It’s the first time we’ve seen this small truck while on our Born on the Bosphorus walk in Kuzguncuk. It was selling apples and persimmons – the bounty of autumn – in front of one of our favorite grocers in the neighborhood.

The charming sign outside Schmidt’s Candy speaks eloquently, especially when we look closer. The words “home” and “made” frame a tall glass candy jar; we notice the slight irregularity of the brushstrokes, and we see that the candy jar is slightly lopsided, as are the colorful candies inside it. Obviously the sign was painted by hand, and lovingly so. We hear a refrain of that theme when we open the door to the candy shop, where, in the words of third-generation owner Margie Schmidt, everything is made with “these ten digits.” Like her father, Frank, and his father, Frank, who founded Schmidt’s in 1925, Ms. Schmidt disdains mechanical candy making: She dips her chocolates by hand.

Change may be inevitable but it’s the last thing we want in a restaurant we cherish. We were reminded of this a few months back when by chance we were taken out to dinner at Piperiá in the Neo Psychiko neighborhood by friends who live nearby. It had been five years since we last visited the place and we were very happy to find that little had changed in the interim. What a joy it was to find the same welcoming smiles and friendly young faces; excellent but not oversolicitous service; some items on the menu that we could never resist ordering; and some new tastes that rivaled the familiar treats.

In the West, tofu is considered a boring dish desperately in need of other ingredients to make it interesting. Not so in Japan and especially in Kyoto. Tofu is a well-known component of Kyoto regional cooking, and locals consider tofu to be the star of the show. When visiting Kyoto during November and December’s peak leaf-viewing season we always make sure to book a meal at one of the city’s wonderful selection of tofu-centric eateries. Our very favorite is Tousuiro, a Kyoto institution where the tofu is made in house from domestically grown soybeans. At Tousuiro, tofu turns into a dazzling spectacle. The meal is not only delicious: It is the perfect Kyoto experience.

Legend has it that huangjiu, or yellow wine, was invented by Du Kang, the god of Chinese alcohol. Annual production starts in eastern China’s Shaoxing region in the tenth lunar month – the temperature and humidity at that time of year create the best environment for making the wine – with sacrifices to Du Kang. The wine is made from fermenting glutinous rice with wheat or rice qu, a cake of mashed grains that cultivate yeast; both convert the starch to sugar then to alcohol. The product of all that fermentation is a sherry-like amber liquid that is used in Chinese cooking or served as a drink paired with Chinese foods.

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.

Mexico City’s Mercado Jamaica, a jumble of produce vendors and flower sellers, is not a place you would expect to find a gourmet establishment in. But this is what makes this public market so appealing: Hidden away among the various vendors in this massive market are several outstanding food spots, ranging in size and scope from a nondescript green chorizo taquería to a fine-dining seafood spot. Mariscos El Paisa didn’t start out as a “gourmet” restaurant when it first opened back in 1958 – like many other market establishments, it was humble and unpretentious. But in recent years, the kitchen has upped its game, putting out elevated seafood dishes (although the restaurant still retains an unpretentious vibe).

Not only do the fishmongers at the Athens fish market offer the freshest seafood, but they also know how to create an artful display to catch a customer’s eye. We passed this beautiful arrangement of sliced salmon on our Downtown Athens walk.

Naples is a city strewn with street vendors. Bread, thin pizzas meant to be eaten folded, fried pizzas, octopus broth, roasted artichokes, cones full of fried goodies, donuts, panzerotti and rice balls – there’s little you can’t find one of Naples’ vendors selling. Together, these numerous street sellers and their small stands play an important economic and cultural role in the city. In the midst of all these vendors there’s one that somehow manages to stand out. Some know him simply as Carmine. Others call him Carmine the Wizard because of his enchanting roasted chestnuts, which warm the hands and the stomachs of Neapolitans in winter. Whatever you call him, he’s an icon of Naples street food.

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.

“The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.” There is no better way to describe what happened to Stop do Bairro, one of Lisbon’s landmark tascas, than to give it a voice and use the famous Mark Twain quote. Indeed, there were reports of its death when the doors of its original location, in the Campo de Ourique neighborhood, were shut last April after negotiations with the landlord for a new lease contract failed. Stop do Bairro had existed in the same building and with the same proprietor, João Sabino, for 43 years. Many doubted whether he had the energy to start everything from scratch.

Hong Kong native and Cha’s owner Charlie Lau became a restaurateur because of a hankering. A movie producer by day, Lau came to Shanghai with Ang Lee to film “Lust/Caution,” and was disappointed that Shanghai lacked a proper Hong Kongese cha canting, a casual all-day eatery that serves traditional Cantonese food alongside milk teas and coffee. So he decided to open his own. On the set of “Lust,” a 1930s period piece, Lau was responsible for ensuring the historical accuracy of the costumes, casting and set design, so it’s not surprising that he designed Cha’s with the past in mind. Walking across the restaurant’s threshold transports you to 1950s Hong Kong.

We spent the summer in Georgia’s Shida Kartli region, a vast expanse of fertile terrain in the heart of the country that we have fallen crazy in love with. One day, over a glass of local Chinuri wine, we wondered aloud, “Every other region in the country has signature dishes, but what about Kartli? What are its signature dishes?” We asked our neighbors and got a lot of shoulder shrugs. Shota, a 65-year-old contractor, re-called his grandmother’s soups. “They had fruit,” he said. Seventy-year-old Maro said she too ate fruit soups as a child. Thus began our plan to dig up forgotten Kartli recipes, someday.

The resilient almond tree flourishes in a dry climate with very little water, which makes it an ideal tree for Greece, especially in the south and on many of the islands. So it’s no surprise that almonds have featured prominently in Greek cuisine and pastry making dating back to at least the 3rd century BC, or so historians believe. Today in Greece you’ll most likely find almonds in desserts or sweet treats. Since this particular nut generally symbolizes happiness, prosperity and good luck, it plays an important role in Greek weddings and baptisms, with sugared almonds and other sweets made with almonds, like amygdalota, being offered post-ceremony.

Barbara Abdeni Massaad may be an award-winning food writer and photographer, but she is also a humanitarian. After spending quite some time with the Syrian refugees who were living in horrible conditions not far from her home in Beirut, Barbara took her camera and began photographing people in the camps in Lebanon, especially children. This was the start of her book-cum-fundraising project “Soup for Syria: Recipes to Celebrate Our Shared Humanity,” a wonderful collection of pictures and soup recipes that has already raised $500,000. The profits from book sales are donated to help fund food relief efforts through the United Nations.