Stretched to translucence by a series of acrobatic, table-slapping wrist flips, then stretched just a bit further until it seemingly must tear under its own weight, the palata dough passes from the hands of Myo Lin Thway. In a moment, other hands take over. Perhaps they fill it with minced spiced chicken, for keema palata, or perhaps they fold it instead into an empty square, soon to be the conveyance for masala-red curry. After a brief interlude at the griddle, the flaky flatbread is surrendered to still other, hungrier hands. Myo, in the meantime, has swirled a little oil on his tabletop and patted down another wad of dough, pressing it wider and flatter until it, too, can take to the air.

As women in pink polo shirts conveyed steaming tureens, pungent earthenware crocks and freshly-baked sweet loaves, it was clear that the Azores’ celebration of the heavenly spirit had a strong component of earthy sustenance. We were at a função (function), a communal meal built around bread, wine and traditional meat dishes that forms a central part of the archipelago’s unique Holy Ghost festivities, which take place in villages around the islands over the 50 days after Easter. “This is one of the island’s most deeply respected traditions and it’s taken very seriously,” explains José Álamo Meneses, mayor of Angra do Heroísmo, a jaw-droppingly beautiful UNESCO World Heritage city on the island of Terceira. “Only around 10 percent here go to mass regularly, but they fill the churches on the day of the Holy Spirit,” he adds, before joining 250 fellow citizens for lunch in a hall hung with patchwork blankets in the hillside neighborhood of Bicas de Cabo Verde.

Daiji Takada, owner of Chabuzen, peeks out over the counter from the kitchen, which has about a meter-long strip of standing space for one at most. The interior of this narrow restaurant on the very fringes of the hip neighborhood of Shimokitazawa in western Tokyo isn’t much more spacious. Two low tables on tatami provide enough room for around six to squeeze in, and there are two stools at the counter – although occupying those spaces would almost certainly prevent anyone from getting out the door. With the surety of someone well-used to playing human Tetris, Takada deftly steps out and expertly delivers a plate of gyoza onto the table. He has just made these lovingly by hand and cooked them in a small, plug-in fryer.

The up-and-coming, terroir-obsessed wine distributor Os Goliardos is reached through a tiny alley that opens into a courtyard behind an apartment block in Campolide, a residential Lisbon neighborhood just north of the Amoreiras shopping mall. The company keeps a low profile, hiding Lisbon’s greatest wine storeroom in a narrow garage that counts several auto body shops as its neighbors. Since they keep odd hours, we were told to find a mechanic named Senhor Rui who would let us in with his key to pick up our order. We looked for him in a dark garage, where a man sat, listening to fado on the radio, beside a distressed Fiat. Wrong mechanic. Suddenly a large, smiling man in work clothes appeared in the yard jangling a set of keys.

[wptab name='Story']Up on the walls of O Frade’s polished interior is an old radio that catches the eyes of most clients. The music wafting from it is part of an illusion: “We hid the wireless speakers we use inside it because the radio doesn’t work anymore,”' says chef Carlos Afonso, who runs this small new restaurant alongside his cousin, Sérgio Frade. The radio came from their grandmother’s house and is there to remind them of the very long afternoons the two cousins spent around the dining room table, eating with their families. “That’s where we first learned to appreciate food,” Carlos recalls. Food has always been a serious subject for both. O Frade’s namesake is an old taberna that was run by Sérgio’s family members in their hometown of Beja during the ’60s. Back then, tabernas were a big part of the way of life in the Alentejo region, serving as meeting points where men gathered after work, to eat (a little), drink (a lot) and (when the mood was right) to sing the famous Cante Alentejano, polyphonic form of singing that UNESCO designated as an Intangible Cultural Heritage in 2014.

When a streetcar ran down Queens’ Metropolitan Avenue in the first half of the 20th century, soda fountains like Eddie’s Sweet Shop were commonplace in big cities and small towns across America. Today, this hundred-year-old corner gem on Metropolitan in the leafy, Tudor-style enclave of Forest Hills is one of the last of its kind left in the country, and it certainly shows its vintage. On summer afternoons, Eddie’s still fills up with crowds of happy Queens kids, and the diversity of the clientele reminds you that fortunately, it’s not the 1920s anymore. The shop itself, though, is practically unchanged – every piece of equipment behind the counter, from the shiny Frigidaire to the tiny metal cabinet hand-painted with the words “hot fudge,” could be from a museum.

For a century and a half, the building housing Guixot has taken on many personalities – though one thing has remained the same: It’s always housed some type of bar that also served food. Now a tapas bar celebrated for its sandwiches, brothers, partners and cheery owners Francisco and José Gutiérrez Murillo have been running the iconic eatery in the Raval neighborhood since 1986. Here we can find some of the more interesting sandwiches of the Old City, along with good tapas and a lunch menu of daily specials. Exuding a relaxed, familiar and friendly atmosphere, the space still keeps an old school look with its marble tables and thin iron columns from the past century dotting the interior. It makes good use of its walls, exhibiting paintings that seem to recall its previous life – and it’s had many.

