When we first entered Titú, a new spot in the trendy Botafogo neighborhood, our mind immediately went to SpongeBob SquarePants, oddly enough, or more specifically, the Krusty Krab, the diner where SpongeBob works as a fry cook. Like the Krusty Krab, this recently opened bar specializes in seafood burgers – when we popped our head into kitchen, we saw a mountain of patties awaiting the grill. The only difference between Krusty and Titú – besides the fact that latter is real and the former is merely a fantasy under the sea – is that at Titú the burgers are not made of crab, but of octopus. Delicious and tender baby octopuses, captured in the waters off the coast of Rio de Janeiro.

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.

The huge counter at Adega Pérola in Rio de Janeiro contains a multitude of culinary surprises. The botequim offers more than 50 types of petiscos (the Portuguese terms for tapas) from both land and sea, and we have yet to try one that we didn’t like.

Over the last couple of years, Rio de Janeiro’s food scene has experienced a Peruvian invasion. Encouraged by the buzz of the 2016 Olympic Games, more than 10 restaurants and bars focused on Peruvian cuisine opened up shop in Rio. But many of those spots are fine dining establishments, plating up the kind of sophisticated cuisine found in Lima – the capital of Peru is a culinary powerhouse and one of the best places to eat in the world. But there are exceptions. We stumbled on one in an old house in the Botafogo neighborhood. At this restaurant, called Pop up Peru, there are no fancy decorations, nor any kind of complex contemporary recipes. Even Lima’s influences are conspicuously absent.

When it first began five years ago, Põe na Quentinha was an informal get-together for people who were equally passionate about food, beer and samba; they spent the day eating, drinking and dancing in preparation for Carnival. Fast-forward to 2017, when what had now developed into a proper street parade drew in over 5,000 people over three different days during the Carnival Season. This year, the food-focused event, the only one of its kind in Rio, is even larger, hosting a full month-long schedule of parades that started in mid-January.

There’s one thing about Rio’s gastronomy that just about everyone can agree on: feijoada, the glorious black bean and pork stew served with cabbage, toasted manioc flour, rice and oranges, can (and should be) eaten all year long. But during the Carnival season (a non-specified period that begins in early January and extends until one week after the Carnival holidays), the Brazilian national dish becomes the official meal of all parties and events. From Friday to Sunday, feijoada is everywhere – at samba schools, bars, restaurants, fancy hotels, and even on the streets – and almost always accompanied by samba. This year is no different. The feijoada season has already begun, and the agenda is packed until Carnival, which in 2018 runs from February 10-14.

It’s not easy to get to Mania de Boteco. You have to go up, up, up, first by car (or, for something more thrilling, on the back of a motorcycle taxi) and then by foot, cutting across alleys and climbing narrow stairwells. But this spot is worth all the effort. Tiny and humble, Mania de Boteco has an almost improvised feel to it, teetering at the top of Vidigal, one of Rio’s most scenic favelas. The first thing noticed here is the astonishing view of the ocean and Leblon and Ipanema beaches down below. But Mania de Boteco is more than just a scenic spot: it also happens to be a top-notch botequim serving wonderful food and amazingly good drinks.

On a Monday at 1 p.m., private equity investor Nargilla Rodrigues and her two colleagues bring a fourth co-worker to the Rotisseria Sírio Libanesa in Rio’s Largo do Machado neighborhood to initiate him to their weekly lunch ritual. An army of diners in business attire have packed the small restaurant and clump around the to-go counter. Rodrigues grabs a standing table and fires off an order of stuffed cabbage leaves, kafta and lentil rice like they are shares in a fire sale. With the same auctioneer’s speed, but a deeper boom, Antonio Oliveira, an employee at the restaurant for 19 years, sends the order back to the kitchen. Soon the bankers’ small table is overflowing.

