Tucked away from the constant hustle and bustle of Queens Boulevard, Anna and George Artunian’s Sunnyside bakery, Arsi’s Pateseria, is a pleasant surprise. As we walk down 47th Avenue towards the gauzy Midtown Manhattan skyline, the smell of freshly baked burekas greets us long before we get to the bakery’s wide window. Inside, in metal trays behind the counter, four different types of burekas, savory sesame ring cookies and even baklava gleam in different shades of gold. Also behind the counter is 60-year-old Anna Artunian, one-half of the husband-and-wife team running the establishment and chatting with the customers, most of whom are regulars.

Queens may be home to diverse communities representing almost every country in the world, but if there’s thing that unites many of these immigrants it’s Roosevelt Avenue, a 5.8-mile corridor that runs east/west underneath the elevated tracks of the 7 subway line. Running through neighborhoods with some of the highest concentrations of immigrants in the borough, Roosevelt Avenue might be one of the most culturally – and culinarily – diverse commercial thoroughfares in the United States. In 2015, Noah Allison, a PhD candidate in Urban Policy at The New School, had the brilliant idea of walking the length of Roosevelt Avenue in order to map all of its restaurants. We recently caught up with him to talk about the project and his findings.

Whether we’re heading to Sichuan province for a little culinary vacation or just looking for the best bowl of dan dan mian in the city, there’s one person we call for dining recommendations: Jenny Gao. Born in Chengdu and raised in Canada, Gao’s family still lives in Sichuan, and since moving to Shanghai in 2012, she visits them often. Over the past couple years, she’s turned her love for her hometown cuisine into a full-time job, becoming Shanghai’s unofficial Sichuan food ambassador. For years, Gao was the writer behind Jing Theory, a popular food blog about Shanghai’s best places to eat, drink and more.

Order a plate of vindaloo in one of the many Goan restaurants around Lisbon and your local friend at the table may point out that the origin of this dish is, in fact, Portuguese. Even the name can be decoded back to the Portuguese vinho d’alhos (wine and garlic), he’ll say. But let’s be honest here, amigo, vinho d’alhos has about as much to do with Goan vindaloo as the croissant does with the cronut. Vinho d’alhos may have sailed off to Goa along with Vasco da Gama in the 15th century, but when it returned to Lisbon with Goan migrants in the 1960s and 70s, something had changed. It had gone Goan.

Deep in the trenches of one of the oldest union strongholds in Mexico City, there’s a deeply democratic taquería that manages to bring together office workers, blue-collar workers, locals and tourists alike. When you walk by this place, chaos seems to reign. However, once you step into the current you realize there’s a system that keeps the flow of people, tacos, and drinks under control. Taquería El Progreso started serving beef head, suadero (a cut similar to brisket) and tripe tacos 23 years ago. Javier Ramos, an employee who has been working there since the beginning, told us that at first the taquería was about a third of its current size.

Portuguese gastronomy is at the core of Rio's botequins, the small, often family-run gastrobars spread all over the city. Traditional botequins offer European food and some unique aspects of Brazilian culture – mix you’ll find only in Rio. That being said, it’s hard to say whether Tasca Carvalho, the brand new Portuguese gastrobar in Copacabana, is a typical botequim. Run by two young Portuguese friends newly arrived from Porto, Tasca Carvalho is not a mix, but 100 percent Portuguese. And that makes it unique in Rio's street food landscape. Perhaps the only indication of Brazilian influence you might find at Tasca Carvalho is in the ambience. The tables and benches, spread all over the sidewalk, follow the carioca rules of informality.

The menu at Com-Tradição might not be as revolutionary as the vintage posters on the walls, but it’s certainly democratic and affordable. After all, Com-Tradição is the restaurant of the Associação 25 de Abril, founded by the military men who planned the 1974 Carnation Revolution, the coup that ended Portugal’s fascist regime and restored democracy. Nowadays anyone can become a member of this non-profit association. Besides preserving the spirit of the revolution, it also aims to preserve documents and memories of this historical event. The association is located in a beautiful Bairro Alto old building, whose renovation and interior design were overseen by the renowned architect Álvaro Siza Vieira.

