Back in 1966, when it opened on Avenida da República, one the main roads connecting the new avenues of Lisbon with the city center, Galeto caused quite a commotion. Lisboetas flocked to the huge snack bar, seduced by both the design – it was styled like an American diner – and the menu, which in those days seemed wildly innovative. Locals used to more conservative Portuguese fare were suddenly introduced to club sandwiches, burgers, mixed plates that brought together some wildly disparate elements and even Brazilian feijoada. Eating at the long counters while perched on a comfy seat was quite different from sitting on a stool at an everyday tasca. When combined with the avant-garde décor, swift service, and long hours (it was open late, until 3:30 a.m.), it felt like Lisbon was catching up with the dining habits elsewhere in Europe or the U.S.

The southern city of Adana is synonymous with kebab, and for good reason. Not only is the spicy grilled skewer of meat named after and originating from the city perhaps the most iconic and beloved style of kebab in the country, Adana also boasts the highest number of excellent kebab joints per capita anywhere, according to our unofficial but heartily conducted research. Therefore, we would be utterly remiss to neglect to mention our favorite kebab joints in the city: Ciğerci Mahmut, İştah, Kaburgacı Yaşar, Yeşil Kapı, and Ciğerci Memet. But Adana’s deep and rich food culture goes beyond the kebab, and during our numerous visits to this energetic, dynamic and truly excellent city, we’ve delighted in discovering its other specialties.

Portugal’s great 19th-century novelist José Maria de Eça de Queiroz was ahead of his time in many ways, dealing with raw subjects like incest, abortion and priestly sex crimes in his books. Yet Eça de Queiroz, a renowned bon viveur, also peppered his writings with less controversial culinary references. In fact, one of his best-loved scenes features the main character tucking into roast chicken and rice with fava beans. It’s a fictional meal that Restaurante de Tormes, a restaurant in the hamlet of Santa Cruz do Douro dedicated to serving dishes associated with the author, has turned into a reality.

In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, Italians – particularly southern Italians – immigrated to the United States in droves. Seeking their fortune in a distant land, they boarded ships with cardboard suitcases containing only a few clothes. But there was no shortage of good food in those suitcases: bread, cheese and even soppressata, cured pork salami made with the best pieces of the pig (and thus low in fat content), a perennial favorite in southern Italy. Alas, once they arrived on American soil after the long journey, their soppressate were seized because of a law prohibiting the import of cured meat, among other meat products (a ban that still exists today).

Zeynep Arca Şallıel had a successful career in advertising in Istanbul, but in 1995 she decided to take on a daunting new challenge: taking part in the revival of small-scale viniculture in the ancient winemaking region of Thrace. “I wanted to do something with soil, something that mattered a little bit more,” she says. Her father had always dreamed of making wine, so together, they started Arcadia Vineyards. Their vineyards are planted on the 65 million-year-old eroded rock of Istranca Mountain, which creates a border between Turkey and Bulgaria. We drove two hours west from Istanbul through rolling hills of drying sunflower fields to learn how this pioneering winemaker is making great wines under difficult circumstances.

When Cleveland-native Andy Husney set out for China at age 20 to teach English, he never would have believed that he would live there for the next decade, or, for that matter, open a Mexican restaurant. Husney initially came in 2012 for a one-year gig teaching English in Shenyang, located in China’s northeast Liaoning Province. But after that wrapped up, inspired by some friends and a desire to experience the culinary history of China, he made his way to Chengdu – recognized by the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) as a Creative City of Gastronomy, the capital of Sichuan province is also one of the capitals of Chinese cuisine.

It wasn’t so long ago that no one would venture to Georgia’s Svaneti region without a personal invitation, and even that was risky. Isolated, sky-high in the Caucasus, nestled between the breakaway territory of Abkhazia and the Russian Federation, it was land of the lost, inhabited by a tribe speaking their own language, living in hamlets dominated by tall medieval stone towers used for protection from invading hordes as well as from each other. Ancient pagan-Christian rituals, bride-napping, blood vendettas and banditry defined modern Svaneti – at least when viewed from the outside. We had heard too many stories of how oblivious tourists would wander there with cameras around their necks and big tourist grins only to return in their underwear with their heads hanging low. Like Georgians from the rest of the country, we stayed away.

