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.

There’s no dish that signals in the arrival of spring and early summer in Georgia like the verdant tangy lamb stew called chakapuli. The spring dish, originally from the country’s wine growing eastern region of Kakheti, makes its seasonal debut at Orthodox Easter (or Paska) feasts that usually falls around mid-April. After a long, solemn period of reflection and penance when all meat (except the permissible fish) and pleasure are eschewed by the faithful, joyful cries of “Kristi Aghsdga!” or “Christ is Risen!” replaces standard greetings for a day of feasting and celebration. Families and friends (and lucky invited guests) gather around tables laden with all the classic staples of a Georgian supra, but the signature starter dish proffered is soup bowls of lamb (or veal) simmered in a rich white wine-based broth with fresh green tarragon, spring onions, green coriander, fresh young garlic bulbs and sour green plums called tkemali.

Head due north from Portugal, and you’ll encounter Asturias, a region of Spain with a deep tradition of producing and drinking cider. Shift just east from there, and Spain’s Basque country has its own unique apple-based drink, known as sagardoa. And of course, France’s Atlantic coast has a longstanding, sophisticated tradition of turning apples and pears into alcohol. Back in Portugal, craft cider is, well, a lot harder to find. In recent years, commercial brands such as Bandida do Pomar – part of the company that produces Sagres beer and other products – have become common, but the drink is almost a novelty.

In a city where new restaurants and cafés – many directed at Lisbon’s new residents and digital nomads – pop up faster than we can keep track of, Gunpowder has set its sights on conquering the tastebuds of locals though Indian seafood dishes and spices. Harneet Baweja, originally from Calcutta, founded the original Gunpowder restaurant in London in 2015. A love for surfing drew him to the Portuguese capital, and he started making frequent trips to Lisbon and its surrounding beaches. “I absolutely love Lisbon, so it was a natural choice for me to open a restaurant here,” he says. “I fell in love with the city and the culture.” It was a love so strong that Baweja now divides his time between Lisbon and London, managing the several Gunpowder locations, while still chasing the waves of the Portuguese coast.

It was August 31, 1957, and Yiannis Dritsas, a representative of Nestlé Greece, was at the 22nd Thessaloniki International Fair. His mission? To present a new iced chocolate drink for kids. It was simple, really: add milk and cocoa powder to a shaker (essentially a cocktail shaker), shake well and serve. During a break, an employee of the same company named Dimitris Vakondios went to the kitchenette to prepare his regular instant coffee – using Nescafé, Nestlé’s coffee brand, of course. But he couldn’t find hot water anywhere. Desperate for his caffeine, he decided to try and copy what his boss was presenting to the public, only instead of cocoa powder he used his instant coffee and instead of milk he used cold water. In the shaker it went and boom, the frappé was born.

The flames of the late afternoon New Orleans sun flickered around Chef Chris Blanco like a piece of meat on the grill, the blistering heat a harbinger of the record highs that would soon engulf New Orleans and the Gulf South. But Blanco, a native of Bogota, Colombia, appeared cool as he carefully constructed arepas, topping the cheese-stuffed, cornmeal-dough disks with marinated grilled steak or chicken and a bright cilantro sauce. Fried plantains provided a welcomingly sweet counterpoint to the dense, savory arepas. It was the final show of the season at the Music Box Village in the 9th Ward, a quirky art installation of musical houses that can be played like instruments, and Blanco’s popular Colombian street food pop-up, Waska, was the featured food vendor, and he was busy.

Life can take some unexpected turns. This is how Adrián Rubio – originally from Aragón province, where he studied cooking – ended up in Barcelona. Perhaps it was the strong wind known as cierzo, which blows from the Pyrenees and down through his native land to the southwest , that carried him here to open a restaurant where the recipes change every day. A chef has to be tough and creative enough to face such a powerful force. Adrián Rubio is just that kind of chef, and he decided to name his new personal project, opened in 2017, after that wind.

Tbilisi, as part of Eastern Georgia, has always been geographically, culturally and gastronomically far from the nearest shores – those of the Black Sea. Here, the closest you can get to the feeling of the sea while is strolling along the “Tbilisi Sea,” a big reservoir opened by the Soviet authorities in 1953. Located on the northern edge of the city, it boasts a public and a private beach and even a sailing club. Most restaurants in town, along with well-known Georgian dishes, usually serve just one type of fish: trout, which often comes from fish farms.

In the last few years, a handful of new restaurants, cafes and bars have popped up in the cozy, breezy neighborhood around the Byzantine church of Agioi Theodoroi in central Athens, built during the 11th century. Diagonally across from the old church stands a beautiful and newly refurbished Art Deco building from 1936. The building’s main entrance leads to an internal arcade, as is common in most non-residential buildings of central Athens. At the entrance of the arcade, as is the custom, we read the name of the arcade engraved on the white-gray marble: “Megaron Papathanasiou” (Papathanasiou Hall). If the name Papathanasiou doesn’t ring a bell, let us help. Vangelis Papathanasiou (1943-2022), or simply Vangelis, as he was mostly known abroad, was one of the most internationally acknowledged Greek musician/composers, best known for his Academy Award-winning score to Chariots of Fire (1981).

The bubbling of a miniature waterfall melds with the twitter of birds and the sounds of the cats that chase them in the Asociación México Japonesa (The Mexican Japanese Association)’s outdoor gardens. A hodgepodge of cypress trees, elephant’s foot plants, and ferns frame the koi ponds surrounded by red umbrellaed tables. Once an area strictly for members of the AMJ, the outside patio now fills with diners of all stripes enjoying an afternoon at Restaurante ICHI, the association’s highly acclaimed restaurant. It all started in July of 1956 when a group of 20 Japanese immigrants and local Mexicans interested in Japanese culture decided to form the Asociación México Japonesa on a plot of land in the Las Águilas neighborhood.

Those returning to Porto along the Luís I Bridge will notice a set of terraces to their right decorated with colored garlands, flags and string lights, as if someone forgot to take down their decorations after the June 23 São João festival, the city’s largest celebration. The garlands and flags stay up all year, though, and are the easiest way to find one of Porto’s most interesting hidden gems: the Guindalense Futebol Clube, home to some of the city’s best views. The story begins, at least officially, in 1976, when the club was founded as a place for amateur footballers and other athletes in the Guindais neighborhood.

With a main terminal of 1.44 million square meters, the new Istanbul Airport (IST) takes a lesson from its home city, paying homage to the gods of unnecessary sprawl and shopping malls. Rather than waste away under the fluorescent lights paying triple the price on duty free and forcing down disappointingly dry pide, store your bags for a few bucks and head out into the city for some unforgettable meals and sights. When circling into IST or the Asian side of the city’s Sabiha Gökçen Airport (SAW), the unending view of building upon building will tell you immediately: Istanbul is not the city to hop on a bus and see what happens.