In a small dining room with Italian terrazzo floors, warm lighting, and earthy, distressed walls, every table is occupied. There are regulars from the neighborhood, couples on a quiet afternoon date, a father and small son giggling over pasta, and colleagues sharing plates at a long table in the corner. We grab the only seats left at the end of a long zinc bar. Amid the hustle, we are warmly greeted by the restaurant’s owner, Benjamin Moro. Shying away from social media and publicity, Benjamin comes across as timidly confident, an unorthodox charmer.

In Marseille, OM is not a yogic hum but a deafening roar. Revered like a religion, it refers to Olympique de Marseille, our football club, the symbol of the city. Famous rappers wear the jerseys, guys of all ages sport OM tracksuits, and the most-read stories in the local rag, La Provence, feature OM. The team’s sky blue and white colors mirror the city’s crest. When the renowned former owner Bernard Tapie died, the entire city mourned.

From the mid-1800s to World War I, Marseille played a prominent role in France’s industrial revolution. Semolina mills, pasta manufacturers, soap factories, and oil and sugar refineries churned out goods to be loaded on giant ships at the Vieux-Port and shipped across the globe. Most of these factories shuttered after World War II, leaving a blight on the Quartiers Nord (Northern neighborhoods) where they were based. Recently, culinary entrepreneurs like Tava Hada Pilpeta’s gourmet harissa and Sarabar’s exceptional spices are aiming to revitalize the area’s food processing past in an artisanal way. Two others who are making their mark on the area are Stéphane Chevet and Georges Temam, who are transforming Marseille’s strong bond to the sea into smoked and cured delicacies.

On the Rue d’Aubagne, Tunisian men dunk bread into bowls of leblebi – a garlicky chickpea soup – as scooters dash by. A dashiki-clad Togolese woman plucks cassava from the Vietnamese-run market to fry up for lunch. A boy buys Algerian flatbread, kesra, to snack on after school as Maghrebi teens in track pants sell single “Marl-bo-ros.”

Food and memory share an intimate connection that transcends mere sustenance; they weave a tapestry of nostalgia, culture, and emotions. There is an inextricable link between food and how we perceive and recall memories, often evoking vivid sensory experiences that transport us through time. Cultural traditions further solidify the bond between food and memory. Sharing a traditional meal becomes a ritual, a way to honor heritage and forge connections with our past. This is especially true in Marseille. The culinary scene surged here in 2023, marked by a new wave of innovative dining experiences. Renowned for its rich history and diverse population, known as a vibrant melting pot of cultures and flavors, this coastal city has become a playground for chefs and entrepreneurs who are pushing the boundaries of traditional Provençal cuisine.

Though Paris is littered with brasseries boasting classic French cuisine, Marseille lacks restaurants that solely specialize in our traditional fare – a mix of Provençal garlic, tomatoes, and olive oil and the freshly caught delights of the Mediterranean. When we lamented this at a dinner party the other night, a woman chimed in, “What about Paule et Kopa?” We had never heard of it despite its central locale. She raved that the supions à la provencale (garlic, parsley squid) were the best in the city. Then continued, “but I rarely share that for fear it will lose its simple charm.”

We all have our favorite watering hole – that place close to home where you can have a bite to eat, sip on your preferred drink, have a chat with neighbors, friends, strangers. A place where you feel welcome and frequent often. La Santita, a tiny Latin American restaurant located on the tree-lined Boulevard Eugène Pierre, embodies this description. A sister restaurant to the popular El Santo Cachón, La Santita opened just a little over a year ago, and has rapidly become a neighborhood favorite. Here, owners and Marseille transplants, Chilean-born Cristobal Urizar and his French wife, Mathilde Gineste, serve up traditional Latin American favorites with French verve. After meeting in Honduras while on holiday, the pair moved to Marseille and have called it home for 15 years.

As the summer crowds disappear and the autumn temperatures arrive, les Marseillais await the arrival of a well-known delicacy from the neighboring island of Corsica. Beginning around November, the island’s best-known cheese, Brocciu, also known as national casgiu (the national cheese) shows up in markets and specialty shops. The mild, soft cheese hints at the richness of the island terroir, with aromas of hay and grass. It’s made from goat's or sheep’s milk and whey, and produced only from November until June, when the milk is at its richest. Brocciu first appeared in writings from the 19th century, but Corsican farmers practiced the tradition of making the beloved cheese long before.

