Tracking down the most authentic bouillabaisse, that rich, garlicky fish stew which Marseille has so thoughtfully bequeathed to the world, was my original pretext for visiting the city. But no sooner had I arrived that I was enthralled by its history. The impressive Bourse, now doubling as a Marine Museum; the brief ferry across the harbour — where the fishermen sell their catch every morning — named Caesar although the city backed losing Pompey a couple of thousand years ago ; and a mobile mint tea cart pushed round the headland of the Vieux Port by a middle aged Tunisian called Omri who adds pine nuts to his elixir ; all of these left a strong impression.
Poignantly, Omri stands in the shade of the afternoon sun right by the plaque erected in gratitude to the Marseillais by the 4, Jewish survivors of the Exodus which, after being rebuffed in Palestine, berthed here in July Unexpectedly, our balcony at the modest but well situated and well run Hotel Residence du Vieux Port, proved an excellent vantage point from which to witness the bouillabaisse ceremony. Around the port are scores of small restaurants which not surprisingly offer this dish at prices which range from 15 to 25 euros a head.
But as I watched trays of cooked fish being taken out, expertly filleted and served in front of the customers — a pre-requisite of authenticity — it became obvious that what determines the best is not so much the quality or quantity of the fish, which are proscribed and protected by a charter drawn up in , as the quality of the fish soup into which the fish are then dunked and the largesse with which the aioli and rouille are served. Several Marseillais friends offered their own favourites and I then decided to put their two top recommendations, the Michelin starred and most expensive restaurant Michel in business since up against the less expensive relative parvenu Chez Fonfon, founded in It was, in my opinion, a resounding victory for the underdog.
The far more charming bouillabaisse the next day Chez Fonfon was not just the result of more customer-friendly aioli and rouille but also of a much more appetising fish soup laced with diced, fresh parsley.
Fonfon, on a steep-sided inlet under a viaduct, looks out across the Vallon des Auffes, where alfa grass grew for braiding fishing ropes on to a couple of hundred small boats that seemed to bob up and down a little faster as the level in our bottle of white Bandol sank. And beyond the boats is an opera set, out of Carmen or Un Turco in Italia perhaps, where couples walk along hand in hand, the washing is hung out to dry and the kitchen porters from the nearby pizzeria Chez Jeannot hang out after a busy lunch.
