If you were to ask me what my ideal lunch is, I would answer without hesitation: paccheri alla Genovese with a large piece of stewed veal shank for the first course, followed by a big ball of buffalo mozzarella (preferably from Tenuta Vannulo, an organic buffalo dairy in Capaccio) with eggplant parmigiana on the side. The backbone of this perfect meal is the Genovese, a simple yet miraculous sauce made of meat (veal, beef or pork) and a heap of onions (red or white). Even those who say they don’t like the taste of onions are forced to recant once they taste the Genovese (after hours spent simmering with the meat, the tenderized and translucent onion slivers have no trace of the astringent smell or bite of raw onions).

Today a residential neighborhood four kilometers north of downtown Athens, Galatsi was once comprised of endless fields where shepherds grazed their flocks. Until the mid-19th century, this area at the foot of the Tourkovounia hill range was uninhabited – the shepherds had free rein. All that changed some 150 years ago when the hills began to be quarried for building materials, particularly lime; workers at the lime kilns eventually became the neighborhood’s first residents. But the local shepherds didn’t immediately pack up and leave. In fact, according to one local legend, they inadvertently gave the new neighborhood its name. To sell their milk to the recently arrived residents, the shepherds would roam the streets shouting “Gala, gala, fresko gala” (Milk, milk, fresh milk). It was this constant cry that supposedly led people to call the neighborhood Galatsi.

Most tascas’ walls are covered with tiles, framed family or hometown pictures and soccer teams’ scarves. But inside A Provinciana, located between the neighborhoods of Restauradores and Rossio, the main decorative objects are dozens of original handmade wall clocks. Some work, some don’t, but all have great meaning for Américo, the owner of this establishment that has been around for 70-plus years. “I built them. All of them. Every Sunday, our day off, I sit at my house building these clocks with what I have: old tiles, bits of wood, pieces of barrel,” he says, glancing proud at his creations.

Istanbul’s T1 tramway is relatively pleasant if you can find a seat, but borders on unbearable if you are on your feet. Back in 2015, we wrote about a trip we took from the line’s first stop all the way to one of its last, which lies way out in the district of Güngören. By the time the tram has made it to this point, it begins to perplexingly share a lane with traffic, voiding the whole point of this type of public transportation. On one weekday evening, we found ourselves standing in a rather contorted position on the beyond-crammed train, a price we were willing to pay for a trip to one of our favorite culinary hotspots. The journey took over an hour. It was well worth it.

Despite the somewhat rundown, seedy feel of Omonia today, for all of the 19th century and a good part of the 20th the neighborhood was the real center of downtown Athens. “No one lives in Athens if he does not spend at least one hour a day in the Hafteia,” wrote the famous writer and playwright Gregorios Xenopoulos in 1913, referring to the blocks around the intersection of Aiolou and Stadiou Streets, so named allegedly after a 19th-century café in the area owned by a Mr. Haftas. The area was a commercial hub, filled with stores, coffee and sweet shops and hotels. It was a place where people would come to shop and while away the day or the evening. Given its popularity, it’s no surprise that Athens’ first large department stores, like Lambropoulos and Katrantzos Sport, opened here in the early 20th century.

Barcelona’s urban sprawl makes it easy to forget that the city is adjacent to two fertile regions to the north and south, El Maresme and El Baix Llobregat, which provide numerous hyperlocal culinary treasures throughout the year. In spring as in other seasons, these treasures appear at markets and restaurants, their origins proudly displayed, sometimes even with the names of the specific villages that they come from. The coast and gently sloping mountains of El Maresme are home to numerous villages, three natural parks and beaches. Unsurprisingly, there’s an abundance of seafood here, including gamba de Arenys (Arenys prawns), scampi (escamarlans in Catalan, cigalas in Spanish) and little Mediterranean sand eels (sonsos in Catalan).

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.

