Being the geographic dead center of the country, Mexico City is the hub for all produce heading in any direction. In other words, all roads lead to the sprawling Central de Abastos, the distribution center and wholesaler in the south of the city. “Spring” here is the dry season – the temperatures get hotter by the day until May, even June, when the rainy season begins – but conventional produce is always in season somewhere in Mexico, no matter how parched Mexico City itself might be. But say you’re looking to stick to a “100-mile diet” – surrounding the city there are fertile soils of volcanic valleys as well as high desert regions. So what surprises do they offer in spring?

For 48 weeks out of the year, Meijiawu village is pretty quiet. But in the weeks before and after Qingming, the Tomb Sweeping Festival held every year in early April, the tea terraces looming over the town come to life before sunrise. Tea pickers sweep through the fields, collecting the first buds of the season by hand. These emerald slivers will make up the bulk of the farmers’ annual income, although several more harvests of lesser leaves throughout the year will supplement them. Like wine from Bordeaux, Dragon Well (龙井 – Lóngjǐng) tea comes only from the hills near Hangzhou (although in China, counterfeit leaves – like bottles of Château Lafite – are everywhere). Meijiawu village (梅家坞村) is just a short drive from the actual Dragon Well (or “Longjing”) Village.

Out here in Garikula, our slice of heaven an hour west of Tbilisi, spring is peaking. It started with the plum blossoms and now the apple, pear and cherry blossoms are popping, painting the countryside in patches of white and pink. Walking along a village path with our neighbor Shota, he suddenly stops, bends down and reaches into a wad of weeds and pulls. “Ah-ha,” he says showing us a little bundle of wild asparagus, skinny, green and an appetizing revelation when cooked just right. Back in Tbilisi, this asparagus appeared in the central bazaar a couple weeks ago, along with other welcomed indications that springtime has finally arrived.

It’s Saturday around lunchtime and business as usual in the bustling Beşiktaş Çarşı neighborhood, as crowds of mostly younger people fill the narrow streets. Down on Mumcu Bakkal Sokak, a pedestrian-only street lined with miniscule shops, a line around the block has been formed by those eager to get into one of the city’s best döner spots. For many of those waiting in line, however, it’s impossible to ignore the scaffolding-covered building just across the way. Though the scaffolding masks most of the historic building, it’s still possible to make out strips of the distinctive baby blue color of what was one of Istanbul’s most beloved eateries: Pando’s kaymak shop.

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.

“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.

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.

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.

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.

We returned to Tbilisi in 2002 with the intention of staying one year. On that first day back, our friends took us to a chummy brick-walled cellar in Sololaki. There was enough sunlight coming down through the door to illume low pine tables and seating for fifty people max. In a refrigerated counter, menu items were displayed: beef tongue, tomato and cucumber salad, assorted cheeses, badrijani (sliced fried eggplant stuffed with a garlicky walnut paste), all the standard stuff. It was a Georgian greasy spoon, for sure, with a kitchen that would make a health inspector shudder, but the khinkali were really good, and the house wine was as decent as it comes. The name of the place was Dukani Racha. Little did we know people had been coming here for decades.