We wind our way through the narrow streets of the Cours Julien, filled with warm-weather revelers who gather in the lively neighborhood’s bars and restaurants. Tonight our destination is Rue des Trois Rois (Three Kings Street), where we have dinner reservations at Zesti, a Greek restaurant that opened in fall 2024. The small, quaint room is already packed with diners. We are quickly greeted by Fiola Lecuyer, Zesti’s co-owner and charming front-of-the-house extraordinaire. She moves through the crowded room with the grace of a dancer and somehow manages to remember everyone’s name.

When it comes to cultural identity, France carries the flag for universalism. This ideal aims to unite French citizens regardless of their ancestral roots, country of origin, or religion. You are French first, not a hyphen that encompasses multiple identities (i.e. Franco-Algerian.) In Marseille – a city which proudly differs from the rest of France – universalism isn’t universally practiced, since many Marseillais embrace their blend of cultural heritage. Franco-Congolese chef Hugues Mbenda does this skillfully at his delicious duo of restaurants, Kin and Libala. Both are housed in one location in the city center, a two-for-one-special born from a collaboration with Hugues’s partner, Mathilde Godart. By day, Libala serves up lip-smacking street food while Kin parades gastronomic plates at nightfall. Both mix Mediterranean and Congolese ingredients.

Over many epochs, Marseille has experienced waves of immigration and is considered to be an invaluable gateway city to France. Italian immigration to Marseille began in the late 18th century and increased significantly after the end of World War I, when France's industrial development required a great deal of labor. During the interwar period, 90 percent of the foreign population in Marseille was Italian. Still today, 30 percent of the city’s population is of Italian origin. The current mayor of Marseille, Benoît Payan, is from a family with Italian roots. The similarities between Provençal and Italian dialects are evident. There is no doubt that this cultural history has influenced the culinary tradition of the city. Pizza was first introduced to France in Marseille. All over the city, there are small Italian épiceries (specialty food shops) and restaurants.

Editor’s Note: Vérane Frédiani is a filmmaker, journalist, food lover, and feminist from Marseille. She is the author of several documentary films: The Goddesses of Food, Steak (R) evolution, Mauro Colagreco’s Mirazur, des Étoiles à la Lune, and several books including: Cheffes, Elles Cuisinent. Born and raised in Marseille and currently based in London, Vérane wrote and photographed Marseille Cuisine le Monde to celebrate her hometown’s diverse cuisine—and how it is a gateway into understanding this singular city. Translated by Culinary Backstreet’s own Alexis Steinman, Taste the World in Marseille, is the only English-language book about Marseille food written by les Marseillais. You can follow Vérane on Instagram @veranefrediani

At a booth bathed in the winter sun, a group of coworkers happily munch burgers and frites. Behind them, a toddler claps with glee as his mom hands him a meal in a colorful box. Two teens bypass the counter to punch in their order at the giant phone-like kiosk. Customers in cars wait in line at the drive-thru. Despite all these trappings of a fast-food joint, and the Golden Arches on the sign outside, this is no McDonald’s. Even if it was born from one. L'Après M is a fast-food restaurant, professional integration project, food bank, and community center, all rolled into one unique spot. Its name (the M stands for “McDonald’s”) refers to its previous tenant.

At the end of a long wooden table, a foursome passes colorful plates of food: mouthwatering meat dumplings in tomato sauce, sauteed zucchini topped with minty yogurt, and rice flecked with cumin. Sitting across from a refrigerator, below a row of fake potted plants, and beside shelves stacked with mismatched plates, they could be dining at someone’s house. Which is, in fact, Chez Romain et Marion’s raison d’être. “We want people to feel honored that they’re dining at an Afghan family’s home,” shares Romain. His mother, Myriam Rahman Ebadi, simmers homey dishes like dâl, turmeric red lentils, and achak, leek ravioli, in the restaurant’s tiny kitchen.

“Bom filho à casa torna,” we like to say in Portuguese, a maxim that translates to “a good son comes home.” Can the saying be applied to a sandwich? In Porto, we would argue, the answer is yes, especially now that A Regaleira, the birthplace of the francesinha – Porto’s signature dish – is open again after being closed for three years. Even former A Regaleira regulars passing by the reopened restaurant might miss the fact that it has moved a few doors down from its original location. We could have sworn that the restaurant was in the same spot since 1934, but the original A Regaleira was forced to close in 2018 when the building housing it was sold.

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.

Italian and Maghreb restaurants are undoubtedly the stars of Marseille’s food scene. In fact, Marseille is so chock-a-block with pizza it’s rumored to have more pizzerias per capita than New York City. Eateries dishing out copious bowls of couscous equally abound. Meanwhile, some of the diverse city’s most prominent immigrant communities – and their cuisine – remain behind the scenes. A perfect example is Marseille’s Comorian community. So many citizens of Comoros, the Indian Ocean nation north of Madagascar, live in Marseille that the city’s been nicknamed the “Fifth island in the archipelago.” One in ten Marseillais are of Comorian descent, and many are employed in restaurant kitchens as dishwashers and line cooks. Yet, you can count the places serving cuisine comorienne on one hand.

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.

Marseille is home to the biggest Armenian community in Europe, with cultural centers, churches, and several neighborhoods with a significant Armenian presence. Most fled the Armenian genocide of 1915-1922, joining a smaller and older Armenian community of merchants that settled in Marseille starting in the mid-nineteenth-century. The different waves of Armenian immigrants and refugees, coming to some 80,000 people, maintain ties to Armenia, family, and culinary traditions, and many eventually thrived. Armenian cuisine is rich and varied, and yet what is available in Marseille’s city center in terms of actual restaurants and takeout doesn’t reflect that. Because Armenian cuisine is a home cuisine, it is often in private houses that we enjoy the traditional dishes like kabab karaz, meatballs in sour cherry sauce, or manti, clusters of small, open raviolis of spiced meat.

Regain is housed behind the marigold shutter doors of one of Marseille’s trois fenêtres (meaning “three windows,” the city’s typical brownstone). From the street, one can spy the full tables of the shady urban garden far on the other side. It is hard to believe that this Rue Saint-Pierre restaurant opened just six months ago, given its current hot-spot status among Marseille gourmands. From the unusual descriptions of chef Sarah Chougnet-Studel’s creations, it’s hard to imagine what the taste and experience of any dish will be. But Regain’s many repeat diners trust in Sarah’s intriguing French-Asian amalgams: order anything on the menu and it will prove to be both intriguing and delicious.

A month ago, I moved into to my new place in Marseille’s La Plaine neighborhood. After the moving truck drove off, leaving me with stacks of boxes and furniture and no food yet in the refrigerator, I ventured out in my dusty jeans to find a place to eat some lunch in the neighborhood. On Rue Saint-Pierre, I passed Oumalala with its homey, hand-written signs offering vegetarian, organic cuisine, and I paused at the door. The olive green, ochre, and turquoise interior, lunchtime-lit candles and small vases of flowers garnishing the tables, the beautiful woman serving food, talking to customers, all pulled me in.

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.