There’s something special about Crete, Greece’s biggest island. The country’s most fertile region, it has a long history of food and wine production that stretches back to the Bronze Age, making Crete one of the most interesting culinary destinations in Europe. Bordered by the Aegean Sea to the north and the Libyan Sea to the south, the island is home to over 70 different edible herbs and wild greens, and local farmers produce a wide range of products, from Mediterranean staples like olives, tomatoes and eggplants to more tropical produce, such as mangoes and papayas.

Sants is a working neighborhood with an industrial past and a communal present, both of which it proudly flaunts. There are the street names – like L’Espanya Industrial, Carrer Wat (dedicated to the engineer James Watt) and Vapor Vell (Old Steam) – that tell the story of industrialization in Catalonia, and the two buzzing municipal markets and the many bodegas and restaurants, like Terra de Escudella or Bodega Salvat, that serve as meeting points for an engaged community. Although shaped by a diverse set of international influences, the neighborhood’s sophisticated culinary scene is tied together by something more local: vermut culture.

In the 1975 short film Gvinis Qurdebi (Wine Thieves), four mischievous villagers sneak into a stingy neighbor’s wine cellar, crack open his kvevri (enormous ceramic urn) and start drinking the wine stored inside. As they get drunk and rambunctious with toasts and song, they wake the winemaker who ends up joining them. It is in this same spirit of Georgian joie de vivre that Avto Kobakhidze, Givi Apakidze and Zaza Asatiani have come together to take other people’s wine and sell it under their own label, Wine Thieves.

A sweet warmth lies just below the surface of Condesa’s über-cool Angelopolitano. Walking through the front door, we were first struck by the restaurant’s elegant decor, which exists somewhere between hipster chic and business casual. Potted plants sitting beneath framed 19th-century photographs make the space feel more like an art gallery than a place to eat. Such an environment would be off-putting if it weren’t for the staff, who flashed big smiles as we entered and spoke to each other in a familial, teasing tone you’d more expect to hear at a friend’s dinner party than an upscale restaurant.

When we first discovered this delightful ouzeri in Neo Psychiko last May, we were thrilled to have found a place that specialized in Politiki Kouzina – not the cooking up of politics but the cuisine of Constantinople, often called simply I Poli, or The City, by Greeks even today. Ironically, mutual friends had chosen it to fete a Turkish guest, a visitor from Istanbul, which seemed a culinary version of taking coals to Newcastle. But she pronounced the fare delicious, and smacked her lips over such shared dishes as Imam Baildi, dolmades and bourekakia made with phyllo.

First-time visitors to Astek probably step in for the same reason most people convene at a reputable Istanbul meyhane: Good conversation in a cozy setting over a few cold glasses of rakı, together with fresh melon and white cheese, and perhaps a hot appetizer or two once the anise-based spirit has succeeded in seriously stimulating the appetite. And while one is unlikely to be displeased with any of Astek’s fine offerings, the head waiter and manager Mehmet Akkök is the reason why regulars return. Mehmet Bey brings to the table an exuberance and keen sense of professionalism that comes with years of service in the sector he loves.

For 2,000 years, people have flocked to the Abanotubani baths, whose hot sulfuric waters have long been fabled to possess magical healing qualities. The Persian king Agha Mohammad Khan soaked there in 1795, hoping to reverse the effects of the castration he suffered as a child. He dried off, found his conditioned unchanged and razed Tbilisi to the ground. While people continue to espouse the curative properties of the sulfur baths, we can only vouch for their powers to relieve stress, loosen up sore muscles and help poach the hangover out of you. It is the latter attribute that inspired the local chef Tekuna Gachechiladze to open a restaurant last year that might not cure erectile disorders, but is definitely designed to nurture alcohol-stricken bodies back to life.

The ascendance of Spanish gastronomy has largely had a Basque signature, which, together with the Catalan scene, is seen as the vanguard in Spanish haute cuisine. But while Nouvelle Basque has gotten all the spotlight lately, the food culture of this northern region has always been outstanding, thanks to its abundant rains and a territory that encompasses the Cantabrian Sea and Ebro River. Basque taverns are largely known for their pintxos, a kind of tapas that are more sophisticated in taste as well as in design. At certain times of day these small plates fly nonstop out of the kitchen, usually chosen at the chef’s discretion.