We bit into the khinkali, its handmade dough indelicate and sticky, as we like it. Steam poured out the newly made hole, and we blew lightly before slurping up the rich stock and gobbling the dumpling down, even the puckered knob. The ground pork and beef was packed with fresh cilantro, the juices absorbed into the jacket. It was a perfect khinkali. A home wrecker. This seducer of a dumpling is molded by the knowing hands of Manana Osapashvili, born in Gudamakhari, a mountain village in Pasanauri, the heartland of khinkali. A professional cook for 29 years, Manana has been making khinkali since she was 10 years old. Today, she is running the kitchen at Sioni 13, located at the Tbilisi Theological Seminary in Old Town. It is a part of the city known for its tourists and hookah bars, and the mediocre "traditionnel" Georgian restaurants that cater to them.

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."

On the walls at Haritna Restaurant are homages to simple sights: a large gate, ancient Damascene windows – it’s a scene that hopes to inspire the very particular feeling of sitting in the middle of a Damascus square, down a well-trodden, old lane. For in Arabic, haritna means “our lane.” Also a colloquial term for neighborhood, Haritna evokes a sense of home for those now living far away. In fact, owner Loay Bakdash, originally from Damascus himself, had dreamed of opening such a restaurant while working as a civil engineer in Saudi Arabia. But he didn’t want it to be a place where people would just come and eat. “I wanted the customers to feel that they are in one of Damascus’ neighborhoods, among their acquaintances in a family-friendly atmosphere,” he says.

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.

The red storefront and Cyrillic lettering made it clear this was not just another kebab shop. Hesitant at first, we scouted around the outside – the restaurant is tucked into a side street, flanked by a shipping office and a construction site, and does not appear to exist on Google Maps. The menu, written in dry erase marker on a board hanging from the wall, was entirely in Mongolian. Nevertheless, armed with the names of a few traditional Mongolian dishes – khuushuur (a sort of meat-filled empanada), mantuun buuz (dumplings) and tsuivan (noodle stew) – gained from some cursory YouTube research, we sheepishly approached the counter. As we attempted to order, our host smiled. “I’ll make you something, don’t worry,” she assured us, and ran into the kitchen.

Next to some wooden shelves overloaded with spirits, a photograph of Natália Correia hangs on the wall. The photo’s placement makes it appear as if Correia, cigarette in hand, is surveying the small room, which is crowded with semi-broken tables. The late poet and upstart co-founded this tiny bar/café a few decades ago, and her presence is still felt here and in the neighborhood more generally: A nearby street, with a spectacular view of the city, is also named after her. Botequím is one of Graça’s oldest bars, located on the ground floor of Vila Sousa, one of the worker apartment complexes built at the end of the 19th century.

“If you could eat one last thing before you die, what would it be?” one friend asked another. His answer came quickly: “Grilled salmon skin!” It was a conversation that happened over a couple of drinks. Many would say that these kinds of discussions, alcohol-inspired brain waves, are best left as just that: ideas to be laughed off the next day. In this case, that was not to be. The light-hearted exchange between Yuichi Kobayashi and two acquaintances inspired them to open their own izakaya (Japanese pub), serving salmon good enough to eat before you die… but on a daily basis.

CB has teamed up with the creators of “Native Dish: United Flavors of NYC,” NYC Media’s new food TV series, to offer 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. While each episode features a general overview of the participant’s life story, particularly as it relates to food, we are expanding that narrative by providing the full interview transcript, albeit condensed and lightly edited. This month we are spotlighting Jeannie Ongkeo and her recipe for Tam Mak Hoong, a Lao green papaya salad drenched with savory anchovy sauce.