An old star from the previous century still shines brightly in Port Vell. Renovated in 1992 and again in 2016, La Estrella 1924 is a classic restaurant that serves simple, refined Catalan dishes, thoughtfully prepared from quality local products. The atmosphere is formal but relaxed, quiet and friendly, and time is kept by the discreet sounding of the clocks hanging upon the wall. It feels like eating in someone’s home – and, in a way, it is. Josefa Chiquillo, great-grandmother of the current owner, Jordi Baidal, opened La Estrella in 1920 as a kind of travelers’ inn, located in the Born neighborhood near the old train station Estació de França.

Each year in late summer, some of the best athletes on the planet converge on Flushing Meadows Corona Park to compete in the United States Open Tennis Championships. In 2024, the U.S. Open begins with practice sessions and qualifier matches on Monday, August 19, and concludes with the men’s singles final, scheduled for Sunday, September 8. The tournament site does provide hungry fans with several cafés and casual bar-restaurants as well as a “food village.” But when in Queens – where some of the best food in the city is so close at hand – why would we confine ourselves to the boundaries of the tennis center? To energize ourselves beforehand or wind down afterward, here are a few of our favorite nearby dining destinations.

A 16th-century tower stands at the southern edge of the Plage des Catalans, the closest beach to Marseille’s city center. The Tour Paul was one of the city’s lazarets, quarantine stations for sick sailors to prevent disease from entering the city. In ruins after centuries of erosion, the Infirmerie Vielle (“Old Infirmary”) is now being rehabilitated thanks to a successful historical preservation campaign. One hundred yards away, a modern infirmary has had a different fate. It’s been transformed into a homey restaurant. At Maison M&R, healing comes in the form of comfort food, homemade pastries, and a familial welcome. The café’s community vibe is fitting for the village-like Catalans quarter.

Evi Papadopoulou is no stranger to the culinary arts. A well-regarded food journalist who has written articles on pastries and desserts in the top Greek gastronomy publications, she is also a classically trained chef. She studied at the culinary school of renowned Italian pastry chef Iginio Massari and followed that up with specialized training in making artisanal gelato at Francesco Palmieri’s prestigious laboratory in Puglia, Italy. In July of 2014, Papadopoulou opened Le Greche, a gelato parlor tucked away on Mitropoleos Street, right off Syntagma Square. The parlor itself is straight out of an Alphonse Mucha painting and has an Art Nouveau feel, with its airy, muted color palette. Since it opened, the shop has accumulated quite a cult following – and for good reason.

Someone once said that humanitarian workers are like mercenaries, missionaries or madmen. It is a description we have also applied to expats who end up in far-flung places like Georgia. Like the foreigner out in the secluded Kakhetian village of Argokhi, between the Alazani River and the Caucasus Mountains, who has forged his life growing a nearly extinct variety of native wheat and baking it into bread; but he is no madman. He’s a Frenchman. We had first heard about Jean-Jacques Jacob some years ago while visiting the Alaverdi Monastery in Kakheti, when a friend pointed north of the giant cathedral and told us of a Frenchman who had started a farm in the middle of nowhere.

In the historic center of the city, nestled near the vibrant Vucciria market, lies a unique dining experience in Il Vizietto Bistrot. A former abattoir, the space has been transformed into a restaurant that beckons patrons in search of a delicious meal. After all, the name Il Vizietto means “bad habit,” embodying the restaurant's philosophy – a place to indulge, to enjoy, anchored by a carefully curated menu filled with Sicilian staples. Sisters Maria, Karima and Rosaria Ferrante opened Il Vizietto Bistrot in 2020, and the project has survived several challenges, a global pandemic among them. Maria, Karima, and Rosaria Ferrante even considered naming it Bordello – “che bordello” is a common way of referring to a real mess in the local vernacular – an ode to the chaotic process of opening their bistro.

In Neapolitan dialect, “È Pronto ‘O Mangià” means simply: “Food is ready!” It is the perfect name for Mattia Grossi’s trattoria, a small, unassuming space on via Cesare Rosaroll. We are welcomed to this family-owned restaurant with an undeniably warm atmosphere: stone walls lined with old photos and newspaper clippings, smiling waiters, music and chatter. È Pronto ‘O Mangià matches the simplicity of its name: nothing sophisticated, nothing gourmet – just true, homemade Neapolitan cuisine.

In the hills surrounding Marseille, the sound of cicadas echo during the summer months. This afternoon was no different on the terrace of Le Cigalon, a restaurant named for the tiny creature beloved by many and a symbol of Provence. About an hour by public transportation or 25 minutes by car, and located within the city limits of metropolitan Marseille, the restaurant is perched atop a hill in a small village. Opened in 1835, the menu and the hillside view from the terrace have drawn both locals and travelers for generations. Some come for the local specialties on the menu and others make the pilgrimage to visit La Treille, the village featured in films by the celebrated French novelist, playwright and filmmaker, Marcel Pagnol.

