In Delhi the heat has enveloped everything. And refreshing drinks, made from short- and long-lived seasonal fruits, have arrived on the streets.

The Holy Week in Greece is full of scents and flavors. Ovens work overtime baking brioches (tsourekia), Easter biscuits and melitinia, diminutive sweets that originate from Santorini. Traditionally, melitinia are made by women and girls on Holy Tuesday to be eaten on the evening of the Resurrection and the coming days of Easter (Orthodox Easter falls on April 12 this year).

The city of Edirne sits on the borders of Bulgaria and Greece in the far northwestern and European portion of Turkey. Once the capital of the Ottoman Empire, Edirne has been occupied for thousands of years, dating back to the Romans and Thracians before them. While no longer the seat of an empire, Edirne could still be considered a culinary capital for tava ciğer, or fried liver. Two things are constant companions to travelers venturing into Edirne: glistening portraits of famous oiled-up wrestlers (a big annual contest is held nearby) and innumerable small restaurant fronts featuring a vat of boiling sunflower oil. The aroma of meat cooking in these vats is distinctive and primal, instantly activating salivary glands or rumbling stomachs.

In the windy coastal region south of Barcelona, surrounded by the wide vineyards of Baix Penedès, entire families are decked out in winter gear and ready to eat … some salad! In the late 19th century, the word xató (pronounced “sha-TOH”) first appeared in writing in the Catalan press. Just as the name for the dish paella is borrowed from the name of the pan that is used to prepare it, xató originally referred to a sauce, but is now the name for a specific salad preparation. Practically unavoidable in the towns of Baix Penedès, Alt Penedès and Garraf (sub-regions that lie between the provinces of Barcelona and Tarragona), xató is surprisingly rare on restaurant menus in Barcelona proper, just under an hour away.

The word mole comes from the Nahuatl molli, which means “mixture,” and is used to refer to a number of sauces prepared all over Mexico. There’s some controversy as to which spot is the birthplace of mole (Puebla, Tlaxcala and Oaxaca all claim the prize) and when exactly these sauces were created. What we do know about mole sauces, however, is that they are the perfect culinary example of the mestizaje that took place in Mexico after the arrival of the Spanish conquistadores. They combine native ingredients such as chilies, fruits and seeds with elements brought by the newcomers, including nuts, exotic fruits and even bread.

Salt cod has been a staple on the Iberian Peninsula for centuries, but in the last few decades overfishing and changes in eating habits have resulted in a significant drop in bacallà consumption. Only recently has the fish begun returning in greater numbers to our tables, and it has also become the focal point for an annual gastronomic celebration: La Ruta del Bacallà. There’s a popular saying on the Iberian Peninsula that there is one cod recipe for every day of the year, but in truth, the number is upwards of 500. In Spain, there are hundreds of cod recipes dating from the Middle Ages, with a multitude of regional variations. The most notable and sophisticated ones come from Basque country and Catalonia.

Slippery cellophane noodles, crunchy sprouts, wobbly jelly, starchy cake, sweet porridge, crispy crêpe, sour fermented drink, a lamb-oil splattered mash: these are just a few of the many forms that the humble, versatile mung bean can take.

Imagine five days filled with tasting the best food products from around the world and meeting the artisans who make them. Then add a whirlwind of political discussions, wine tastings and serendipitous meetings with fellow food enthusiasts, and you have a piece of what the biennial Salone del Gusto and Terra Madre convention offers visitors. We traveled to Turin, Italy, for the 10th convention, organized by the international Slow Food movement, to meet producers from some of the countries Culinary Backstreets covers.

In November, the Conservatorio de la Cultura Gastronómica Mexicana held its second International Mexican Gastronomy Forum in the city of Puebla, about 100 kilometers east of Mexico City. We had the opportunity to attend and learn more about the importance of creating this kind of space to preserve and propagate Mexican recipes that have been cooked for thousands of years.

The origins of pasteli, a honey and sesame bar sold everywhere in Greece from supermarkets to delis to bakeries, can be traced back to Greek and Roman antiquity. Athenaeus of Naucratis, in his Deipnosophistae (“The Dinner Experts”), written in the 3rd century A.D., mentions it many times, and references to pasteli can be found all over ancient Greek and Byzantine texts.

Athinas is one of our favorite streets in the whole of Athens. Running from Omonia to Monastiraki squares, it has a scruffy, chaotic, disreputable charm that has hardly changed since we moved to Greece more than 40 years ago. From the Omonia side to City Hall and the Central Market, hawkers and peddlers – of everything from sunglasses and “magic” juicers to contraband cigarettes – make the sidewalk an obstacle course for the crowds of shoppers in search of bargains in open storefronts.

In Catalonia around the summer solstice, we make one of our most traditional liqueurs, ratafía, for which the herbs, fruit and flowers that are macerated in alcohol must be collected on Saint John’s Eve, or June 23. This highly aromatic digestif has long been believed to have medicinal properties. There’s even an old Catalan rhyme along those lines: Ratafía, tres o cuatro al día (“Ratafía, three or four per day”). Different versions of the liqueur have been made for centuries in eastern Spain and some regions of France and Italy but, like the other herb liqueurs throughout Europe, they originated from the Ancient Roman and Greek custom of macerating fruit and herbs in wine, from Arabian perfume distillation and from the sophisticated medieval distillations in monasteries and convents that created the first aguardientes, or grape-based, medicinal liqueurs.

Dear Culinary Backstreets,My wife and I love to cook at home and for our friends, and we would love to learn more about Spanish cuisine on our next trip to Barcelona so that we can recreate our favorite meals when we return home. Where can we take English-language cooking classes in the city?

It is impossible to sleep late in Gaziantep, despite the tranquility of the historic quarter, the calming, hunker-in-and-go-back-to-sleep effect of the hotel room’s thick stone walls and the comforting, dusty smell of antique furniture. Even the promise of a nice breakfast spread served between 7:30 and 10 a.m. could not keep us from hitting this ancient southeastern Turkish city’s streets. At 6 a.m., we were rambling through Gaziantep’s coppersmiths’ bazaar. As we walked by, the metal shutters of spice shops were thrown open in a clattering roar, whooshing an aromatic cloud into our path. Street sweepers worked their beat with twiggy, homemade-looking brooms as groups of shopkeepers lingered over the first of many more teas and smokes at the corner çayhane. Exiting another artery of covered bazaars, we stepped out into bright morning light, which shot through the brooms of street sweepers at rest, creating crazy mangrove-like shadows on the sidewalk. We were close now, so close we could smell it.