If the aperitif is “la prière du soir des Français,” (“the evening prayer of the French”), as writer Paul Morand famously quipped, the Marseillais are the most devout worshippers. Shortened to apéro here and across the south, the ritual of gathering with friends over drinks and food embodies our joie de vivre and laid-back lifestyle. The city’s temperate climate and abundant terrasses mean that our socializing often happens outdoors. But, since the Covid-19 epidemic began in March 2020, in-person dining and drinking has been severely curtailed. France’s restaurants and bars were shuttered in January 2021, and were only finally able to reopen for outdoor dining on May 19, the same day that our national curfew was extended from 7 to 9 p.m.

In France, the poissoneries (fish markets) are often decorated in a palette of blue to evoke the sea while boucheries and charcuteries are blood red. Rouge, the color of meat, pops up on tile walls, around deli counters and on awnings above shop windows so that customers can spot their meat purveyors from afar. That was the case at Maison Payany, an artisan charcutier in Marseille’s 6th arrondissement, until its new owner gave it a fresh coat of pink. Marie Caffarel took over Maison Payany in the spring of 2019. Despite the unorthodox paint job, in many ways she has upheld the traditions of this neighborhood institution, which prior to her arrival had been run by three generations of Payany men since 1932.

In Marseille, dining out in the Covid era has often meant eating in. Pizza, kebabs and other fast food have triumphed over cooked dishes, since they can more easily withstand travel in cardboard containers. While many restaurants have either pivoted to portable sandwiches or tried to implement new packing methods (like soupe à l’oignon in a vacuum-sealed bag), La Cuisine de Gagny has embraced glass jars – a return to its roots. At this tiny restaurant and caterer, the plats du jour are dished into glass containers – the kind of jars (bocaux) filled with rillettes and jams in a French country kitchen. Sealed with glass lids and a thick orange-rubber band, the old-school jars don’t make the food taste like plastic.

Editor’s note: Here at Culinary Backstreets, we eagerly await the coming of spring each year, not just for the nicer weather but also because some of our favorite foods and dishes are at their best – or indeed, are only available – for a short period during this season. This post from Marseille is the first installment of “Spring (Food) Break 2021,” a weeklong celebration of our favorite springtime eats. In France, cheese is served as a main course in the winter. We melt raclette over potatoes and dunk hunks of baguette into oozy baked Mont D’Or, the warm, alpine cheeses keeping us toasty on cold nights. But once the temperature starts to rise, and we shed our winter layers, our hunger for these hearty cheeses wanes. We crave something tangier. Something brighter and lighter. We want brousse du Rove.

On March 27 of this year, Monique and Josef, the Moroccan-born couple that own Patisserie Avyel, plan to roast a turmeric-coated lamb shoulder above a bed of onions. My friend Judith, whose family hails from Algeria’s Tlemcen region, will blend almonds and raisins into mlosia, a thick jam. And, in my apartment, I will simmer matzo balls in chicken broth as my Lithuanian ancestors once did. All of us Marseillais will be cooking these foods for Passover, the Jewish holiday that commemorates the exodus of the Israelites from Egyptian slavery. While Jewish celebrations and cooking are as intertwined as the braided challah bread we eat on Shabbat – “all of our fêtes pass through the kitchen,” quips Frédérique, a Marseillaise with Tunisian roots.

With Marseille restaurants shuttered in the Covid era, many have transitioned to offering more takeout-friendly fare: namely, sandwiches. The hip bistro Cedrat’s 15-euro “hot fish” features a house-made fish sausage, poutargue (dried red mullet eggs) and seaweed. Michelin-starred fine-dining chef Alexandre Mazzia cures his own pastrami for a decadent, €21 croque-monsieur. Yet while high-end hoagies make fine once-in-a-while treats, we remain loyal to the old-school sandwich stand Chez Fanny. Located a few blocks up the hill from the Vieux-Port, this corner stand serves up fantastic sandwiches at phenomenal prices. The menu includes classics (think merguez-frites) and signature sammies that make the most of the region’s bounty.

As the nearby church bells toll the noon hour, customers start to congregate around the Pachamama Sud food truck. Two men sip Argentinian beers at the counter, munching on chips and guacamole offered by the owner, Nanou. Another customer bellies up to the colorful truck, only to look confused by the menu. Nanou explains the difference between a taco and a tortilla, handing him a taste of her famous sweet potato fries as an amuse-bouche. Pachamama Sud is turning the city, one Marseillais at a time, onto the flavors of Latin America, a foreign land for so many in spite of Marseille’s rich multiculturalism. From Argentinian empanadas to Peruvian manioc balls and Mexican smoked chicken tacos, the menu invites customers to “travel with their taste buds,” explains Nanou. “With no passport required.”

