Izmir’s quintessential sandwich, the kumru (the Turkish word for turtle dove), derives its name from the birdlike shape of the elegant, curved roll in which it is served. Throughout the Aegean coastal city, there are two varieties of this ubiquitous sandwich: One is served fresh from a cart with a slice of local tulum peynir (sharp white sheep’s cheese), tomatoes and optional green pepper. The other version is a greasy, salty and downright decadent configuration of grilled sucuk, salami, thinly sliced hot dog strips, two types of cheese, pickles, tomatoes and occasionally ketchup and mayo, dwarfing its humble predecessor. While the simpler kumru dates back to the mid-19th century, it was in the 1940s that sandwich shops started grilling them up with sausage and melted cheese.

“Pizza’s always been a part of my life,” asserts Dave Acocella, the resident dough wizard at Philomena’s in Sunnyside – and he is hardly exaggerating. “I used to cut school growing up in New Jersey to go to Joe’s Pizza on Carmine Street. What a great slice,” he adds. We think it would be more appropriate to say that for Dave, pizza is life. When we ask him what is the greatest thing about owning a pizza shop, he answers, without skipping a beat, “Getting to eat my pizza, of course.” Pizza is a humble food, consisting of seemingly simple ingredients: dough, sauce and cheese. Great pizza, according to Dave, is “when all the elements are in harmony – sauce, cheese and dough all working together.”

A former industrial center, eastern Lisbon has gained a new vibrancy of late, with old factories and decrepit warehouses made over into art galleries, restaurants and breweries. Not even the pandemic has been able to stop this development: A Praça, a marketplace connecting Lisboetas with producers from around the country, has recently set up shop in an old meat-processing plant and civil personnel canteen in the former Manutenção Militar, the industrial area of the Portuguese Army that’s now home to Hub Criativo do Beato. The project is set to open to the public later in the year but is already up and running digitally, offering many products, including fresh produce from local farmers, artisanal smoked sausages, wine, cheese and olive oil, for takeaway and delivery.

Some of my strongest childhood memories are of warm afternoons spent at my grandparents' garden in Oaxaca, sitting around a big table eating all sorts of snacks. My grandfather would ask all the cousins to line up, close our eyes and open our hands, into which he would place a “special candy.” Then came the challenge: “I will give 10 pesos to the first one who eats the candy without opening their eyes.” Little did we know that these so-called “special candies” were chapulines (grasshoppers), little insects with tiny legs and a tangy flavor. Our grandfather's jokes introduced us to a world of challenging flavors and textures that eventually became synonymous with home, where we were surrounded by delicious food and innocent laughter.

Like many cities around the globe, Mexico City has seen the pandemic wreak havoc on tourism and restaurants, two often intertwined industries. Many restaurants and hotels have already closed their doors, and many more employees have lost their jobs. Yet in the midst of this storm, two young siblings, Pamela and Jaime, decided to open a world-class coffee shop. Forgoing the high-end and trendy neighborhoods of Condesa, Roma and Polanco, they opened Di Caffé in Tlalnepantla, one of the northern suburbs, in May 2020. We spoke to these young entrepreneurs about their decision to open a business during the lockdown as well as their travels around the world, which inspired them to create an international coffee menu.

Located near the end of Akşemsettin Street in Istanbul’s Fatih district is a small yogurt shop that radiates history. Barbaros Yoğurtçusu has been around since Kemal Kurap’s grandfather Abbas came to Istanbul from Albania at the dawn of the 20th century and established the business in 1918. The current location in Fatih was opened in 1946, but the brand’s name comes from its original locale at the Barbaros Hayrettin Paşa ferry pier in the district of Besiktaş, named for the legendary Ottoman naval commander. Like the owners of other classic dairy shops in the city, the Kurap family belongs to a rich tradition of Balkan dairy producers that made their way to Istanbul in the latter years of the Ottoman Empire.

For Christmas, a Neapolitan wants to eat three things: fish, seafood and more fish. So important are the creatures of the sea for the holy evening that Christmas is also referred to as the festa dei sette pesci (“feast of the seven fishes”). And while all fish are welcome at the table, one is especially dear to every Neapolitan’s stomach: dried, aged Atlantic cod. It comes in two similar but distinct forms: baccalà, or salt cod, which, as the name suggests, is cod that has been heavily salted; and stoccafisso, known as “stockfish” in English, which is preserved by being dried in the sun and the wind. Before they are eaten, both are soaked in water to rehydrate and soften them.

Back in the days when we avoided restaurants because they were mobbed with tourists and not because they lacked outdoor seating, when we greeted friends with cheek kisses and never cringed in horror when a person coughed, Vinotheca sold wine from its storefront on Kote Apkhazi Street. A few meters away, Aristaeus Ethno Wine Bar served dambalkhacho fondu at its dinner tables. The two establishments shared the same owner, Gia Darsalia, who also had a shop called Kalata that sold “edible souvenirs,” as he calls them. We liked Kalata so much we tweaked our Tbilisi culinary walk for a stop there so guests could sample artisan cheeses and goodies like gozinaki, a walnut-and-honey candy served only during the holiday season in private kitchens.

Giuliano Granata and Federica Palumbo first met while on holiday in Calabria, in 2009. At the time, Giuliano was working as an accountant, and Federica as a lawyer. But the two fell in love, and soon after decided to take a sommelier course together. And so two became three: Giuliano, Federica and the wine. This passion quickly consumed their lives. “We decided to leave our jobs and, in 2016, opened a bistro in Vomero [a hilltop district in Naples] with a very rich cellar called Granafine,” Giuliano, 42, tells us. After operating the bistro for two years, they closed their doors and turned to a new venture. “Vineria Bandita, a project focused on natural wines, was born,” he says.

It all began with some cheese. In 1997, Salvatore Cautero had the idea of setting up a simple shop that sold a selection of latticini (dairy products) and cheeses. That same year, on September 6, Caseari Cautero (a “caseari” is a dairy) opened its doors. The shop occupies a small storefront in the market at Piazzetta Pontecorvo, a busy hub where Naples’ ancient city center meets the newer, hillier district of Vomero. Salvatore is the fourth generation to work in the world of gastronomy – his father, Luigi, sells baccalà cod and stockfish next door. The idea behind his shop was to look for and select niche products made by small, high-quality producers, a sensibility that was passed down from father to son.