Brazil’s economic crisis has hit Rio hard this past year, and the culinary scene was by no means immune from the downturn. Some famous restaurants and bars closed their doors for good. But the city hasn’t given up. In fact, if some doors have closed, a lot more have opened. Because now creativity is being used as a weapon against the crisis, and not only at newly opened spots. Established bars and restaurants have been reinvigorated with new ideas and processes. In this atmosphere, many exciting culinary novelties have made their way to the streets, ready for us to indulge in, all without having to spend too much money. So my best bites of 2017 reflect this abundance of good and cheap novel eats that have become so popular in these leaner times.

There’s a new phenomenon in Rio’s botequim scene. Until some years ago, running one of these small bars was something done exclusively by immigrants from Portugal, Spain and Brazil’s northeast. But ever since botequims became extremely popular among the carioca middle class, new players have gotten into the business: the customers themselves. Since the beginning of the 21st century, it has become more and more common to hear about botequim customers who decided to buy the bars they used to frequent. Initially, it might be to help the former owners and to keep the bar from closing due to financial problems. But then they might notice that running a botequim in Rio can be enjoyable – and also good business, if the job is well done.

Adega Pérola, a bar that sticks close to its Iberian roots, offers more than 50 types of tapas from both land and sea. One of the best is the fresh tuna marinated in olive oil and served with onions, best eaten with your hands.

We hear it every time we bring up the V-word: “But it’s impossible to be a vegetarian in Rio!” Nonsense. Not only is it possible to eat an earthy diet here in Rio, it’s getting so trendy that carnivorous cariocas are increasingly forgoing their weekend churrasco (grilled meat on a stick) for the kaleidoscope of couve (collard greens), cogumelos (mushrooms), tofu and all of its soy brethren. While Rio de Janeiro’s vegetarian options are often lunch-only buffet-style joints (and we like those too), we’ve been intrigued by the rise of a few more boutique à la carte places. And we appreciate that Prana Cozinha Vegetariana is one of those that does not come with boutique prices.

Autumn in Rio finds the city at its the best. The days are sunny, the scorching heat of January and February has subsided, and it's low season for tourists, which means the beaches are less crowded. The only problem with fall days is they end too early—the sun sets by 6:00 pm in April. If you want to keep the day going, one good option is to head to one of the city's many beachside pé sujos (literally, dirty feet), ultra-casual outdoor bars. On a recent April evening we found ourselves at Bar Bunda de Fora (Bar Butt-Out), steps from Copacabana Beach. According to owner Deborah Cardoso, the bar got its nickname because the interior used to be so small that when customers placed their orders at the counter their rear ends were technically outside the bar. It's a classic low-key Rio joint: the beer is light, cheap, and bem gelada (very cold); the stools are made of plastic; and the food is fried. The crowd is young and old, mostly made up of families and neighbors.

The calango is a tiny lizard commonly found in the hottest, driest and poorest parts of Brazil’s Northeastern countryside, and in popular culture, the calango is also a symbol of hunger. Someone who eats calango is driven to do so because he has nothing else to eat. Thankfully, at Kalango there’s plenty to eat. Kalango (the “K” is for chef Kátia Barbosa, owner also of Aconchego Carioca) is a spartan botequim, or small gastropub, located near downtown that serves the specialties of Brazil’s Northeast states. This comida sertaneja, as it’s called, is very hard to find in Rio.

Asking cariocas if they remember their first Biscoito Globo, the ubiquitous, crunchy beach snack, is like asking anyone who teethed in the United States if they remember trying Cheerios for the first time. Globo biscuits and sweet iced mate are to Rio's beaches what hot dogs and beer are to American baseball stadiums. Calls of “Ó Globo! Ó mate!” are the soundtrack along the shores of Copacabana, Ipanema and Leblon. The iconic packaging, which features a globe-headed mascot surrounded by the Eiffel Tower, the Tower of Pisa, Portugal's Belém Tower and Rio's Sugarloaf, has been reproduced on t-shirts, tote bags, and cangas (sarongs).