In past centuries, ones of economic hardship, Neapolitans’ ancestors feasted only during religious holidays. It was easier then to distinguish the piatti delle feste, feasting foods, by their richness and variety. In these more prosperous times, and with the availability of raw materials throughout the year, these lavish dishes can be prepared or purchased virtually any time, which makes it seem difficult to talk about “festive meals.” However, with the approach of Easter (and Christmas), many Neapolitans, beyond their religious beliefs, are seized by an irresistible desire to return to family traditions and to eat the dishes prepared by their forebears.

Milky, tart, viscous and slightly foamy. At first glance and sip, there’s little to explain why pulque – a mildly alcoholic drink made by fermenting the fresh sap of certain types of maguey, the same plant used for making mezcal – has remained a trusted companion to Mexican drinkers since Aztec times. Pulque, actually, has not only survived, but, after decades of losing ground to beer and soft drinks and their high-priced marketing campaigns, this workingman’s brew is making a comeback. New pulquerías are popping up in hip Mexico City neighborhoods and attracting a younger crowd while old pulquerías, which endured some lean times, are seeing an influx of new customers, who now sit side-by-side with older generations of loyal pulque drinkers.

In the past year, we’ve seen more new noodle houses hawking spicy Chengdu and Chongqing style noodles than we can count on two hands. Very few of the Shanghai-based noodle houses do the fly restaurants of Chengdu justice. Some dish out bowls of insipid strands that barely register on the Scoville scale, while others go for that unbalanced, burn-your-face-off flare that means the chef has likely never been to Sichuan, much less studied the careful art of the region’s balanced cooking. Liu Dao Men is among the exceptions, carefully walking the tightrope of spicy yet tasty, with its menu of Chengdu noodle classics.

Tokyo holds the record as the largest city in the world by population, density and land size. Luckily, efficiency of space and flow keeps the city from spinning completely out of control. Unfortunately walking around can easily lead to sensory overload. Over the years we’ve found several somewhat secret hideaways to escape the cacophony of the city – perfect places for clearing the mind and spirit, especially during spring’s blossom season. International House Every spring we make a pilgrimage to the International House of Japan in Roppongi to view a tree with the most beautiful sakura (cherry blossoms) in Tokyo. “I-House” is a private non-profit organization created to promote cultural exchange and intellectual cooperation between Japan and other countries.

Some sociologists say that Spanish society and culture can’t be properly understood without spending time in its bars. You can find bars in mountain refuges, subway stations, on the beach and by the highway. In Barcelona, there are as many bars as taxis and ten times more bars than bookshops. In fact, a recent study by Coca-Cola found that in Spain there’s a bar for every 132 Spaniards. The same study points out that a third of Spaniards wouldn’t hesitate to leave their house keys at their local bar and that two-thirds of them are on a first-name basis with the employees there.

It’s Sunday morning at La Pignasecca market in Naples and time is in flux. Picture a Boccioni painting: movement is blurred, there is an inter-penetration of objects, speeding vehicles and sound – a frenetic moment in the Futurists’ imagination. The city rises as engines splutter, traders hustle, klaxons yelp. Santa Maria di Montesanto spews punters out into the marketplace after mass; men peel off, heading home to check on the simmering ragù; groomed teenagers peacock on mopeds as groups of women push in line to pick up their last-minute order of fresh pasta, charcuterie and squid. The church bells chime: it’s lunchtime. Anticipation is in the air.

It all started with a seriously delicious hamburger in New York City. Rumor has it that it was this burger that first gave acclaimed Catalan chef Oriol Rovira the idea of opening Sagàs Pagesos y Cuiners (“Farmers and Cooks”) in the Born district of Barcelona. Specializing in high-end sandwiches, the restaurant embraces the farm-to-table philosophy, with a menu that is both distinctively Catalan and international in scope. Rovira, who also runs Els Casals, a Michelin-starred restaurant in the tiny village of Sagàs near the edge of the Pyrenees, opened his sandwich spot in May 2011. As at Els Casals, nearly all of the food at the Barcelona venue comes straight from the chef’s village farm. But why sandwiches?

To make excellent octopus broth, you must first fill a huge pot with water to the brim – at least 20 liters – bring it to a boil, add salt and pepper in industrial quantities and immerse four large octopuses. After 33 minutes (and not one more) of simmering, it’s ready: the octopus has reached the perfect consistency. Yet in Naples there’s a saying, “The octopus cooks in its own water” – a proverb that means that a person needs to get to the truth on his own and in his own time. Lello tells us that what this saying is referring to isn’t actually true, since clearly, an octopus needs much more water than what it comes with to actually cook.