What you must drink, in every city we cover.

Türk kahvesi at a working ocak in the bazaar

Sand-roasted, served with one square of lokum.

Order it sade (no sugar) the first time. Drink the top half slow. Read the grounds for fun. Pay in cash.

Rakı at a meyhane on a Wednesday

Anise, water, ice, mezes, three hours.

Order half a bottle of rakı between two, water and ice on the side. Five mezes minimum. The bread keeps coming. The night keeps stretching.

A glass of çay on a Bosphorus tea garden

A çay bahçesi above Bebek or Çengelköy.

Sit, order çay, watch the freighters move past Europe. One pot, three glasses, a hundred boats.

Ginjinha at a Rossio counter

Cherry liqueur, a small plastic cup, one euro fifty.

Order it com elas, with a cherry. Drink at the counter, walk on. Once is the right number.

Vinho verde with seafood at a Cais do Sodré tasca

Cold, light, slightly fizzy, the wine of a long lunch.

A bottle, not a glass. With grilled seafood. With friends. Pour for the table before yourself.

A bica at a working pastry counter

Tiny, intense, drink it standing, walk on.

The Portuguese espresso. Drink it within fifteen seconds of pour. A pastel de nata is acceptable. A latte is not.

Mezcal at a quiet counter in Roma

Single distillery, espadín or tobalá, served neat in a clay cup.

No mezcal cocktails on this list. Sit at a counter, ask the bartender what the producer's harvest looked like, drink one ounce slowly with a slice of orange and sal de gusano.

Editor's note: If they pour to the rim, leave.

Café de olla at a working market

Spiced coffee in a clay cup, ten pesos, six in the morning.

The market opens long before the city does. Sit at the counter with the workers, order a café de olla and a tamal. You will feel two cities at once.

Tepache from a corner cart in Centro

Fermented pineapple, ice, a few spices.

Sweet, sour, a little funky, served with a chili rim. A two-block walk in the heat and one cup will rebuild you.

An old-fashioned at a working classic bar

Mahogany, two ice cubes, no muddled fruit nightmare.

Order at a bar that opened before 1930. Sit at the bar, not the table. Tip a dollar a drink minimum, more if the bartender stops to talk.

A walk-in dive in the East Village at six pm

Cheap beer, a juke box, a long shuffleboard table.

One of the rooms that has not been re-themed in twenty years. One drink, one game, one conversation with the regular at the end of the bar.

Egg cream at a Lower East Side counter

No egg, no cream. Milk, seltzer, chocolate syrup.

A counter that has been making them since the war. Drink it standing, walk out, do not look at it on social. The point is the counter.

An espresso at a working zinc

Standing, sixty seconds, one euro fifty.

Find a counter that still has more locals than tourists. Stand at the bar, order un café, drink it, leave. The bar is the price. The terrace is the tax.

Un canon at a wine cave around the corner

A glass of red, no menu, the rest of the afternoon.

The cave is the bar. The bar is the cellar. Ask for what is open and what is light. Drink one glass, eat a slice of cured something, walk the long way home.

A glass of Calvados after a long meal

The kitchen is closed, the bar is not.

Ask for a vieux Calvados at the end of a long bistrot dinner. It is the closest a glass gets to a fireplace. Sip slow. Order one.

A first-floor jazz bar in Ginza

Whiskey, ice, and a bartender who has been there since the bubble.

The bar is small, the cover is real, the menu is short. Order the highball and sit until the bartender talks first. He may not.

Kissaten siphon coffee in Jimbocho

A dark wood room, a single beaker, twelve minutes.

Order the house blend, pull a used novel from the shelf, set the phone in the bag. The morning will return slower than it left.

Standing sake under the JR tracks in Yurakucho

Open-air, smoky, three thousand yen and out.

Pick the loudest stall under the bridge, ask for tonight's nama, eat one yakitori per round. Two rounds, then walk.