In 2017, Shanghai’s longest-running open-air market at Tangjiawan Lu, which had provided the neighborhood with fresh produce, fish, and seasonal foodstuffs for almost 115 years, shuttered its doors. The market and much of the area around the Laoximen metro station were some of the last historical (albeit run-down) structures in an otherwise central area full of expensive new residences. Construction has already begun on the entire city block’s worth of high-rises being built in its place, and the surrounding blocks – like many of Shanghai’s backstreets – are on notice, as the wrecking balls and construction crews continue to reshape the urban landscape at an incredibly fast rate.

Up in Barcelona’s hills, in the El Coll neighborhood, where the city ends and the sky is cut by the spiky shapes of the pine trees in Collserola Park, Agreste de Fabio & Roser is sprouting up. Emphasizing sustainability and healthy eating, the restaurant is creating delicious dishes that merge Catalan and Italian traditions with contemporary flourishes. Room manager Roser Asensi and her partner, chef Fabio Gambirasi, created this project (the name means “bad weed” in Spanish) less than a year ago and people are already singing their praises. On a recent visit, we could hear words of admiration from different guests flying around the room over the course of our meal.

From Rio to Venice, from Cologne to New Orleans and from Patras to towns all over Greece, Catholics and Orthodox (along with believers and nonbelievers of every description) celebrate Carnival – the three weeks preceding Lent – with parades, masquerades, pranks, Dionysian revels and Lucullan feasts focusing on roasted meats. After all, the word “carnival” is thought to have come from the Italian carne levare or “abstain from meat” – which is also the meaning of the Greek Apokreas – and heralded a time when many religions prohibited consuming flesh during the sacred fast before Easter.

When Buket Ulukut first moved from Istanbul to a rural plot of land in the foothills of the Taurus Mountains in southern Turkey, she was leading a double life. “I’d be taking calls from clients in Europe while out amidst the rows of peppers and eggplants, hoping they didn’t hear the rooster crowing in the background,” says Ulukut, who worked in the textile industry before establishing Tangala Goat Farm in Muğla’s serene Yaka village. Since Ulukut settled in the area in 2008, her herd has grown from two goats to more than 50, producing milk that is made on-site into artisan cheeses sold throughout Turkey. Over the same decade, the number of Turks swapping the city for the countryside has also multiplied, driven by rising urban stresses and an increasingly stifling political climate.

The name Casa dos Passarinhos (House of Little Birds) seems to give everyone pause – whenever we talk about or recommend the restaurant, almost all of our conversation partners flash a nervous smile, seemingly wondering, “Are little birds what they serve?” Far from it (although some restaurants do specialize in serving thrushes). This popular restaurant, which has been around since 1923, took its name from the birds – sparrows, specifically – that used to be allowed to fly freely inside the restaurant. Many years before Hitchcock made them the villains in his movie “The Birds,” original owner José dos Santos Gomes made them the heroes of this backstreet spot in Campo de Ourique, on the border with the Amoreiras neighborhood.

One day, or so the story goes, a group of tourists asked an elderly priest in Naples which churches were really worth visiting. The priest replied, “There are many churches, but have you tried the spaghetti with clams?” Even a man of God recognizes the sacred bond established between two people sharing a plate of spaghetti with clams in a Neapolitan trattoria. So we consider it our moral duty to advise you how to order your spaghetti with clams and where to eat it.

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!).

Since its name derives from the Turkish word peynir (cheese), it’s no surprise that Athens’ best peinirli (πεϊνιρλί, “with cheese”), a boat-shaped flatbread similar to pide in Turkey and khachapuri in Georgia, is usually found at old, specialized shops or eateries owned by families who originally came from Asia Minor or Pontus, the Greek name for the southern coast of the Black Sea, in the early 20th century. So when Spyros, the owner of Peinirli Ionias in Ambelokipoi, one of the most popular peinirli takeaways in downtown Athens, casually mentions that he originally hails from the Ionian island of Corfu – nowhere near Asia Minor, another name for Turkey’s Anatolia region – we are left scratching our heads. Sensing our confusion, he quickly adds that he learned the art of peinirli-making directly from the source, so to speak: his father- and mother-in-law, who both emigrated to Athens as part of the 1923 population exchange between Greece and Turkey.