Mitsumine Oda's original idea for 969 NYC Coffee, in Jackson Heights, was just what the name suggests: a simple, small coffee shop. The bright yellow awning shows a wispy "969" – Oda's favorite number, we later learn – rising from an "NYC" cup. The side of the awning, however, reveals that this is much more than your average neighborhood coffee place. In bright green lettering, it reads matcha (powdered Japanese green tea and the beverage made from it) and onigiri, accompanied by the terse explanation "rice ball." Left unmentioned, at least until we climb a few steps to the small covered patio and within reading distance of a review affixed to the window, are onigirazu.

2021 was the second-driest year in California’s recorded history. In L.A., there was no rain in November for the first time since 1992, and the mercury settled above 80 almost every afternoon that month. Our climate is usually arid, but this is extreme. We are in a drought (despite some recent record-breaking rain), with depleted reservoirs and dusty hillsides. But there was a silver lining: 2021 was also a year of eating outdoors, in parks and on decks, standing next to open trunks or sitting on the curb, in parking lots converted into patios and parklets jutting into the street, so we needed those blue skies.

This beige-walled, gray-roofed supermarket, squeezed between razor wire-rimmed industrial warehouses and North Hollywood train tracks, isn’t much to look at. The name, Pacific Coast Food, fails to hint at what one may find inside: a nirvana of edible nostalgia for those who grew up in the Soviet Union and Communist Eastern Bloc. Colloquially, it’s known as the “Russian Costco,” after the American wholesale giant, and a more fitting name for the aisles upon aisles of snacks and mainstays coming from Eastern Europe, Central Asia and the Caucasus region. The business was initially opened as a wholesaler in 2010 with San Fernando Valley’s Slavic, Baltic and Western-and-Central Asian communities in mind; notably Studio City’s huge Russian enclave and the Armenian strongholds of North Hollywood and Glendale.

Historically, Naples has not been a city with a large number of cyclists. Too many uphill battles from the historic center to neighborhoods along Vomero Hill make it a difficult location for the casual biker. In recent years, however, environmental consciousness has grown and we are witnessing a rapid development of places dedicated to pedal power lovers. With Culinary Backstreets working at the intersection of food and travel, it often happens that after our walking food tours, visitors ask advice on other ways to explore the city – particularly by rented bicycle. Today’s Naples dispatch is not just about a café’s culinary offerings, but a service that, in times of sustainable consciousness, is becoming increasingly popular.

Back in our college days, in the mid 2000s in Mexico City, we spent hours talking with our fellow students about the foods we missed the most from home. When we, the “Oaxacan delegation,” brought up piedrazos, everyone in the room laughed. They could not fathom something with such a name – piedrazo literally means to be hit with a hard stone in Spanish – as being edible. We had no idea that our beloved snack, a true classic in Oaxaca, was totally unfamiliar to the rest of our friends. A piedrazo is a piece of very, very hard crunchy bread (hence the name) with pickled carrot, onions and potatoes, dunked in a fruit- and chile-based vinegar and dusted with chile powder and – if you’re feeling fancy – quesillo (fresh Oaxacan cheese).

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.

Japanese trains have garnered worldwide admiration and praise for their punctuality, efficiency and cleanliness. The country’s railway network is supported by a strong surrounding infrastructure, and some stations have become tourist spots in themselves. And whereas eating at a train station might be a last resort in other countries, in Japan, you might find yourself at a gourmet destination. In 2005, JR East, the largest of the Japan Railways corporations, began to push the concept of ekinaka – literally “inside station” – as a way to expand their business in the face of a declining and ageing population. Previously, stations might have had small kiosks selling magazines and snacks inside the ticket gates, and perhaps a standing soba noodle shop, cheap bowls purchased by a ticket vending machine at the door.

Xueling Zhang is “a working man, not a talking man.” So he told us, through the translation of his daughter, Elsa Zhang, before he returned his full attention to fashioning a set of crab-and-pork xiao long bao. Those faintly sweet soup dumplings, as they’re often called, are a signature item at Memories of Shanghai, his family’s recently expanded restaurant in Forest Hills. Chef Zhang, we might say on his behalf, lets his hands, and his delicious dim sum, do the talking. At greater length we sat down with Elsa – in a cozy booth, retained from the previous restaurant tenant, a diner – to learn more about her father’s long affinity for the kitchen, and especially for dim sum.

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.

A man leans on the zinc bar, reading La Provence with his café. In wanders a helmet-clad father-daughter duo, searching for sirops (a sweet cordial) to cool off after their scoot. She looks hungrily at the platter of cookies on the bar, freshly baked for that afternoon’s snack. Beside them, the bartender peels a fragrant pile of ginger for the evening’s cocktail rush. At all-day café Le Parpaing qui Flotte, there’s good food and drink to be had at any hour. Neighborhood regulars ease into the day with a coffee. The tasty food draws a steady lunch crowd, and at apéro hour, the outdoor terrace fills up for post-work drinks. As night falls, a younger crowd enjoys some of the city’s best cocktails and tapas.

Athens’ image as a concrete gray city with few green spaces and a lot of traffic might be hard to shake. But would you believe only 6.5km away from the bustling city center lies a beautiful, lush forest with ancient paths and Byzantine monuments – and a little canteen where you can enjoy lunch near an ancient spring? In the forest, a 30-minute walk from the Kaisariani cemetery and off the Kaisariani Monastery loop trail is a bustling picnic area and ancient spring, a well-kept secret of Athens. Come here to seek a rare moment in city life: either snacking on a wooden bench by the water, under the trees awakened by a gentle breeze or at one of the tables and chairs under grass umbrellas by a tiny stone building that serves as the forest’s canteen, Kalopoula Refreshments.

In post-Covid times, Neapolitans have been spending more time outdoors, lounging on the grass, letting the children play and, of course, having a bite to eat. And it’s possible to do all this in the city, without having to go “out of town.” Obviously grilling, lighting fires and complex preparations are prohibited. So for now we have to settle for a simpler marenna, which is the Neapolitan word for “snack” – sandwiches and prepared dishes, mostly. Here are three of my favorite parks in the city to picnic at as well as nearby rotisseries where you can stock up on typically Neapolitan flavors.

Perched at the northern tip of Marseille, the fishing port of L’Estaque has drawn diverse groups throughout the decades. In the last half of the 19th century, bourgeois Marseillais would tram from the city center to eat bouillabaisse and swim on its shores. When the industrial era launched in 1820, L’Estaque housed workers from the nearby factories where traditional Provençal terra cotta tiles were made. From the late 19th century to the early 20th century, the diverse landscape and the incredible light lured painters from the north like Braques and Cézanne, who compared the sloping village to a “playing card” with its “red roofs against a blue sea.” But since the 1930s, people have flocked to L’Estaque for another reason: the fried snacks.

This is a story that starts and ends with the land. First there was the father, Spyros Vracha, a farmer who owned fields nearby Chalandri, now a middle-class suburb around 8 km north of downtown Athens. His crops supplied the kitchens of the tavernas in the area, which until the 1980s was dotted with villas, rather than the apartment blocks of today. Before it closed down almost 30 years ago, Ta Marmara (“The Marbles,” so called because of Chalandri’s many marble suppliers and workshops) was one of the tavernas that Spyros supplied. It was owned by Stavros and Athena, Spyros’ neighbors.