When we first arrived in Marseille, we heard rumblings about a most intriguing ice cream flavor. A “black vanilla” whose color and savory taste was rumored to come from squid ink, fitting for the city’s Mediterranean perch. In a city where exaggeration is the norm, we had to go check it out for ourselves. A long line snaked from Vanille Noire, the name of both the ice cream shop and famous flavor. The vendor handed us our scoop, so black it looked like a photo negative of a vanilla cone. Our first lick was rich Madagascar vanilla. A few seconds later, the sweet became salty like the seaside air. We were hooked – regardless of what it was made of.

Jean-Pierre Ferrato has vin coursing through his veins. Since as young as he can remember, he spent time at Chez Ferrato, his grandfather’s wholesale-retail wine shop. Grandpa Ferrato would siphon French and Algerian table wine from giant wooden barrels into glass bottles, then bring them to restaurants and individuals on his delivery tricycle. Customers would return the bottles, les consignes, for Ferrato to wash, dry, then reuse again. The process was a ton of work – “It was eco-friendly before the word even existed,” winks Jean-Pierre. The ever-smiling Marseillais is still satisfying locals’ thirst for wine eight decades after his grandfather launched his shop in 1940, making his own vintage by upping the wine quality and swapping the barrels for tables topped with Corsican dishes.

Marseille resembles an amphitheater – fitting for a city founded by the ancient Greeks. Encircled by the limestone cliffs of Calanques National Park, the green Garlaban hills and the mountainous Massif de l’Étoile, the port city is open wide to the Mediterranean with its back to the rest of France. This topography makes the city less French, more global, and intrinsically linked to the sea. Profoundly shaped by the goods, people, and cultures that have washed up on its shores for over 2,600 years, the Mare Nostrum has always taken center stage in Marseille. Two villages captain each end of the city’s 26 kilometer, semi-circular coastline. Though both fishing villages evoke yesteryear charm, they differ in look and feel. The northern quartier of L’Estaque retains the working-class ethos of its industrial past and is famous for snack shacks selling fried delights.

With its sloping streets and large, narrow buildings on the outskirts of the city, the Sant Gervasi-Galvany area once served as the site for the summer houses of the 19th-century Barcelonean bourgeoisie. These days, among a seemingly infinite number of cute little shops and kids running around dressed in private-school uniforms, Sant Gervasi-Galvany is a densely woven fabric of office buildings, top medical clinics, consulates, advertising agencies, extravagant cultural spaces, art galleries, decadent old mansions and an assortment of lovely gardens like the Turó Park, Monterols or Moragues. Between a steady demand from locals willing to spend their money in gourmet shops and office workers ready to pay a bit more for really good meals come lunchtime, the neighborhood is also a top-tier food destination.

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.”

Rue Fontange is a narrow street with small, inspired businesses that seem to complement one another. The vitrine of Vinyl is lavishly covered in white-marker script, through which we can still see wine, records, and meals by Oumalala (now serving here); across the street is Gallery Charivari, which when we visited was featuring Syrian artist Khaled Dawwa’s astonishing sculptures from his Compressés series, different takes on a heavy man slouching into a chair; further along lies the fine book selection of Histoire de l’oeil, with its garden and cabanon out back, a small red shed we can also see if we walk straight through Caterine restaurant next door to its dining patio, which feels like a continuum of the same garden.

Summer in Provençe ushers in a multitude of promises. In Marseille, it means waking to the song of the cicadas, day trips by boat to le Frioul to cool off in the sea and the afternoon rendezvous with friends for an apéro of pastis or rosé on ice. Saturdays bring the bliss of wandering through the markets in search for the perfect melon from Cavaillon, the ciflorette strawberries from Carpentras, or the succulent coeur de boeuf tomato. Perhaps the one market item that signifies the Provençal summer more than anything else is the fleur de courgette (zucchini flower). When this lovely little flower appears, we know it is officially summertime in the South.

Across Marseille, winter’s neon-yellow mimosas have given way to amandiers’ (almond trees’) fragrant white and pink blooms. Here, the French adage, “en avril, ne te découvre pas d'un fil. En mai fais ce qu'il te plaît,” (in April, don't remove a stitch. In May, do as you wish,”) is oft quipped, for our springtime weather can be fickle. Last weekend, I took a dip in the Mediterranean to cool off after a sun-soaked, 70-degree hike; as I write this, the local mistral wind has iced down the air temperature to just above freezing. Despite spring’s yo-yoing thermometer, ‘tis the season for Marseillais to fill up outdoor patios.

When you board the 1 tram line in boisterous Noailles, the train snakes from a dark, underground tunnel onto the picturesque Boulevard Chave in the Le Camas district. Like the country roads of Provence, the wide street is lined with soaring plane trees. Behind them, 19th century buildings – a mix of typically Marseillais trois fenêtres (three window) and decorative Art Nouveau facades – add to the eye-pleasing promenade so beloved by locals. This scene was similar a century ago. Just a mile as the seagull flies from the Vieux-Port, Le Camas was appealing for its accessibility to the city center by tram. Landowner-turned-developer André Chave founded the neighborhood to accommodate Marseille’s growing middle class.

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.

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.

Every fall, traditional Catholic families join together to pray and honor the dead, bringing candles and flowers to cemeteries and sharing meals at home. For many, Mexico’s colorful Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead) celebrations come to mind. In Spain, this type of holiday takes the form of All Saints’ Day, a Christian appropriation of the Celtic Samhain, the night of the dead. It has also become closely connected with the joyful and ancient pagan celebration of the end of the harvest, marked by the festival called Castanyada (in Catalonia) or Magosto (in other parts of Spain). Throughout Spain and Portugal, people gather to eat roasted castañas (chestnuts) and other seasonal foods, drink the first young wine of the year and enjoy the last warm weather before winter.

Snail khinkali? It might sound, at first, like an odd combination. On closer consideration of Georgian cuisine and history, however, it makes good sense. For one thing – perhaps the most important – they’re tasty, and we have yet to hear anyone who’s tried them disagree. The signature dish at Metis restaurant, which is – for now at least –the only place in Tbilisi one can have them, they remind us more of mushroom than of meat khinkali: savory, smooth, a little buttery, with some brightness from parsley and a hint of pastis. Metis’ logo, a snail with a khinkali for a shell, expresses the playful blend of French and Georgian cuisines that owner Thibault Flament is pursuing in close collaboration with his chef, Goarik Padaryan.