clippings will be used later for baking bread in traditional tone ovens and for roasting mtsvadi, skewered chunks of pork, on the embers. Only after the trimming is completed throughout the land is springtime allowed to arrive. And when it comes, it does so in teasing bursts of bold flavors, juicy colors and luscious aromas. The first indication of spring is the arrival of tarkhuna – tarragon – at the central bazaar, where we love to shop for produce.

Every day, Yuki Motokura records the temperature and the humidity, and checks in on his pizza dough. He adjusts the flour, water and salt in minute increments, and logs the results with precision. “Even if the data is the same, it might not come out the same,” Motokura says. “Pizza is just that difficult.” While there’s no failsafe trick, he says he’s developed a kind of sense for how the dough might behave during his years of experience. “I lift the lid on the fermenting dough and I have a kind of discussion with it,” he explains. “‘What shall we do today?’”

Manuel Azevedo and Francisco Moreira, now both in their 70s, have been friends since childhood. Such a close connection has afforded them the trust and togetherness required to run O Buraco, the restaurant in Porto that the duo have presided over like generals for almost 50 years. In fact, it was right after completing his military service that Manuel, a native of Marco de Canaveses, a city within the greater Porto municipality, came to Porto proper in search of work. “I picked up the newspaper, saw the ad, applied and was hired as a waiter,” he tells us. On February 4, 1971, he entered O Buraco (“The Hole” for the first time; he hasn’t left since.

“I’m afraid there are no tables for the next week or so.” This has become the most-repeated phrase lately at Taberna Sal Grosso, a small space which first made a significant impact in Lisbon restaurant scene nearly eight years ago. Now, after a couple of challenging years due to the pandemic, the 25-seat-spot is again one of the most coveted in town, attracting both locals and in-the-know visitors. If Sal Grosso (“Coarse Salt”) helped to breathe new life into the old Lisbon tradition of enjoying beer, wine and petiscos in a small tavern, its second life – now with new owners and chefs – brings another breath of fresh air to this corner of Santa Apolónia, on the margins of the Alfama neighborhood.

Denassus can be found in a narrow space on Blai Street in Barcelona’s Poble Sec neighborhood. Here, the bar occupies nearly half the room, with little tables lining the other side. Upon entry, we are greeted by the jubilant god of wine himself: the giant face of Bacchus, covered in grapes, looks down on us from the wall above. He presides over the scene: a warm, relaxed atmosphere in which to enjoy natural wines and thoughtful dishes. It’s not easy to find a place that blends quality and fair prices, tradition and modernity, identity and open vision, all into one easy-going style. Denassus has this touch.

In a town that runs on tacos, tacos de guisado may be the most ubiquitous version of the iconic dish in Mexico City. They can be found almost anywhere in the city, from specialty restaurants to markets, tianguis and street vendors selling them at stalls or even out of the trunk of a car. It may be an obvious point, but what distinguishes some tacos de guisado from others is how well prepared the guisados (home-style cooked meats or vegetables typically displayed and kept warm in earthenware dishes called cazuelas) are – and sometimes those coming out of the back of a car top ones from more “established” places. With so many places to choose from, how to determine who makes the best tacos de guisado in town? One contender we had long heard about is Beatricita, a brick-and-mortar taquería in the Zona Rosa that has quietly been using the same recipes to great acclaim for almost 110 years – certainly strong evidence that its guisados could be some of the best in the city.

Initially, it was books that led Fernando Rodriguez Delgado to his interest in cacao. Today Rodriguez runs Chocolate Macondo, a café that specializes in ancient preparations of cacao, but prior to that he was a bookseller, fanatical about reading and fascinated by the history of Mexico. The day that he came across the Florentine Codex, a 16th-century manuscript documenting Mesoamerican culture, was an important one: it would eventually spark his countrywide search to discover the traditions of cacao and seek out ingredients, the names of which he only knew in Nahuatl. Rodriguez didn’t speak this native language of Mexico, so trying to work out the recipes for cacao drinks he found in the codex was no easy task.

The Catalan ensaïmada is more than just a pastry – the sweet, spiral-shaped bread covered in powdered sugar serves as a direct link to the ancient Sephardic Jewish history of Spain and, more specifically, the Balearic Island of Mallorca (Majorca, in English). Despite the Jewish connection, the name of the pastry actually comes from the Catalan word for lard, saïm, and literally means “mixed with lard.” According to recent research conducted by the Majorcan pastry chef and culinary anthropologist Tomeu Arbona, ensaïmadas are Christianized relatives of an ancient Jewish bread baked on the island, similar to braided challah.

Flor Heras (36), co-owner of the Heras family business El Rito and head chocolatier of Reina Negra Chocolate, wakes up every day with the goal to keep chocolate and mole evolving and resurrecting with the same passion the Mayans put into the preservation of their myths. Founded in 2010 by Flor’s father Luis Heras Cortés, El Rito (which means “Ritual”) started as a brand that sold mole paste and traditional chocolate tablets outside of Oaxaca. Their artisanal processes favored the use of natural and high-quality ingredients, rendering homemade, authentic flavors. El Rito products soon caught the attention of local businesses and customers – due to their success, in 2017, Mr. Heras and his family opened a brick-and-mortar shop.