On the night of June 22, a fire is lit at the top of Canigó mountain in the Pyrenees. All through the night, hundreds of volunteer torchbearers carry the flame to towns and villages throughout the four provinces of Catalonia. The arrival of the flame the next day signals the start of the Revetlla de Sant Joan (St. John’s Eve celebration). Bonfires, firecrackers and fireworks light up the night, and people while away the hours drinking, eating and dancing in public squares and beaches or at parties. Fire, noisemaking and dancing are the main ingredients of St. John’s Eve, the Christian adaptation of ancient pagan celebrations of the summer solstice.

Istanbul's Vefa neighborhood is home to a rich collection of historic treasures. Framed by the vast and beautiful 4th-century Valens Aqueducts, Vefa is in the heart of the old city but retains a sense of locality and rusty charm perhaps lost in the more touristy neighborhoods nearby. Among its institutions is Vefa Bozacısı, which has sold boza – a thick, fermented millet-based drink popular in the winter – since 1876. Immediately across the street is an establishment that has only been around for a few months but also specializes in another beloved local beverage, gazoz. Opened last year by Istanbul University economics student Mahmut Saklı, Sevda Gazozcusu is likely the only shop in Turkey that exclusively sells the drink.

Have you ever met a restaurant owner who has been a house painter, real estate agent, rug dealer, bread deliverer, camel trainer and interpreter as well as running a tourism business? Meet Ahmad Alssaleh from Palmyra, Syria. Although he is only 31 and the youngest of ten children, he is not only unstoppable, he is about to celebrate the first anniversary of one of the most imaginative and best restaurants we have ever been to anywhere – not just Athens. But we’ll get to the food later. His story will whet your appetite, as it did ours. It all started back in 2009 when Alssaleh met Magda, a Greek girl who’d gone to Syria as a tourist.

Bread may be fundamental to Portugal’s food culture, but over the last few years the baked goods landscape in the country has begun looking increasingly uniform, with fake neo-classic franchising playing no small part in its decline. Although many old and family-run bakeries can’t keep up with the competition – especially in the cities – there are a few initiatives kneading a small revolution. Courses, workshops and experimental research are creating a new class of future bakers who often rework old techniques. Among them is 21-year-old Diogo Amorim. Gleba, his bakery, with its contemporary look and historic techniques, attracts customers from all over Lisbon. It opened six months ago in Alcantara, a neighborhood that shows traces of many past lives, from industrial working-class to the aristocratic.

The streets are nearly empty. As light cascades down cobbled thoroughfares, dog walkers shield their eyes and market-goers tow their rickety carts toward Mercado de la Bretxa. The market of San Sebastián sits underneath a square just a pebble’s skip from crashing waves surging up the mouth of the Urumea Itsasadarra River. Lamps glowing red illuminate butchers navigating dangling strings of txistorra, Basque chorizo, while across the aisle, an bright white storefront advertises every imaginable form of bacalao, or salt cod. Tucked in a rear corner, Bar Azkena has been crafting delicate fluffy breakfasts for nearly 20 years. Tortillas, or omelets, stuffed with surprises like squid ink and blood sausage fill the bar counter, necessitating foldout tabletops and overflow seating across the aisle.

Pizza, as you might already know, was born in Naples. What you might not know is that in Naples, fried pizza existed before baked pizza. And although Neapolitans have raised pizzamaking in the oven to an art form, their skill at turning out fried pizza is even greater. As with so many local specialties in this city, it’s hard to say who makes the best fried pizza here; there are improvised pizzerias in every corner of Naples, street vendors that make a really good pie. There’s a saying here, voce e’ popolo, voce e’ dio (the Neapolitan version of vox populi vox dei), which means that something is certain – there’s no doubt. And that applies to Masardona's pizza being one of the best in the city.