The sleepy residential neighborhood of Melissia, which lies northeast of downtown Athens and under Mount Pentelikon, is a rather unlikely place to visit. The suburb doesn’t have any notable sites, and apart from Kozi’s, a lovely South African meat restaurant, there’s not much in the way of distinguished restaurants. So in 2012, when Ornel ‘Oli’ Mingo opened Psarokokkalo in the suburb, everyone though he was crazy. “People told me that there’s no way clients will come here to eat. But I saw potential. The rent was relatively cheap and there was some space for tables outside,” he explains. Fast-forward six years and Psarokokkalo (which means “fish bone” in Greek) has tripled in size, taking over the adjacent shop, and is now a beloved seafood taverna that attracts customers from all over Athens.

New York’s street food vendors usually ply their trade where potential customers congregate. On side streets in midtown Manhattan, they set up four and five abreast for the weekday lunch rush. During warm-weather weekends, they feed footballers and their fans outside ball fields in the Brooklyn neighborhoods of Red Hook and East New York. In Queens, they do business beside a miles-long stretch of Roosevelt Avenue where it passes through Woodside, Jackson Heights, Elmhurst, and Corona; they cluster thickly near station stops of the elevated 7 train. The setting of the D’Angelos Italian Sausage truck presents a dramatic contrast. Monday through Saturday, the truck parks in a long-established spot on Woodhaven Boulevard, on the border between two largely residential neighborhoods, Middle Village and Rego Park, beside the green expanse of St. John Cemetery.

When I was a little girl, a Popsicle was a big deal. Summertime meant that the ice cream truck, bell tinkling, would trundle through the neighborhood where I lived. After a frantic plea to Mom for money, she counted out coins and I raced to the corner where the rest of the kids were already gathered, waiting for the vendor to dig through his icy case for cherry, lime, orange, or the reviled banana. The odor of amyl acetate (the chemical used for artificial banana flavoring) remains cloyingly in my memory. Remember? Hot summer days made those frozen snacks melt quickly, down childish fingers and the side of the hand, down the wrist and almost to the elbow in sticky trails of blood red and pale green. Nips of the cold treat slid in a chilly track from tongue to stomach, giving a few moments relief from childhood summers’ heat and humidity.

Editor’s note: In the latest installment of our recurring First Stop feature, we asked Queens-based food writer, culinary tour guide and consultant Joe DiStefano to share some of his go-to spots in Queens. Founder and publisher of the Queens-centric food blog CHOPSTICKS & MARROW, he authored the recently released book “111 Places in Queens That You Must Not Miss.” Joe has been exploring the borough’s diverse global cuisines for more than a decade and his work has appeared in The New York Times, Gourmet, Food Republic, and Serious Eats. One of the first things I heard when I was putting together 111 Places in Queens That You Must Not Miss, was “There’s too much food.” It was my editor’s not so subtle way of reminding me that I was hired to write an overall guide to Queens, not a tome devoted to the borough’s amazing culinary complexity.

The neighborhood of Kesariani, built on the lower slopes of Mount Hymettos and located around 3 kilometers east of central Athens, has long been a culinary destination, particularly for seafood (even though it’s nowhere near the water). Many of the old seafood restaurants survive to this day although the neighborhood’s offerings have expanded to include other types of eateries – nothing too fancy, mostly mezedepolia, or meze houses. What makes these spots so appealing is their relaxed, convivial atmosphere. It’s a feeling that permeates the entire neighborhood, where old houses built by Greek refugees from Smyrna (or Izmir) still stand next to modern apartment blocks.

Jay Parker, the owner of Ben’s Best in Rego Park, is a third-generation deli man. Born in 1951 and raised in the nearby Queens neighborhood of Fresh Meadows, he first worked at the family business in the early 1960s. Since 1984, when he took the reins, he’s clocked 60 to 70 hours a week. Yet “this is my dad’s store,” Jay tells us. “His name is still on it.” Not far from where we sit in the dining room, a portrait of Ben Parker looks on, as if in agreement. Ben’s Best is a kosher delicatessen, an increasingly rare business model even in New York. A kosher deli adheres to Jewish dietary laws (by serving, say, corned beef on rye but not ham on rye) and operates under rabbinical supervision (otherwise it would be merely “kosher-style”).

Beans have long played an important part of the daily diet in Mexico City. The variety of beans found in any Mexico City market ranges from the basics (negro, tan bayo, purplish flor de mayo and flor de junio) to more unusual varieties, brought in from all over the country. We spotted these big purple beauties – Ayocote Morado beans – on our Xochimilco walk.

