Tacos are everywhere in Mexico City, and though the options are many – chicken, al pastor, carnitas, carne asada – the basic ingredients tend to be the same wherever you go. That’s why, as we were walking the aisles of Tianguis La Raza on a Sunday morning, El Parrillón caught our attention. A big sign announced tacos – nothing new there – but besides the classic chicken and bistec, cecina and arrachera – all different cuts of beef – El Parrillón (roughly, “The Big Grill”) offers several Argentine-style sausages and cured meats, including chistorra, a small spicy sausage, and panceta, pork belly (like Italian pancetta), as well as Spanish chorizo, which, unlike the fresh Mexican sausage, is cured. But for us the real draw was griddled provolone, which we had never seen on a taco before and happens also to be one of our favorite cheeses.

To the uninitiated, the restaurant owners of a small corner of Istanbul’s Yenibosna neighborhood might come off as having an unhealthy obsession with particularly garish versions of the colors yellow and green. As we recently explored the lower end of the Yenibosna neighborhood, one of Istanbul’s large periphery boroughs, we stumbled upon a small cluster of kebap shops spread out amid a run-down yet bustling strip of auto repair shops and congested rows of apartments, with each eatery’s sign decked out in identical yellow and green trim.

Reviewers are often tempted into using metaphors that portray the restaurant as a sacred place -- the sushi temple, a t-bone pilgrimage, chili-cheese fry heaven. But in Istanbul’s Moda district on the Asian shore, we’ve found a praiseworthy fish restaurant that could justifiably be described as a shrine – literally. For more than 50 years, a local Greek family has been serving saints and sinners alike at Koco, a rambling seaside fish house situated atop an ayazma, or sacred spring. There’s meze and fresh grilled fish with raki upstairs, candles and a shot of holy water downstairs. Judging by the size of the dining room, Koco is preferred by very large groups. One recent weeknight, though, there were just enough customers to fill in the tables lined along the windows. The view of the old Moda ferry dock and the Marmara Sea from the window side of the room is excellent but leaves you leagues from the coat check where the staff hangs on a slow night.

There’s been a revolution taking place in Greece over the last couple of decades, and it doesn’t have much to do with the political and economic turbulence troubling the country – it’s all about wine. Wine in Greece, of course, has ancient origins: The first traces of it were discovered on the island of Crete and date back to 2500 BCE, during the Minoan civilization, and the oldest winepress in the world was found in the ruins of Vathypetro, near Heraklio.

It has been years now since we were first tipped to Sıdıka. The W Hotel had just opened in the splashy Akaretler rowhouse development. Vogue, the rooftop sushi lounge, was still in style. The Shangri-La hotel was under construction down on the waterfront, and it was rumored that some rooms would have Bosphorus views below sea level. Beşiktaş, long the bastion of cheap draft beer joints and university student flatshares, was having some growing pains.

The end of summer in Lebanon can be tricky. Sometimes it begins to rain in September, causing our favorite summer places to close early; other times it stays hot and humid almost until December. While it’s still hot out, locals seek out one of the treasured regional deserts, booza. At first glance, it seems like ordinary ice cream, but the minute you scoop it up you soon realize this frozen ice cream has a gum-like stretch. Booza is typically known as Arabic ice cream and is made with mastic gum, which prevents it from melting quickly in the hot summers we usually face. Unfortunately, many of the more traditional booza shops have given way to overpriced gelato parlors that serve extremely sugary ice cream to mask their artificial flavors. Few remain that serve traditional Levantine ice cream made with fresh fruit and cream. Ask anyone where you can find this delight, however, and they’ll point you to Hanna Metri.

If there is a word to describe the Laranjeiras (“Orange Trees”) neighborhood, it is “pleasant.” Agradável. Agreeable. As you walk up its main drag, Laranjeiras Street, you pass by the creamy yellow and white façade of the elegant 19th-century National Institute for the Education of the Deaf on your right. Soon, on your left, you could come across the youth orchestra Camerata Laranjeiras playing free concerts at the General Glicério fair. It’s measurably Rio’s most progressive neighborhood – in the 2012 mayoral election, it was the neighborhood that most favored human rights activists and opposition candidate Marcelo Freixo (48 percent of the neighborhood voted for him in the election against Mayor Eduardo Paes, whereas the city as a whole voted only 28 percent for Freixo). Follow the rising street to its top and you’ll find yourself at the tourist train, ready to go visit the Christ statue.

The Yenibosna bus station sits at the intersection of numerous transit routes, where passengers can embark on journeys to the furthest corners of the city as well as to its beating heart. Close to Istanbul’s main airport, and wedged in beneath several high-rise towers that seem to have ascended from the ground overnight, the bus station sits adjacent to a major metro line and below the main E-5 highway, with the grubby, crowded neighborhood of Yenibosna to the north.

