Some of the most unique and dramatic scenery in Greece can be found in Mani, a dry, wild region in the south-central part of the Peloponnesian peninsula. Bookended by the Messinian Gulf to the west and the Laconian gulf to the east, the area is a unique combination of stone, sun, sea and mountains. Here, in one of the most picturesque and untouched parts of Greece, you’ll find medieval villages, stone towers and fortresses, Byzantine churches, villages lost among olive groves, beautiful caves, rocky coasts and crystal blue waters. Until not too long ago, many of Mani’s villages were highly inaccessible; some could only be reached by sea. Locals are proud people with strong traditions and consider themselves direct descendants of the ancient Spartans.

On Serifos island, local word-of-mouth advice on where to eat real Greek home cooked food – at excellent prices – will take you to the end of a beach road, a dirt path bordering the turquoise sea. Around a slight bend on a corner clearing, a dozen or so mismatched, aged wooden tables and chairs strewn in front of whitewashed house are simply lit by a string of light bulbs hanging between two thick tamarisk trees. Here, 83-year-old Kyria (Mrs.) Margarita has faithfully taken orders, cooked every dish and welcomed her summer guests for more than three decades. Hers is the prototypical traditional Greek island taverna.

As one approaches the port of Ermoupolis (named after Hermes, the god of commerce), the main town of the island of Syros and capital of the Cyclades, one cannot help but marvel at its beauty and grandeur. Imposing public buildings and private mansions, marble-paved streets, a large Italian-style piazza and numerous churches make the city one of the best preserved examples of 19th-century architecture in Greece. This should not come as a surprise: in the aftermath of the 1821 Greek War of Independence from the Ottoman Empire, Syros developed into an important commercial, cultural and industrial center, as refugees from Asia Minor, Chios, Crete and other areas found a safe haven from the war on the small island.

Thessaloniki, the capital of Greek Macedonia and the country’s second largest metropolis after Athens, 500 km to the south, is a youth-loving, vibrant city that never sleeps – and always eats. Most locals here are friendly, laid-back, natural-born foodies who love going out and enjoying good wine and tsipouro. It’s a city with a very long history of culinary hospitality. Founded by King Cassandros in 315 BC and named after Thessalonike, his wife – half-sister of Alexander The Great – it’s referred to by Greeks as symprotevousa, “co-capital,” because of its historical status as a co-reigning city of the Byzantine Empire, along with Constantinople. In 1492 the city welcomed a large number of Jews expelled from the Iberian Peninsula.

As one approaches the central square of Kalyvia, a small village only 10 minutes from Athens International Airport, the irresistible smell of grilled meat fills the nostrils. The whole area is packed with traditional grill houses, and many Athenians will make the 45-minute drive just to enjoy a meal there. The oldest taverna and one of the most famous is Kollias, which still boasts the traditional butcher shop that gives these grill houses their Greek name (hasapotaverna, or “butcher taverna”). Anastasios Kollias opened the place in 1930 just up the road, but it gradually became too small to accommodate the growing clientele, so it took its current spot on the square in 1991.

Carmen and Eduardo’s story could be an allegory for the rise and uh-oh moment of Brazil’s new middle class – except their tale is a real one, one that ends with a really nice savory fried pastel that’s become a midnight munchie hit with their neighbors in Rio’s iconic City of God (Cidade de Deus) favela. The pair’s life together started early; they met when Carmen, now 30, was just 12 years old; moved in together when she was 14; and both converted to evangelical Christianity and married in a church when she was 18. They came to the City of God, well-known from the book and film of the same name, looking for a more economical housing option.

Wild greens or horta (χόρτα) are an ancient and still very important ingredient in traditional Greek cuisine (and happen to have exceptional nutritional value to boot). Every season brings different varieties: some more bitter, some milder and sweeter, some naturally salty, all with different textures and shades of green. Almost every single taverna around Greece includes horta in the salad section of the menu. These boiled greens served with virgin olive oil, sea salt and plenty of freshly squeezed lemon juice are one of the most common salads enjoyed throughout the year, usually with fish, but sometimes also with meat. When eating out, Greeks typically ask the waiter what type of horta the restaurant serves, as they know it depends on season, region and availability of each variety.

The first and most vivid impression one has of Piraeus is its port: bustling, ugly and uninviting. Just a place you have to endure in order to get to your destination, usually a beautifully serene Greek island. Piraeus, however, is definitely an exciting place for anyone looking for a culinary adventure, as it is a melting pot of cultures with many interesting places hidden in the backstreets, away from tourists. The whole area next to Hadjikyriakeion for example, a girls’ orphanage built in the 19th century, is well known to locals for its humble, yet high-quality tavernas, serving fresh fish and simple meze all year round.

The working-class area of Brahami has never been Athens’ hottest gastronomic destination. It is a mostly residential neighborhood, halfway between the city center and the exotic beach-loving southern suburbs. Like most of the city’s suburbs, in the not-so-distant past, this area was once made up mostly of fields. Now formally named Agios Dimitrios (St. Dimitrios, after St. Dimitrios’s church), it has a vibrant local market. It’s also home to Remoutsiko, a family-owned, family-friendly taverna focusing on meat. Housed in an old converted barn, the restaurant has been around for some 30-plus years.

Rashed wandered aimlessly in the dark, autumn leaves and twigs crunching under him with each step. Apart from the light from his Samsung, the scene around him was pitch black. “I just need to get signal so they can send me a recording of Lulu’s voice,” he said, hopeful but frustrated. Lulu is his beloved two-year old niece – the one who almost convinced him to stay in Istanbul when he squeezed her goodbye. It was the last time they touched before he left his family behind to embark on the harrowing three-week journey to Germany.

Tucked away in an alley in Istanbul’s Aksaray neighborhood, Şirket Alahdab is a small grocery store overflowing with Syrian staples: pickled baby eggplants, dried leafy greens, cans of clotted cream for desserts. When we enter the store, Istanbul temporarily fades away and Damascus or Aleppo take its place. “All real,” the clerk declares proudly, as he shows off his goods. “Smuggled from Syria.”

“No hamsi, no money.” Mert Kanal hoses down empty Styrofoam containers and surveys the leftover catch in his market in Sinop, on Turkey’s Black Sea coast. The gulls squawk, fighting over scraps on the dock while fishermen tidy their nets for another night of fishing. The hamsi, or anchovies, are gone for the season, moving up the coast in dwindling numbers as hulking factory ships chase them. While mackerel, turbot and whiting are all fair game for fishmongers, hamsi holds a special place in Turkish cuisine. Unlike the slimy, salty canned form of the fish reserved for eccentric pizza toppings in North America, anchovies are eaten fresh in Turkey. Lightly battered, quickly fried and served with a slice of lemon, hamsi are gobbled down by the kilo, bones and all.

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.

This small, charming <em>mezedopoleio</em> gets its name, which translates to “Captain Michael,” from Nikos Kazantzakis’s eponymous novel. The tribute to Kazantzakis makes sense: The eminent writer and philosopher was a native of Crete, as is the family that opened this eatery some 50 years ago. <!--more--> In the 1960s, Kapetan Mixalis was more café than mezedopoleio (the Greek equivalent of a tapas bar), offering coffee, backgammon (<em>tavli</em> in Greek), card games, live music by locals, philosophical discussions and a friendly atmosphere from morning till night. It became a meeting point for Athenian intellectuals, actors and musicians. Famous personalities sat for hours at the sidewalk tables, quaffing wine and a traditional Cretan drink called <em>tsikoudia</em> (a grape-based brandy) and eating cold cuts, spoon sweets and other simple preparations that didn’t require cooking.

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.