In Marcel Pagnol’s iconic 1930s Marseille trilogy, dockworkers sip pastis at Bar de la Marine, a Vieux-Port bar that still stands today. Later in the century, pastis is as prominent a character as its star, Detective Fabio Montale, in Jean-Claude Izzo’s 90s Marseille noir crime novels. The city’s quintessential quaff is as popular as ever in present day Marseille. At lunchtime and apéro hour, locals clink glasses filled with the opaque green elixir on sun-soaked terraces. A group of tracksuit-clad fans shares a bottle of Ricard on the Velodrome steps before an OM game. “It is a drink meant for sharing,” says Guillaume Strebler of local Distellerie de la Plaine.

Located at the eastern edge of Marseille, Saint-Julien is a far cry from the bustling city center. Here, congested boulevards stretch into narrow streets, and birdsong, not the honking of scooters, fills the air. The residential neighborhood has mostly standalone houses, from 17th-century bourgeois bastides (farmhouses) to 20th-century homes built by immigrant families searching for a small-town vibe. One of them feels like it’s set in an Italian village, thanks to an enterprising Sicilian. Liliane Casteldaccia runs Sicile Authentique, an épicerie, restaurant and small catering company, out of the ground floor of the house in which she grew up. At the foot of the driveway, the wood-paneled dining area is peppered with maps and Italian memorabilia.

Editor’s note: To further explore how the pandemic has affected the areas featured in our 2020 “Neighborhoods to Visit” guide and what recovery may look like, we will be publishing dispatches from restaurants, markets and food shops in these districts all week long. The close links between Marseille and the French island of Corsica are, in some ways, clearly marked in the city. Like the red-and-white Corsica Linea ferries docked in Marseille’s port that make daily crossings across the Mediterranean. Or the prevalence of Corsican canistrelli at Marseille’s boulangeries and biscuiteries.

Homemade bread was a byproduct of the Covid-19 lockdown worldwide, as witnessed by the lack of flour on supermarket shelves and proudly displayed loaves on Instagram feeds. I understood the trend – bread gave people a sense of purpose, warmed homes with comforting scents and filled the void left by closed-down everything. Plus, the act of kneading gave the one-two punch of stress relief and tactile pleasure. Yet, I felt no need to knead. For I live in France, the land where boulangeries churn out 30 million baguettes a day. A place where bread is such an integral part of life that no meal is considered complete without it. Whatever I made at home wouldn’t match the loaves of someone who has devoted their life to the craft of bread making.

Holiday traditions tend to be tied to numbers. In southern Italy there is the Feast of Seven Fishes on Christmas Eve, while in Poland, the night before Christmas is celebrated with borscht, herring and poppy seed cake at the 12-course Wigilia. Here in Provence, our lucky number is 13, with the Treize Desserts de Noël. By no means a static tradition, the 13 Desserts of Christmas have evolved over the centuries. Its first mention in 1683 by Marseille cleric Francois Marchetti in Explication des Usages et Coutumes des Marseillais (An Explication of Customs and Traditions of the Marseillais) detailed 13 breads, not desserts, alongside cakes and dried and fresh fruit. The table was topped with three tablecloths to represent the Holy Trinity – a custom that some families still practice today.

When we first moved to Marseille, a jewel box of a shop caught our eye while wandering around the Vieux-Port. Its window display was stacked with chocolates: smooth rectangular bars, green and brown olivettes (chocolate-covered almonds) and slabs studded with every kind of nut. When a customer opened the door to leave, the strong scent of cocoa hit our nostrils, luring us inside. The artisanal chocolate shop, named La Chocolatière de Marseille, is run by Alain and Zerrin Semerciyan. All the chocolates are made upstairs, hence the alluring aromas that perfume the shop. Since 2014, the couple has developed a faithful clientele for their delicious wares: slabs (tablettes) of dark, milk and white chocolate traditional to European chocolatiers, orange rinds (orangettes) dipped in chocolate, and the barre marseillaise, a delicacy that can only be found in Marseille.

Giant sacks of organic Moulin Pichard flour are stacked high at the entrance of Pain Salvator. In the back of the boulangerie, the open kitchen hums – a baker rolls out dough as another one pulls out beautifully browned loaves from the oven with a giant wooden paddle. A third clad in a flour-dusted apron stacks the freshly baked goods on a metal cart, rolling it beside the counter in anticipation of the midday rush. For owner Nicolle Baghdiguian-Wéber, being able to glimpse the bakery in action is intentional, the “real effort that goes into making bread,” she explains. Unlike others who “display their breads behind glass like in a pharmacy,” she wants her customers to see “flour on the floor, hands in the dough, the hard work.”

Although reputed for its meat, La Femme du Boucher is nothing like your classic steakhouse. Plants dangle from the ceiling and sprout on shelves, making the covered patio feel like an outdoor garden, and a heap of roasted vegetables gets equal footing with our huge hunk of boudin, or blood sausage. We have chef Laëtitia Visse, the woman behind “The Butcher’s Wife,” to thank for this departure from the clubby, gentleman vibe. The young chef’s first restaurant reflects her simple desire: to serve up great food and good times. The generous plates and convivial space help see to that.