EYW Blog

In Sevilla, traditional local sweets, made by cloistered nuns, abound inside centuries-old convents. You just have to find them.

Plaza de España, Sevilla. Courtesy of Francisco Collinet/Flickr.

“Ave Maria,” comes the soft unseen voice.

Not sure of the proper response to the greeting, I simply say, “Buenas dias,” then: “Una caja media, por favor.”

The conversation takes place through the metal grillwork inside the entryway to the Convent of San Leandro; I am there to buy the sweets that the cloistered nuns are famous for. The Augustinian sisters at San Leandro, like several other convents in Sevilla, support themselves through their skills in the kitchen.

After a few...

Sometimes you have only a few short hours in a new place, and damn it if you won’t make the most of them. Such was the case for our day trip from Copenhagen to Malmö, Sweden, just over the huge Øresund bridge from the Danish capital, where our brief agenda included wandering the streets, stopping in some parks, and eating köttbullar, or what we call Swedish meatballs. Pretty manageable, right?

That’s what we thought, anyway, as we emerged from the train into the bright sunlight last September. Our 17-month-old son was peacefully asleep in a carrier on my chest, and we had plentiful time to wander the quiet, pretty streets and find us some meatballs for lunch. We quickly saw,...

Felisa Rogers drove from Oregon to Oaxaca (and back) this winter in search of the perfect down-and-dirty, no-nonsense torta. Here are a few of her favorites.

A torta in Mexico City

The delights of driving the length of Mexico are manifold, but in my world, the taco and the torta reign supreme. On a recent 6,500-mile odyssey to Mexico and back, an unspoken mission developed: I’d find the best tortas, from the best hole-in-the-wall torterias.

Many classy restaurants in Mexico serve tortas, or sandwiches, but I see no reason to order a torta at a nice restaurant. The primary point is the price—typically, any establishment in Mexico that calls itself a restaurant is going to...

On Antigua, knowledge is power when seeking island cuisine, as the tourism industry and an apparent weekends-only policy conspire to keep some local dishes just out of reach.

On the Caribbean island of Antigua last weekend, our local-food queries were most frequently greeted with:

“Local food? Saturday only.”

 “You have to go to someone’s home. Or to the little spots in St. John’s.”

“Hmmm….” [cue squinty  thinking face]

It’s true we hadn’t done our own usual research. This trip, a long weekend ensconced in a quiet beachfront apartment on Antigua’s northwest shore, was a “babymoon” of sorts—that final relaxing trip before the new addition arrives, in just over two months...

One of many temples to dibi, or grilled meat, in Dakar, this dibiterie boasts a cult-like status in the capital: It’s said to be musician Youssou N’Dour’s favorite, dispensing inexpensive, expertly prepared food at all hours in suitably questionable hygienic conditions. After hearing the place reverentially spoken about by more than one trusted expat, we knew we had to find it.

Problem is, nobody had any clue where it was. Armed with limited directions— “somewhere near the Sandaga bus station”—and even more limited French, we wandered the dusky streets around the area marché, or market, where hours earlier we’d elbowed our way through crowds of sellers. Now it was quiet, empty but...