On a beautiful corner of L’Eixample sits Norte, a small yet warm, inviting and light-filled bar with a constellation of shining lights spelling out its name inside and a few tables with fresh flowers. The restaurant was started by three partners, Lara Zaballa, María González and Fernando Martínez-Conde (who left the project last year). They met while working at Barcelona’s acclaimed Moo restaurant and had come to cooking from studying philosophy, art history and journalism at university. They were each looking for something more hands-on, work that gave them direct physical contact with matter, and that shared motivation connected them from the beginning. All three also came to Barcelona from other cities in northern Spain. After their experience at Moo and other projects (Zaballa and Martínez-Conde wrote for the prestigious cooking magazine Apicius), they looked for a more enjoyable and less stressful way to do what they loved, starting with basically nothing but their enthusiasm and their solid ideas to convince the banks to give them a loan to start their own restaurant in 2011.

In a town that runs on tacos, tacos de guisado may be the most ubiquitous version of the iconic dish in Mexico City. They can be found almost anywhere in the city, from specialty restaurants to markets, tianguis and street vendors selling them at stalls or even out of the trunk of a car. It may be an obvious point, but what distinguishes some tacos de guisado from others is how well prepared the guisados (home-style cooked meats or vegetables typically displayed and kept warm in earthenware dishes called cazuelas) are – and sometimes those coming out of the back of a car top ones from more “established” places.

Roppongi’s Café Sakura serves as a restaurant and seating area for a bundle of businesses under the same ownership. There’s the Café with table service, the Wine Shop Sommelier (retail wines straight from the vineyard at considerable discount), L’Atelier du Pain (a Japanese-style bakery and cheese shop) and the French patisserie Coco Ange. Put them together and they enjoyably represent a Japanese take on the Western idea of “happy hour.”

In a country where people gather around outdoor braais (barbecue grills), chowing down boerewors (farm sausage), steaks and walkie talkies (chicken feet and heads), most would think a South African vegetarian would be an anomaly. On September 24, Cape Town will celebrate Heritage Day, which was recently also declared National Braai Day. Even Archbishop Desmond Tutu has become a “Braai for Heritage” supporter. The idea is that South Africans, once separated by law, can unite around a common national heritage of grilling meat, irrespective of politics, race and culture. Mealies (corn on the cob) are always welcome on the grill, but there’s yet another, more veggie-oriented side to South Africa’s “heritage.” Home to the greatest population of Indian descent outside India, South Africa has one of the largest concentrations of Hindus in Africa. Due to British colonial history, a large number of Indian traders and enslaved workers arrived in the country in the late 1800s. Even Gandhi spent his formative years on South African shores. And in a historically Indian neighborhood of Cape Town, a culturally vibrant street offers vegetarian delights whether or not there’s a shisa nyama (braaiing meat) public holiday.

Mexicans can mark their calendars by what they’re eating: moles for weddings, pan de muerto for Day of the Dead, lomo and codfish for Christmas and chiles en nogada for Independence Day. Every September 15 and 16 Mexicans gather together to celebrate their independence from Spanish rule. This movement started in the city of Dolores Hidalgo, in the state of Guanajuato, the night of September 15, 1810, when Father Miguel Hidalgo y Costilla gave el grito de Dolores (“the Cry of Dolores”) that ignited the War of Independence. This war lasted until 1821, when Agustín de Iturbide, who later became the first Mexican Emperor, signed the Treaty of Córdoba that granted Mexico its independence.

Before Roppongi Hills rose from the warren of rambling streets, aging wooden homes and traditional Japanese ways nestled amongst embassies and Korean barbeque joints, Azabu Juban was a sleepy section of Tokyo, moored more in custom than the flashy markets and designer boutiques to come. The main shoten gai, or shopping street, was a classic example of Japanese daily life. Small mom-and-pop stores catered to neighbors, and after the third or fourth visit anyone could be a regular. The vegetable man would disappear into the back of his stand and produce a perfectly ripe melon before you had to ask; the flower vendor waved at her customers even if they weren’t in the market for flowers; and the shoe repair man admonished everyone for not shining their shoes regularly enough.

Marc Cuenca was the kind of kid who was interested in what other people were eating, and this curiosity was the seed of his own restaurant, Els Tres Porquets ("Three Little Pigs"). A small enoteca and tapas bar with just a few tables, it sits in Poble Nou-El Clot, an area that brings to the restaurant a combination of locals, office workers and Spaniards and foreigners employed by startups and other businesses in the 22@ innovation district. While these days the city – and indeed many cities around the world – is teeming with restaurants specializing in an ambitious menu of small plates intended for sharing, in 2009, the concept was still quite new when the "three little pigs" arrived in the city.