Traveling through Oaxaca, the impact of the mezcal boom is evident. In Oaxaca City, mezcalerias can now be found on almost every corner, while in the countryside rows and rows of freshly planted agave can be seen in fields that had previously been devoted to other crops. What’s harder to discern is the worrying impact this boom is having on Oaxacan agriculture and the local ecosystem. This past May, Real Minero and the descendants of Lorenzo Ángeles Mendoza, the brand’s founder, took an important step toward addressing this issue by inaugurating the first agave seed bank in Mexico, which they hope will help maintain both the agave plant’s diversity as well as help to preserve ancient farming methods.

A friend once said that God could never bring all of his people to one place. But then he visited the Aksaray neighborhood in Istanbul, a stone's throw from Sultanahmet's iconic mosques. Aksaray acts as both a landing point for new arrivals and a launching pad for those trying to make it to Europe. The neighborhood provides a culinary roadmap for the city’s immigrant communities and it teems with delicious diversity – with restaurants serving everything from Somali to Georgian fare. Unlike more recent transplants, Ethiopians have been in the city for a long time. Take the old story of Beshir Agha, for example. Born in Ethiopia, he was brought as a slave to the Ottoman Empire but was eventually appointed Chief Harem Eunuch in Istanbul under Sultan Ahmed III in 1716, later becoming the third most powerful person in the palace.

New Orleans is arguably one of the most Afro-Caribbean cities in the United States. In the minds of some, we don’t even qualify as a US city, but rather the northernmost outpost of the Caribbean. From our architecture to our food and our rhythms, we sit apart from the rest of the South. We love spice and deep flavors, cooking that is evocative of people and place. Jamaican food would seem like a natural fit here, and it is, though it is not nearly as commonplace as it should be, all things considered. But Richard Rose and his wife Jackie Diaz are looking to change that with their new Upper 9th Ward restaurant on St. Claude Avenue, Jamaican Jerk House.

In the heart of CDMX’s Colonia Escandón, near the corner of Avenida Patriotismo and Calle José Martí, customers hover about, looking for a spot to sit or stand at El Rincón Tarasco. They’ve come here in search of carnitas tacos, which this family-owned restaurant has been serving in the authentic Michoacán style – tender, juicy pork meat with a crispy brown finish, giving it a kind of special sweetness – for over 40 years. Waiting for our tacos, we talked with Claudia Zapien about the origins of her family’s taqueria. “We come from a small town in Michoacán called Zacapu. My father, Roberto Zapien, had worked in the meat trade there where it was common to do carnitas, so he started to make them here in his regional style, at this same location, in the year of 1978.”

In the bustling, dense, cosmopolitan neighborhood of Kurtuluş, the potential for discovery seems endless, as compelling stories and flavors lie behind unsuspecting doors. One of CB's tour guides and fellow urban explorer Benoit Hanquet recently tipped us off to a hidden gem, a place that, from the outside, is a totally nondescript, signless café that we have passed by hundreds of times over the years without ever noticing. Located next to a popular pizza place on the corner of Baruthane Avenue and Eşref Efendi Street, a buzzing area where a handful of bars, meyhanes, restaurants and cafés have popped up over the past few years, Özlem Cafe represents a nod to the neighborhood's past while offering an atmosphere and menu that distinguishes it from similar establishments.

It’s around noon on a Wednesday in Oaxaca, and we’re standing next to a huge, firewood-powered comal, that traditional Mexican clay griddle used to toast corn and cacao, blister tomatoes for salsa, melt stringy quesillo cheese inside the corn tortilla layers of a quesadilla, and so much more. Today, however, none of these more quotidian ingredients takes center stage on the blazing-hot, earthen red comal: Instead, Micaela Ruiz Martinez, 50, uses a small straw brush to sweep ants over the griddle’s surface, the insects dark, round rear ends resembling oversized black peppercorns. As a slightly herbal, slightly fruity aroma begins to waft up from the comal, Martinez, chef and owner of the bright, homey restaurant Luz de Luna (“Moonlight”), comments, “Chicatanas have a really unique flavor. There’s really nothing else like it.”

On a warm August morning two years ago in an orchard somewhere west of Aomori City in Japan’s Tōhoku region (about 4 hours from Tokyo by train), we watched blackcurrant farmer Kenji Hayashi scoop dark magenta gelato into paper cups. Ribena had nothing on this. It tasted like summer incarnate, an electric blackcurrant explosion tempered with sugar and brightened with lemon juice. We ate greedily, trying to finish our gelato before the heat turned it into a puddle. “So, how did you make the gelato?” We asked him. “I met Ayumi-chan at a bar,” he replied. He’s not alone. This is apparently how Ayumi Chiba of Gelato Natura meets all her fruit suppliers: drinking at bars.