Stumbling upon a haggis toastie store in the middle of Tokyo sounds like a half-remembered dream where nothing quite makes sense. It was the minimalist black store front with white type that had initially drawn us to it. It looked like a store straight out of London, and certainly not like a café that one would expect to find next to Japan’s Olympic stadium. Its menu dripped with promise: toasties (toasted sandwiches) stuffed with glorious cheese. And real bread, granary bread, something we’d never spied before in Japan. Loaves of it were stacked in rows above the counter, and a griddle sat to one side, where butter-slathered slices, jammed packed with fillings, were being flattened into crispy parcels.

Before we start this story, we must first explain the role of the platia in Greece. Platia (πλατεία, pronounced pla-tee-ah and sometimes spelled plateia) means “plaza” in Greek, and can refer to a central town square or a small neighborhood square. All ages meet at the platia: babies in strollers, loud children running and playing like there’s no tomorrow, teenagers having their first smoke or kiss, parents, grandparents, cats, dogs! These squares are to be found all around Greece, even in the most remote village. The role of the plaza in an Athenian neighborhood is even more vital and precious. It preserves the idea of a neighborhood, where everyone gets to know each other and share something in common.

It’s a warm summer day, yet inside Stramuntana, a restaurant in Porto devoted to the cooking of Portugal’s northern Trás-os-Montes region, a hearth is blazing. “In the past, people in Trás-os-Montes used wood-burning ovens all year,” says Lídia Brás, Stramuntana’s co-chef and co-owner, when we express our surprise in seeing a fireplace in operation during the hotter months. “There was no electricity or gas. Everything here is thought through to be authentic." It’s a small lesson in the foodways and culture of Portugal’s northernmost region, as well as an illustration of this restaurant’s deep dedication to authenticity.

The buriti, which grows in wet riversides and swamps, is among the most splendid of South American palms. This tree has special significance in Brazil: it is even an unsuspecting main character in the Brazilian epic novel The Devil to Pay in The Backlands, written by João Guimarães Rosa. For the Guaraní, an indigenous group of the southwest of the country, the buriti palm is a generous being from which each element can be used: fruit, bark, leaves, oil – it’s why its name means “Tree of Life.” Now, a new Buriti has flourished in Barcelona, just a stone’s throw from the shore in the beachside Poble Nou neighborhood. A Brazilian restaurant full of nostalgic flavors prepared with great skill and served in portions to share tapas-style, but with an authentic Brazilian taste.

Whenever I come back to Japan, I crave eggs. We go straight to our buddy's house and his wife almost always makes us a bowl of rice with a raw egg on top of it. And that's often my kick-off to being back. There are definitely restaurants where you can get that, but the eggs here are so incredibly delicious that I just crave them [by themselves], with some seaweed sprinkled on top and a little good soy sauce. It is, for me, one of my all-time comfort dishes. We almost always start our days at the FamilyMart, which is one of the convenience store chains near where I stay when I'm visiting. My wife and I have an egg salad sandwich about every other day for the whole trip. For $1.75, they are shockingly delicious.

When we meet Mr. Giovanni Scalici, owner of the gelato shop La Delizia, he explains the formula for his success in one word: "Simplicity." We are in Sferracavallo, a seaside suburb of Palermo located between the mountains and a beautiful gulf. Here the coast is filled with dozens of seafood restaurants, but if you venture slightly off the promenade you will find this gem of a gelateria on Via Dammuso.

Up above Freedom Square where the Sololaki and Mtatsminda neighborhoods blend together, there is a 100-year-old building with an apartment five steps below the sidewalk. It’s a warm, intimate space, part living room, part museum. A massive collection of wine glasses hang from the ceiling, 19th-century framed portraits of Georgians decorate one wall above a piano, while opposite are glass cases displaying antique ceramic pitchers and elegant, polished drinking horns called kantsi. There are also two vintage silver vessels – exquisite ashtray-sized pans with long stylized handles used in days of old for drinking wine to special toasts. This cup is called an azarphesha, and this entire collection (and the walls containing it) belong to Luarsab Togonidze, a folklorist, author, entrepreneur and co-owner of this welcoming restaurant, also called Azarphesha.

