Our first meal at this Lebanese restaurant earned it a spot on our Best Bites of 2019. We were smitten with the food, particularly the mousakhan, sumac-coated chicken. Yet, when the smiling owner, Serje Banna, gave us a tiny foil packet of sumac to bring home, we were touched by his passion to share beyond the plate. During our next visit, after we asked about the bottle of arak behind the bar, he wasted no time pouring us a taste of the anise-based spirit. When his wife, Najla Chami, brought out our order of mahshi selek, she pointed out that Lebanese cooks can swap grape vine leaves with swiss chard. For at Mouné, every meal comes with a lesson in Lebanese cuisine.

If Noailles is known as the “belly of Marseille” for its fragrant food stalls, street food and markets, its neighbor Cours Julien is where locals fill their bellies sitting down. The street-art-splashed buildings house a smorgasbord of restaurants from every corner of the world, including the Ivory Coast, India, Palestine and Peru. Those on the tree-lined cours (avenue) for which the quarter is named get most attention thanks to their lively patios. Yet, there is gastronomic gold to be found on the side streets. We must have passed by Kaz Kreol a dozen times. Sandwiched between snack bars on the climb to Cours Julien, we had assumed it was another fast-food joint.

Just as Marseille’s Mediterranean port has welcomed people from across the globe for centuries, Île de Réunion’s plum location in the Indian Ocean has made the island a crossroads for many cultures. Each one has tossed their ingredients into the melting pot of island cuisine. The island’s first colonists, the French, brought their technique for daube (stews) in the 17th century. During the burgeoning coffee trade, enslaved Malagache (people from Madagascar) brought ginger and chilis from their much-larger island just to the west. In the mid-1800s, Indians working on sugar plantations brought a myriad of spices: masala, turmeric and cinnamon, to name a few. At the turn of the 20th century, the Chinese brought with them soy, oyster and fish sauces as well as frying techniques.

For the first five months of 2021, eating out in Marseille was limited to takeout due to France’s strict Covid-19 measures. Some chefs managed to make magic in to-go boxes. Others became sandwich maestros – including 3-Michelin-starred chef Alexandria Mazzia, who launched a food truck with croque-monsieurs. When we craved company, we’d bring an oh-so-Marseille anchovy pizza and a bottle of rosé to the beach for a convivial picnic. On May 19, restaurants were finally permitted to offer outdoor dining. Resuscitated, Marseille felt like one big alfresco party, with temporary terrasses sprouting in parking spaces, abandoned alleys, even staircases. After the full opening on June 9, the city exploded.

Around this time of year, the smell of dough frying fills the air on a side street off Marseille’s busy Rue de Rome. The source of the enticing scent is Patisserie Avyel, a small kosher bakery and salon de thé in the midst of preparing for Hanukkah, which in 2020 begins on the evening of December 10. For Hanukkah, the Festival of Lights, Jews often make fried treats to commemorate the miraculous oil that kept a lamp burning for eight days instead of one in the rededicated Temple in Jerusalem some 2,200 years ago. Latkes – potato pancakes – might be the best-known Hanukkah food, but frying up dough is another popular tradition, with these holiday “doughnuts” varying by geography.

Since the start of the Covid-19 pandemic, the value of shopping local has grown more and more apparent, especially in France. The country that coined the term hypermarché (big-box store) has returned to its roots. As of January 2021, 75% of consumers put “regional products” at the top of their shopping priority list, according to a report by France 3 news. Another study by AlixPartners confirmed that “friendliness is the foundation for retailers.” Serving up these two artifacts revived form another era is a new épicerie in the heart of Marseille. Fernand et Lily combines regional goods and old-fashioned conviviality. Owner Julien Baudoin has passionately and personally selected each of the shop’s products – including Marseille-made microbrews, Provençal nougat and raw cow’s milk cheese from the Hautes-Alpes.

“Those who don’t know Etienne, don’t know Marseille,” insists a French weekly in a piece about the cult pizzeria. They were raving about both place, Chez Etienne, and person, the enigmatic Etienne Cassaro, who transformed the worker’s canteen his Sicilian dad opened in 1943 into a local institution that endures today. Though Etienne’s light went out in 2017, his son, Pascal, continues to carry the family torch – alongside a long-standing staff who have been there for decades. Aptly located in the equally mythical Le Panier quartier, Chez Etienne is home-style cooking served in a homey setting. Inside a convivial room divided by stone archways, the tables are packed with regulars, tourists and politicians from nearby city hall (including Mayor Gaudin) who tuck their ties in their shirt to keep them from getting splattered with pizza grease.

