How to find the construction worker lunch spot in any city

Here's the thing. Every city on earth has a restaurant that doesn't need you to find it. No sign. No menu in the window. No host. It runs on the 12:30pm crowd that shows up in paint-stained clothes and eats fast because they've got forty-five minutes and a job site to get back to. That place is almost always the best meal you'll have in the city.

The method is not complicated. At 12:30pm, watch who's walking with purpose and work boots. Follow them. You're looking for a door with no indication of what's inside — no chalkboard special, no 'est. 1987' placard, nothing. In Tbilisi, that took me down a lane off the Dezerter Bazaar I'd walked past six times. A woman named Nino ran it. No menu. She told you what there was. In Tangier, it was a room behind a fish stall near the port — three tables, two options, more bread than you could eat, and the strongest mint tea I've had in North Africa. Neither place had a name I could find written anywhere.

Sit down before someone tells you it's okay to sit down. Order whatever the table next to you has. Do not ask for the wifi password. And if someone hands you a laminated picture menu with the items numbered — stand up. Walk out. You took a wrong turn somewhere.