When a streetcar ran down Queens’ Metropolitan Avenue in the first half of the 20th century, soda fountains like Eddie’s Sweet Shop were commonplace in big cities and small towns across America. Today, this hundred-year-old corner gem on Metropolitan in the leafy, Tudor-style enclave of Forest Hills is one of the last of its kind left in the country, and it certainly shows its vintage. On summer afternoons, Eddie’s still fills up with crowds of happy Queens kids, and the diversity of the clientele reminds you that fortunately, it’s not the 1920s anymore. The shop itself, though, is practically unchanged – every piece of equipment behind the counter, from the shiny Frigidaire to the tiny metal cabinet hand-painted with the words “hot fudge,” could be from a museum.

Tarlabaşı, right in the heart of Istanbul’s European side, has the reputation of being among the worst areas in the city. While it is certainly run down, we have spent considerable time in the quarter over the years and have had no problems. Its reputation is exaggerated, and if you aren't looking for trouble, you aren't likely to find it. Amid the once-elegant and now dilapidated century-old apartments built by the Greeks and Armenians that originally lived in the area, there are other buildings from a variety of eras on the verge of collapse, while a massive “urban renewal” project that has been ongoing for over a decade amid legal and financial issues has stuck out like a sore thumb as the rest of the rugged quarter retains its character.

San Gregorio, located in the southernmost part of Mexico City, is a pueblo originario (“original pueblo”), a designation given by the government to towns that have held onto their traditions. One of those traditions in San Gregorio is growing produce in the chinampería, an ancient agricultural system comprised of man-made islands crisscrossed by canals. People who farm there are called chinamperos. One of the prized crops in this area is the small, spicy chile chicuarote, which has been grown exclusively in the pueblo for centuries. People living in San Gregorio Atlapulco are so enamored with the tiny chile that they proudly call themselves Chicuarotes.

The squat, bright yellow building with red trim that houses Two Sistas ‘N Da East has the hours of operation – 10:30 a.m. to 4:00 p.m. – painted in big red letters on its side beneath a sign that announces “Soul Food.” But these days, hours are fluid and subject to change, especially in the restaurant business, so we double-checked the hours to make sure. Google told us that the hours of operation had been updated by the business in the last two weeks. We felt good about it. So, it was even more surprising when a hand reached out the door with two fingers extended upward in the peace sign and we heard a voice say “11 a.m., baby.”

As the sun dawns over the city of Palermo, warming the narrow streets still dampened by the night, merchants in the old quarter set up stands with their products: plentiful fruits, vegetables, meat and fish await the Palermitans who prefer to do their shopping here rather than in supermarkets illuminated by cold neon lights. At the Vucciria, one of the city's historic markets, Andrea Vattiato is setting up the fish counter where he has worked for half a century. He displays on ice a selection of the best fish the Mediterranean Sea has to offer, and with the help of a hose he wets the fish.

You don’t have to look far to find a glass of wine in Lisbon. But a unique glass of wine – perhaps something made by a small producer, or a bottle from an obscure region – in a comfortable or perhaps even trendy atmosphere, poured by someone who can explain what you’re drinking? That’s where it gets tough. But Lisbon can deliver. In recent years, the city has seen an explosion of wine bars. If we broaden the term, these could include restaurants with forward-thinking wine lists such as Insaciável, Senhor Uva, Tati and Sem. But we wanted to focus on venues that, in our opinion at least, prioritize bottles and glasses over plates.

Mexico City may be a sprawling metropolis of 21 million, but on its edge is an oasis of green unlike any other in the world. Known as Xochimilco, it is the last part of the city that preserves an ancient system of canals and farms first built by the Aztecs when the area was on the edge of a long-gone lake.

What is it that’s so dizzyingly addictive about okonomiyaki? It might be the interactive DIY nature of building your own meal and serving it up from a Japanese teppan grill. Perhaps it’s the communal feeling of sitting around with a beer or two and cooking together. However, most likely is the fact that it’s so darn delicious and satisfying. It’s Japanese soul food that has somehow not quite reached the shores of many foreign countries. Okonomiyaki is a flavorful pancake chock full of whatever ingredients appeal, cooked on a Japanese grill (okono means “cook whatever you like” and yaki means grill). In all parts of Japan it's the secret second cousin to ramen in the family of fast food and cheap student eats.