High above the hills of Nice, past the crowded villages frequented by tourists, is the small commune of Saint-Jeannet. Nestled among the grand limestone baous (Provençal word meaning steep rock), Saint-Jeannet sits perched like a jewel with stunning views to the sea. Built sometime in the 11th century during the High Middle Ages, the village is privy to a beguiling history. There are prehistoric and oppidum sites amid the baous, hidden caves where villagers took refuge in times of trouble, and local lore of witchcraft. Fans of Alfred Hitchcock may recognize John Robie’s villa in scenes from the 1955 classic To Catch a Thief, starring Cary Grant and Grace Kelly.

A 16th-century tower stands at the southern edge of the Plage des Catalans, the closest beach to Marseille’s city center. The Tour Paul was one of the city’s lazarets, quarantine stations for sick sailors to prevent disease from entering the city. In ruins after centuries of erosion, the Infirmerie Vielle (“Old Infirmary”) is now being rehabilitated thanks to a successful historical preservation campaign. One hundred yards away, a modern infirmary has had a different fate. It’s been transformed into a homey restaurant. At Maison M&R, healing comes in the form of comfort food, homemade pastries, and a familial welcome. The café’s community vibe is fitting for the village-like Catalans quarter.

In the hills surrounding Marseille, the sound of cicadas echo during the summer months. This afternoon was no different on the terrace of Le Cigalon, a restaurant named for the tiny creature beloved by many and a symbol of Provence. About an hour by public transportation or 25 minutes by car, and located within the city limits of metropolitan Marseille, the restaurant is perched atop a hill in a small village. Opened in 1835, the menu and the hillside view from the terrace have drawn both locals and travelers for generations. Some come for the local specialties on the menu and others make the pilgrimage to visit La Treille, the village featured in films by the celebrated French novelist, playwright and filmmaker, Marcel Pagnol.

In the first book of his Marseille noir trilogy Total Chaos, Jean-Claude Izzo describes his hometown: “Marseille isn't a city for tourists. There's nothing to see. Its beauty can't be photographed. It can only be shared. It's a place where you have to take sides, be passionately for or against. Only then can you see what there is to see.” On a steep hill sandwiched between Cours Julien and Place Jean Jaurés, sits a tiny sandwich shop and a man who embodies Izzo’s quote in its entirety. A friend who shares a love of this city and its hidden treasures told us about this place, which she happened upon one evening. So together we climbed one of Marseille’s many collines to Blé d’Art, a small, but impossible-to-miss, brightly painted storefront.

The walk to Sur le Pouce, a popular Tunisian family restaurant, is a straight shot from Marseille’s central boulevard, La Canébiere. We make our way along rue Longues des Capucins, behind Alcazar, the main public library, pass the Chinese wholesale clothing stores – Joy Lady, Wei Wei, and New 35 – and arrive ten minutes and several wonderous lands later to the corner of rue de la Convalescence. At the door of Sur le Pouce, we find ourselves in the heart of downtown Marseille and the populaire, working class, Belsunce neighborhood, largely inhabited by people of Maghrebi heritage, both French nationals and recent arrivals.

Marseille does not resemble the picture-postcard version of France. The locals here have a saying, "D'abord, on est Marseillais, ensuite on est Français." (First, we’re Marseillais, and then we’re French.) It is a city connected by a rich immigrant population and small neighborhoods, each with their own personality and identity. One of the most vibrant pockets of the city is Cours Julien, or Cours Ju, as it is called here. If the Vieux Port is the heart of the city and Noailles is the stomach, what does Cours Julien represent? On a recent visit to the neighborhood, that question was answered. The tiny streets are crowded with small boutiques, tattoo shops, bars and restaurants, all camouflaged by the work of graffiti artists.

Écume is French for sea foam. Modifying one letter, Ekume is also the Saint Victor neighborhood’s new restaurant gastronomique that summons (and is summoned by) the Mediterranean every day. Located near the end of Rue Sainte in Marseille, Ekume’s neighborhood includes a promontory with thrilling views of the waters, boats, coastline and the Vieux Port. The restaurant is also one block away from the 5th-century Saint Victor Abbey, with its evocative beauty and occasional evening concerts. At first glance, Ekume, with its staid and comfortable décor in tan, beige, and slate blue, seems to correspond to the many bougie restaurants cropping up in the 7th and 8th arrondissements in recent years. The experience of dining at Ekume, however, offers the opportunity to contemplate how space itself can transform with imaginative cuisine, accents, personality, and hospitality.