Descend the steps of Discesa del Caracciolo, leaving Via Roma behind, and you will find yourself in the heart of Palermo’s old Vucciria market, a micro-universe unto itself in which nostalgia hovers in the air and in the eyes of the locals. Typical Sicilian fatalism translates into the saying: “When the balàte of the Vucciria dry out.” The balàte are the typical stones that make up the floor on which the market stands: legend has it that – precisely because of the presence of merchants of all kinds who wash their workbenches at the end of each day – the floor of the Vucciria never fully dries.

Served as a sauce, romesco is certainly striking: It has an intense dark orange color and a dense texture that saturates and blankets whatever you dip in it. Once in the mouth, you get a piquant touch of vinegar, which is soon enveloped by the nutty creaminess of ground almonds (or perhaps hazelnuts) and olive oil. Yet the sauce’s main personality (and taste) derives from the roasted tomatoes and the rehydrated nyora peppers (ñora in Spanish), both of which are also responsible for its distinctive color. A versatile and tasty picada (pounded paste), romesco works as the base of the famous cold sauce (salsa romesco) but is also used in various dishes like monkfish romesco and mussels romesco. It has come, in its many forms, to represent the culinary culture of Tarragona, a province in southern Catalonia.

In a small dining room with Italian terrazzo floors, warm lighting, and earthy, distressed walls, every table is occupied. There are regulars from the neighborhood, couples on a quiet afternoon date, a father and small son giggling over pasta, and colleagues sharing plates at a long table in the corner. We grab the only seats left at the end of a long zinc bar. Amid the hustle, we are warmly greeted by the restaurant’s owner, Benjamin Moro. Shying away from social media and publicity, Benjamin comes across as timidly confident, an unorthodox charmer.

The Vera district of Tbilisi is bursting with tempting food options, from traditional Georgian feasts to cinnamon rolls and pizza. But there is nowhere like Tamtaki in the neighborhood – or anywhere else in Tbilisi, for that matter. Founded by chef Tamta Kikaleishvili and her mother, Katya Gegia, in 2020, the origin of the name comes from the chef’s first name, Tamta, and Ki, the first two letters of her last name, Kikaleishvili. And it's not just the name of the restaurant. “There is no Georgian synonym for the word sandwich, so we decided to introduce this word,” says Katya. “Because all our dishes, the ‘tamtakis,’ are served atop bread – ingredients, sauces, ‘sides.’”

It's a Sunday and, in the blink of an eye, Manojo is full. People move between tables with familiarity; customers greet one another, say hello with a kiss on the cheek or give a wave – it feels as if everyone is a regular in this small establishment on José Arana Street in San Sebastian’s beachside Gros neighborhood. Manojo was created for just such a purpose, helmed by a couple of young chefs obsessed not so much with fine dining but with assuring a fine evening for all guests, by way of creative and honest food; for wines that are ready to start a good conversation and, mostly, for an ambience that feels as warm as a friend's hug.

Unlike most capitals, Lisbon has vineyards within its territory, and plenty of vines within reach in neighboring municipalities, from Sintra to Cascais and Loures. But until 2020, there wasn’t a single winery to be found in the city itself. Adega Belém has remedied this. Located right at the edge of one of the city’s most visited neighborhoods, where tourists line up to see the Belém Tower or eat Lisbon’s most famous egg tart, The winery’s unusual location – occupying a former garage in the backstreets – is a peaceful antidote to all the queues. Upon arrival, we’re greeted by Lili, a friendly brown labrador. She has a red wine named in her honor but we’ve already fallen in love with her even before learning that. Lili takes us to meet Catarina and David, the couple whose vision of producing wine in the city made Adega Belém a reality. Prior to this venture, they both had careers in academia, and left jobs at universities to dedicate themselves to wine.

Ramadan fasters in Istanbul may not love the endless daylight hours in summer nor the susuzluk (no water), but when the reward is a leisurely iftar under the trees on Kadınlar Pazarı, the pedestrianized market known as Little Siirt (named after the southeastern Turkish city where many of the local shop and restaurant owners hail from), it must surely seem worth it. A February iftar would not be quite the same, at least not in Turkey. As we walked through the twilight to Siirt Şeref Büryan Kebap Salonu at the end of the square last Saturday, hundreds of fasters waited in front of cling-filmed plates of iceberg lettuce and ciǧ köfte for the Ramadan cannon to signal “breakfast” time.