Walk through Lisbon’s Madragoa, a neighborhood of cobblestoned streets and small houses, and you are likely to be hit with the intoxicating smell of freshly roasted coffee. Follow the scent and you are likely to find yourself in an utterly unique spot: Flor da Selva, one of the last wood-fired coffee roasters in Europe. Manuel Alves Monteiro, from Melgaço in northern Portugal, founded Flor da Selva in 1950, and Manuel’s son, Jorge, and grandson, Francisco are keeping the family business alive and kicking via an artisanal method – one they started using many years before anything artisanal was trendy, mind you. “My father was a coffee lover,” says Jorge, thinking back to when Manuel first opened his shop. “At this time, we were drinking a lot of mixtures with barley or chicory that were inexpensive, but he could see the potential for 100% coffee blends.”

Saturday, late afternoon, Jackson Heights. In the shadows of the 7, the elevated train that runs along Roosevelt Ave., sunlight is already giving way to street light; music spills from passing cars and lively watering holes; a few men and women hurry along on neglected errands. More than a few step into La Gran Via Bakery, lured by a show-stopping array of cakes and a long line of display cases filled with individually portioned pastries. At the back counter, Betsy Leites is poised, pastry bag in hand, over a bright white tres leches cake rimmed with strawberries and peaches. She squeezes out a cursive "Feliz Cumpleaños."

We are in the Vasto district, a difficult to navigate maze of narrow streets that criss and cross, a market area squashed between Naples’ central station and Centro Direzionale, the business district. The district’s Via Nazionale, a street adjacent to the station, is a shrine to local gastronomic treasures, and we consider it a true paradise for lovers of good food. It’s a jewelry box of flavors, ideas, and unique and original products. The daily street market on Via Ferrara, another local artery, is one of the city’s most colorful and fascinating – mentioned several times in renowned author Elena Ferrante’s “My Brilliant Rriend.” It was here, in 2016, that Dario Troise brought to life a project 15 years, if not centuries, in the making: a panini bar that serves only cuzzetiello (which roughly translates to bread bowl sandwiches).

Based on NYC Media’s new food TV series, “Native Dish: United Flavors of NYC,” Culinary Backstreets brings you a behind-the-scenes look at some of the New Yorkers featured in these short videos. The series, which aims to celebrate New York City immigrants from all over the world, focuses on one individual and one dish at a time as a means through which to explore the myriad cuisines represented in the city and the people who make them. This month, we are spotlighting Upi Yuliastuti, an Indonesian immigrant from the Pandang region of Sumatra, who has been the chef at Upi Jaya restaurant for 15 years. Through her daughter Tika, we hear about Upi's dedication to her kitchen, her desire to share Indonesian food with the city and what sets her beef rendang apart from all the other eateries in town.

In search of new adventures, we recently decided to venture to Beykoz, on the northern end of Istanbul’s Anatolian side, near where the Bosphorus meets the Black Sea. Getting there required an hour-long ferry ride – basically a mini Bosphorus cruise – from Üsküdar, and upon arrival we immediately felt catapulted out of the chaos into a green, peaceful haven. After a walk in the lush local park, Beykoz Korusu, we headed to the center, where an old lokanta opens onto a main square. “Kök Kardeşler Lokantası – Kuruluş 1935” (“Brothers Kök – since 1935”) read the restaurant’s sign. The simple but meaningful words were written in bright yellow decal on the window. Kök Kardeşler’s unpretentious apperance and the fact that it was a family-run business compelled us to stop inside and grab a quick lunch on what was an unusually cold spring day. “Hoş geldiniz,” Hamit, one of four Kök (the name means “roots” in Turkish) siblings who have been managing this little diner, said as we entered, showing an old-fashioned politeness that we now rarely see when eating at restaurants in more popular parts of town.

When Nikos Thomas was desperately looking for work in 2005, he was forced to switch gears from music and take on a particularly unglamorous gig: working at the Hooters in Athens Mall as a grill cook, the best-paying job he could find. Little did this rocker know he would be sacrificing his life-long passion of music for a new and tastier one – cooking. Two years out from his Hooters gig, Nikos found himself enrolled at a chefs’ school, eventually moving on to work in restaurants, then hired on as chef at a hotel on the island of Zakynthos. And as Nikos opened himself up to new passions, more found its way into his life.

Speed down the National Road till you’re in sight of Rendis Market, then follow the trucks off the highway and into a vast depot of concrete sheds. Though the trucks are there to pick up and deliver fruits and veg from all over Greece to supermarkets, grocers’ and farmers’ markets, we pulled over and started shop-hopping. Rendis, an industrial district of small factories, warehouses and train yards on the west side of Athens, has never been an area one would go for pleasure.

Stop into one of Spain’s best marisquerías (seafood restaurants) and on the menu you will find a dazzling display of the ocean’s bounty: big meaty clams of different shapes and colors, cockles, scallops, oysters, goose barnacles, spider crabs and lobsters. All will have their own with delectable consistency and texture and their own evocative flavors – from intense, sweet or floral to metallic or rich with umami. And most will likely have come from the waters off the craggy coast of northwest Spain’s untamed Galicia region, harvested by generations of artisan mariscadoras (seafood catchers), Galician women whose lives – and livelihoods – are intimately connected to the sea.