“People think it’s a bad thing to be a tortilla-maker,” says Santiago Muñoz. “That’s the mentality we have to change. It should be a point of pride.” Santiago, 25, has spread out two dozen corn cobs, called mazorcas, on the table at the Mexico City warehouse of Maizajo, an heirloom corn tortilla company. The kernels are varied in shape and color: reds, yellows, blues, purples; some narrow, others wide. The diversity of the mazorcas on the table represents the ancestral knowledge of Mexican corn farmers around the country. Each variety comes with a story: that of the town and producer where Muñoz or one of his colleagues sourced it. Santiago points out the different uses for each variety of corn, including pozolero for pozole, and palomero for popcorn.

Five years ago, Diogo Gomes, the owner of Art Chopp, a bar in the Jacarepaguá neighborhood, was seated at one of the bar’s 36 tables. There were no customers: only him, the cook and two waiters. The heavy rain falling outside began to drip from the ceiling and soak the floors. Even wetter, though, was Diogo’s face – he was crying, he later explained to us, because he was sure that he would have to shutter the empty bar and give up on his lifelong dream. In addition to the lack of customers, he was facing a mountain of debts; Diogo was one step away from bankruptcy.

A café at its best is so much more than the sum of its parts: it’s a place where people can easily mingle, share ideas, and dertleşmek, or commiserate over their troubles, all while imbibing caffeine. At the same time, it’s a place where visitors might feel an invisible thread of common beliefs connecting them, an unspoken camaraderie, even if they don’t socialize with anyone. This community spirit runs strong in Dose & Istos Café, a new Rum (pronounced “room,” the name given to Turks of Greek descent) café in the heart of Beyoğlu. When we first went one rainy Sunday evening on a tip from a friend, we didn’t remember the exact address, just general directions that it was off Istiklal Street, near Galatasaray Lycée.

It’s that time of year when armies of sakura (cherry blossom) trees in Tokyo stand poised to break into bloom and people are finalizing plans for hanami, or cherry blossom viewing parties. This yearly ritual, which takes place all over Japan, is a tradition that’s been around for over a thousand years, as sakura are a beloved and important symbol in Japanese culture. Multitudes of cherry blossoms will bloom in lavish displays of wonderful pink magic all over Japan, starting on the southern island of Kyushu in early March and moving north to Hokkaido by the end of May. Weekly and then daily newspaper and Internet updates inform local populations on the progress of the blooms from initial buds (10 percent, then 20 percent, etc.) to the final full display (mompai!).

Once the Christmas nativities are packed away, after the New Year’s cotechino sausage and good luck lentils have been eaten and the Befana witch has filled epiphany stockings with candies, something strange happens in the old center of Naples. It erupts in flames. As the January sun sets, just as the days begin to lengthen, Neapolitan men light small bonfires in the dark alleys and decadent piazzas that lurk beyond Via Foria, the ancient boulevard that slices through the town’s Forcella and Rione Sanità quarters. The fires begin small. Men merrily douse bits of the Gazzetta dello Sport with gasoline, searching specifically for errant wrinkled pictures of Higuaín, loathed former Napoli footballer traded to Juventus.

In the years of research for their new cookbook, Istanbul & Beyond, author Robyn Eckhardt and photographer David Hagerman became well acquainted with Anatolia and the distinct cultural identities, landscapes and, of course, cuisines that can be found on this vast plateau. So we are pleased to be working with Robyn and Dave on the first unique culinary adventure in a series inspired by Istanbul & Beyond that will lead us across Turkey’s diverse regions, bite by bite. This seven-day culinary experience (with an optional two-day photography workshop led by Dave), scheduled for May 2018, will be split between Istanbul and the Hatay region, an area that plays an important role in Robyn and Dave’s book and in the cuisine of Turkey.

The name of To Laini, a traditional-style kafeneio (a café that also serves food) specializing in Cretan cuisine, hints at what type of night one will have at this cozy spot. The word “laini” derives from ancient Greek and is widely used on Crete and the Cycladic islands to describe the small ceramic pitcher used to transfer water, wine or tsikoudia (a traditional Cretan spirit made from the distillation of grape pomace). Let’s just say, they’ll be transferring a lot of ceramic pitchers to your table over the course of a meal. The spot was opened in March 2017 by two childhood friends, Yioula Svyrinaki and Michalis Psomadakis. They both grew up on Crete, the island known for its rich cuisine and high-quality food products.

After an awful 2016 punctuated by bomb attacks and a failed coup attempt, Istanbulites were clinging to the desperate hope that tensions would ease in the new year. Then, shortly after bottles had been popped and toasts had been made, news suddenly poured in that the city’s ritziest nightclub had been sprayed with bullets in a shocking and tragic attack that claimed the lives of 39 people. Though the year started off with the kind of bang I wasn’t expecting, things have calmed down in 2017. This has afforded Istanbulites the opportunity to spend less time worried about their own personal safety and more time focused on the still-troubling political situation that clouds Turkey today.