The T1 tramway route passes by virtually all of Istanbul’s most well-known sights. Crossing the Galata Bridge and weaving through the Old City, the T1 practically rubs up against the Hagia Sophia, Topkapı Palace, the Grand Bazaar and other famous attractions, ensuring that most foreign visitors to the city will ride this tram within a five-stop radius. But after the T1 rumbles past the old city walls, it snakes its way northeast through a dense patch of working-class districts usually ignored by tourists. Dreary on the outside though they may look, many of these neighborhoods are laced with off-the-beaten-path charm and culinary delights hidden in plain view.

The weather prompted us to order as much as we did. Winter was chilling us to the bone on our first visit, several years ago, to Banggane (Bahn-gah-Nay). This Korean restaurant in Murray Hill sits on a wide-open stretch of Northern Boulevard that’s particularly exposed to the wind. A three-course feast of Korean black goat would set us right, we were sure. “In winter it warms you,” Chris Kwak, the owner, agrees, when we meet with him on a recent, less frigid afternoon. But at Banggane “summertime is very busy,” too. “When everyone’s already sweating,” he adds, black goat – named for the color of its hair, not its meat – is both refreshing and restorative, or so the traditional thinking goes.

On a recent weekend evening, we came across two young men fanning the flames of a small charcoal stove on the side of the road near Mercado San Juan in the Centro Histórico neighborhood of Mexico City. They were making tlayudas, the signature Oaxacan dish, and already had a pair of traffic cops waiting in line. The smell of melting cheese and fresh tasajo, dried, smoked beef, was enough to convince us to join the queue. A tlayuda is a wide, crunchy tortilla filled with meat, cheese and beans. The young men had brought the ingredients fresh from their hometown in Oaxaca’s Sierra Norte. Combining Oaxacan cheese; chewy, salty tasajo; avocado; and a thick layer of mashed beans, the tlayuda was simple and delicious.

The neighborhood of Exarchia in downtown Athens has long played a storied role in the social and political history of Greece. Bordering the National Technical University of Athens, also known as Athens Polytechnic, where students staged a massive uprising against the Greek military junta in 1973 that resulted in a violent repression, and the Law School of the University of Athens, it has for years attracted people with leftist political leanings, including anarchists, socialists and anti-fascists, as well as students, bohemians and artists. Although famous for the various riots and uprisings that have taken place here throughout the years (a reputation that has often kept fearful tourists away), Exarchia has also developed a vibe and character all its own, one that’s unique amongst neighborhoods in Athens.

On our “Market Watch” walk in Mexico City, we learn about the different ingredients that are the building blocks of Mexico’s culture and its inimitable cuisine. Like at this stall, which is offering various types of nuts, legumes and – our favorite – toasted crickets.

We used to live near the Mtkvari River, in a ground-floor apartment with a single window looking into our courtyard, which was a dirt parking lot. The sun never made it to our window but every morning at the crack of eight, a woman would wake us with the melodious croon of “ma-tso-ni, mat-so-ni!” And if that didn’t wake us, her incessant tapping on our window certainly did. The payoff, however, was a jar full of the thickest, creamiest, most refreshing homemade yogurt, with just a perfect hint of tartness. So, we would shuffle out of bed, open the window and exchange our empty jars with her full ones.

Rua Catalana is a very ancient road, a corner of Naples where time seems to stand still. Located next to the financial district and now squeezed by 19th-century buildings, it is curiously the only road in the city that, instead of the Italian “Via,” uses “Rua,” a distortion of the French “Rue.” In the mid-14th century, Queen Joanna I of Naples welcomed merchants from all over Europe to the city as part of her efforts to promote trade. She donated this area to the Catalans, and tinsmiths and junk dealers settled here. Even though 700 years have passed, a smattering of small copper and tin artisans continue to practice their craft on this street, now making artistic copper and tin objects for the increasing number of tourists roaming the city.

On our mouthwatering multi-day Georgia trip, organized in collaboration with Atlas Obscura, we explore the birthplace of wine. The trip includes a stop in the hills around Ateni for a feast and natural wine tasting at Andro Barnovi winery – Andro, our host, walks us through the winemaking process and also prepares a luscious country supper.

Athens is probably at its prettiest in springtime, especially in April and May. The weather is warm, but not too warm (in the summer the city can be oppressively hot), and Athens – not normally the greenest of cities – is in beautiful full bloom. From early April onwards, the smell of the blossoming bitter orange trees that line the streets of downtown is almost intoxicating, while in May, the tall jacaranda trees on Athinas Street and in Zappeion Park look almost like they are floating in a purple-blue, orgiastic haze. The fruit and vegetable street markets – held on a different day of the week in each neighborhood in Athens – are filled with the first wonderful products of spring. Strawberries are sure to make an appearance: slightly bitter, yet highly aromatic, these early fruits of the season are small but feel like a precious gift.

José Saudade e Silva always knew, deep down, that he wasn’t cut out for tedious office life. So one day in 2014, after studying marketing and working a 9-to-5 job in that same field, he bought a one-way ticket to Oslo, where he had some friends. He didn’t exactly know how he would make a living there, but one of those friends quickly got him a job working in the kitchen of a new fine-dining restaurant, even though José didn’t have any sort of professional cooking background. His only experience in the kitchen was being around his father, an excellent cook. “My father instilled in me a love for food from a young age. He does a great bacalhau à Brás [salt cod with potatoes and eggs], among other dishes,” says the 27-year-old.

When Brenda Miranda and her partners started Chilakillers seven years ago, it was on a lark. They were freelancers – like so many young professionals in Mexico City – who needed some extra cash and thought, “Who doesn’t love chilaquiles?” The only problem? None of them had much experience in the kitchen. But the mother of Brenda’s ex agreed to give them her salsa secrets – verde, mole, refried beans with chipotle, and a super spicy version (to which they would later add an avocado salsa and a vegan salsa). Plus, while Brenda may not have cooked much growing up, she did know meat – her father worked as a butcher all through her childhood in Mexico City’s Obrera neighborhood.

“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.

It’s that time of year when armies of sakura (cherry blossom) trees in Tokyo break into bloom and people flock to parks for hanami, or cherry blossom viewing parties. While walking along the sides of Naka Meguro river, we toasted this annual rite of spring with some sparkling rosé.

While home cooks preparing food for their families are revered and restaurants occupy an important place in the social fabric, food businesses run out of individual homes often carry negative connotations in Middle Eastern societies. Many would assume that the person making these meals is jobless, uneducated, in dire need of money, or some combination of the three. But sometimes major societal changes – like, for example, a war and resulting refugee crisis – shift perceptions, and something once viewed with skepticism becomes a path forward. That is increasingly the case for Syrians in Istanbul, who have been forced to flee from their homeland and take up residence in a country where they barely know the language, culture or people.