Nestled in the smaller bay of the Gulf of Naples, on the northern side of the Posillipo cape, Pozzuoli is the main center of the Phlegraean Fields, a vast and fertile volcanic area still marked by craters, sulfurous fumes, and seismic activity, rich with natural and archaeological treasures. Pozzuoli was once a Greek colony and a main Roman harbor and trading port the later a fishing village. Today it’s a busy ferry terminal – ferries heading towards the islands of Ischia and Procida leave from here – and a lively coastal district.

As we excitedly introduce San Sebastian, our newest Culinary Backstreets city, we sat down to chat with one of our local experts, Sasha Correa. There’s a lot to say about food in this small city on the Bay of Biscay, a place where Basque traditions run deep but that has also made a name for itself in the international fine dining scene. Sasha was born and grew up in Caracas, Venezuela. She first came to San Sebastian in 2007, lured by the city’s gastronomy, and then came back to live here full-time some nine years ago. As a writer and now as a guide, she hopes to convey to others the special spark that San Sebastian and Basque culture have, especially when it comes to gastronomy.

The fourth time was the charm when we finally were able to take a seat at Salepepe, a five-stool pizza bar in the exceedingly hip neighborhood of Yeldeğirmeni, located in Istanbul's Kadıköy district on the Anatolian side of the city. When we first went, the restaurant was closed due to selling out early, while the next attempts involved lines out the door, and those in line had dibs on the last pies of the day. But we weren't about to give up after hearing lots of hype about the first and only Tokyo-style Neapolitan pizza joint in Istanbul, which was opened at the beginning of 2023 by 34-year-old Altuğ Şencan, a photographer by trade who long wanted to open his own restaurant.

“It sometimes feels like a dream to me,” explained Linh Garza, president of Dong Phuong Bakery, “that a small family of Vietnamese refugees could create all of this.” What began as a small family bakery is now a New Orleans institution, honored with an America’s Classics award by the James Beard Foundation. And, despite the fact that it can take as long as 30 minutes to drive to Dong Phuong from the heart of the city, hundreds of locals and tourists line up along Chef Menteur Highway every day during the weeks leading up to Mardi Gras for a chance at one (or four) of the bakery’s famous king cakes.

Even though Athens is fairly close to the sea, there are times when we crave a quick island getaway – to taste the best tomato salads of the Cyclades, or one of the many pungent cheeses of Naxos, or real smoked apaki from Crete, but we don’t have the time (or resources) to venture out of the city limits. That’s when we head to To Hohlidaki, an ouzeri experience that feels like a tour of Greece from the comfort of a quaint Athenian neighborhood. We’ve been several times, and each visit gives a new picture of what the country has to offer. This ouzeri is steeped in history, and owner Alexandros Giolma takes every opportunity to mingle the past with the present.

Last summer, when we first saw handmade posters on the street written in English and Georgian announcing the opening of a Japanese bakery, we were both bewildered and excited. On top of many local tone (traditional ovens), Tbilisi had French, German, Turkish and Lithuanian bakeries but Japanese bread and pastries were unheard of. We finally visited the new spot in question, Pancholi-na, around 10:30 a.m. one winter morning. Ayako Matsumoto, one of the owners, had already baked a dozen triangular old-fashioned doughnuts, some plain and some with cacao baked in.

The Japanese philosophy of ikigai follows four key tenets: to find in life what we love, what the world needs, what we are good at, and what we can get paid for. At Miura, chef and owner Hiroki Nara has found his ikigai at this stunning gourmet fish restaurant.   This idyllic little secret is tucked into a quiet backstreet of Shimokitazawa, one of the few neighborhoods in Tokyo devoid of skyscrapers and department stores. This small district lies in the heart of Setagaya, the second largest ward in Tokyo.

In Marseille, OM is not a yogic hum but a deafening roar. Revered like a religion, it refers to Olympique de Marseille, our football club, the symbol of the city. Famous rappers wear the jerseys, guys of all ages sport OM tracksuits, and the most-read stories in the local rag, La Provence, feature OM. The team’s sky blue and white colors mirror the city’s crest. When the renowned former owner Bernard Tapie died, the entire city mourned.