Walking inside the bright Café (R)égal, the familiar ingredients of a sustainable restaurant can be seen. Here, a chalkboard lists the local farmers from which foodstuffs are sourced. Each table is topped with cloth napkins instead of disposable paper. A poster on the wall shows the happy chickens that benefit from the kitchen’s compost. All these elements minimize Café (R)égal’s impact on the environment. What makes them unique, is how this conscientious café is also making an impact on people’s lives. Café (R)égal is a restaurant d’insertion, meaning it offers work training to people with disabilities. These apprenticeships provide a much-needed springboard into the workforce and something even more essential: a place where folks of all backgrounds are on the same footing.

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.

Though synonymous with Tunisia, Algeria and other North African nations, harissa’s main ingredient helms from Mexico. After 1492, chile peppers crossed the Atlantic via the Columbian Exchange, trading between the New World and Old World. It was Spain that introduced Tunisia to the spicy capsicum during their 16-century occupation. The Arabic verb harasa means “to crush or press,” and the process of pounding the pepper into a paste with olive oil, garlic and various spices gave birth to harissa. For centuries, the hot chile paste has been used to flavor simmered stews and as a condiment throughout the Maghreb and the Middle East – and, in Marseille, as immigrants have infused the multicultural city with their food traditions.

A few blocks from the fragrant street stands of Noailles, another multicultural bazaar unfolds indoors. An aproned man fries up falafel balls to stuff into sandwiches. At a wooden cart besides him, a girl pushes sugar cane into a whirring juicer that pours out the sweet nectar in a glass. Down the hallway, two women finger bolts of colorful Egyptian fabric and glittering ribbons. The Souk de Nour d’Egypte is a feast for the senses. Every inch of the soaring space is filled with something delicious or decorative. In the front half, wooden carts brim with spices, ice cream and other foodstuffs, leading to a long counter laden with baked goods, cooked dishes and a medley of salads.

Order a grenadine in France, and you’ll get a glass of bright red syrup made from pomegranate to sip with water for a refreshing quaff. In Armenia, the grenade – pomegranate – is a national icon, depicted in art, consumed at meals and made into a local liqueur. Stemming from the country’s ancient mythology, the grenade symbolizes fertility and abundance, making it a fitting name for Couleur Grenade, a female-owned Armenian restaurant in Marseille. From stuffed eggplant to tchi kefté (beef tartare), Couleur Grenade offers a lexicon in Armenian cuisine. Growing up in Lyon, the restaurant’s owner, Gayane Doniguian was French at school – her friends called her Delphine – and Armenian at home. Cooking with her grandmother at an early age sealed her love for Armenian cuisine.

In the 1960s, Mayor Gaston Defferre proposed a plan to give Marseille a beach that was worthy of the Mediterranean port. Despite the city’s 26 miles of coastline, there were very few public beaches at the time. One of them, Prado, was so narrow that waves would flood the coastal road beside it each time the mistral wind blew. In 1977, the Parc Balnéaire du Prado opened on an artificial embankment, cleverly built with leftover fill from the construction of the Marseille metro. With its gravel beaches and grassy lawns, the sprawling, 64-acre seaside park was an instant hit. Now, the beaches – known as Prado Sud and Prado Nord – are two of the most popular for Marseillais and tourists alike.

For all its culinary riches, Marseille is not a mecca of cheese. France’s famous fromage regions are found where the cows roam – like Normandy and the Auvergne. Marseille’s warm weather doesn’t quite whet one’s appetite for filling cheese, nor is it well-suited for the cooler temperatures that cheese-making requires. The biggest claim to Marseille cheese fame is the region’s lone AOC, the ultra-fresh chèvre, Brousse du Rove. Now, a new urban dairy is adding to that reputation. Located a few blocks up from the Vieux-Port, the Laiterie Marseillaise brings the craft of cheesemaking into the heart of France’s second-largest city. Normally, a fromagerie (cheese shop) buys its wares from a fromager (cheese maker.) Here, they are one in the same.

In the mid-1980s, a teenage Félicité Gaye left the Côte d’Ivoire to join her older brother in Marseille. Though their homeland had been independent since 1960, the siblings had grown up in the era of Félix Houphouët-Boigny, the pro-France president who kept close ties to its colonial ruler. “France is beautiful and there is money to be made here,” Félicité’s brother urged. Félicité’s plan was to get a good French education, and then put it to use back home. When visa problems prevented her from finishing university, the 21-year-old decided to stay, knowing her opportunities in the Côte d’Ivoire would be limited without a degree. She found work with a well-to-do Marseille family, cooking and tutoring their daughter.