Napoleon said, “An army marches on its stomach,” and so do I. For as long as I’ve had the opportunity to travel, I’ve been led by my love for cuisines from all over the world. My cravings have guided me to explore—and to return home with souvenirs of those adventures.

When my husband and I honeymooned in Spain, I convinced him to lug back a heavy clay cazuela through two airports and across an ocean. His reward? I make him paella on request. Until it cracked after many delicious meals, that beautiful vessel was in regular rotation. It reminded us of romantic dinners in Tossa de Mar, with red sangria and giant pans of seafood-studded paella arriving at our table like edible celebrations.

In Paris, I dragged him through E. Dehillerin (Ina’s favorite cookware store), where I blissfully wandered for longer than one might think possible and emerged with a stunning copper pot. These days, it’s mainly used to heat soup, but even the simplest broth feels elevated when stirred in that gleaming pan. I still dream of making hollandaise or mornay, sauces as rich and layered as the city where the pot was forged.

Most recently, I returned from Costa Rica with a handmade citrus reamer, carved and smoothed to fit perfectly in my palm. I reach for it often to squeeze lemon over fish or lime into guacamole, and each time, I’m back in that open-air restaurant overlooking the Arenal volcano, spooning tangy ceviche onto crispy plantain chips.

Every kitchen drawer holds a tiny passport stamp, an object that brings me back to the moment I first tasted something unforgettable. Maybe that’s why I travel: not just to see the world, but to bring a little piece of it home and eat it again, one bite at a time.

The question is: Do I lead with my cravings, or let my travels determine where my culinary journey takes me next? Right now, we’re really into Korean food, sparked by the drool-worthy descriptions in Crying in H Mart by Michelle Zauner. We take lunchtime field trips to the H Mart in Niles, eat huge steaming bowls of hand-cut kimchi-infused noodles (kimchi kalguksu), and stock up on tteokbokki and giant bags of rice to recreate our favorite dishes at home. We’ve even made a tradition of celebrating at San Soo Gab San, a fantastic Korean BBQ spot (and Michelin Bib Gourmand-recognized!) in our neighborhood, where we savor the incredible banchan and debate which tiny dish is our favorite.

Since we’re such fans, do I add Korea to our travel list? Or do I fall for Phil Rosenthal’s mouth-watering tour of London and take the family to Borough Market? I’ve never been to London, but beyond the history and architecture, the food scene is world-class, and who knows what souvenir I’ll find next.

I can already picture it: Finding a fragile, antique teacup in a shop at the Portobello Road Market so I can have my tea time back home. Or I’ll find a perfectly smooth dolsot bowl nestled among stacks of stoneware in a market in Seoul. Or maybe I’ll be in Amalfi, where the scent of lemon blossoms floats through the markets, and a vendor wraps a handmade lemon-embossed platter in newspaper like it’s something sacred.

Wherever I go next, whatever I carry home, I’ll place it carefully in the kitchen drawer beside my citrus reamer, each one a small monument to a meal worth remembering. I don’t just bring home souvenirs. I bring home stories I can cook with, memories to share with the people who were there, and everyone I love.