As the fierce Mediterranean sun declines and the air begins to cool, we wind our way through the streets up from the Vieux Port to a small memorial park perched on a jutting spar of white limestone above a small cove---the same cove we ventured into earlier on our boat trip through the calanques of the Bay of Marseille. We clamber down four precipitous flights of stairs, between houses jammed precariously together, the indigo Mediterranean to our right and the Romanesque bridge and cove to our left.
Past the fishing boats is Restaurant FonFon. We enter---and then we navigate our way up the four stories of FonFon, almost back up where we started! Ah well, good exercise for the meal that awaits us, for FonFon is one of the more celebrated of the famous Marseille bouillabaisse restaurants. And while I’m quite sure that FonFon makes many delicious things in its kitchens, we’re here for the specialty, not even bothering to look at menus, should they exist. We want wine and fish stew, in that order, please.
We are assured with great solemnity by our hosts that FonFon is authentic and not some touristy substitute for the real thing. This is where the people who know go to eat bouillabaisse (outside of their kitchens, of course, where their mother or grandmother makes the best bouillabaisse of all, mais certainement!)
Bouillabaisse is a simple meal, really; it is, after all, a fisherman’s stew. As such, it’s an appetizer, a soup course, and a main course all in one. As we sit, drinking our rosé and enjoying the evening breeze wafting in from the bay, platters of croutons---not salad croutons, but slices of baguette bread--- are placed around the table, to be replenished at need. We also receive several bowls of pungent rouille, the ubiquitous and necessary condiment of bouillabaisse, and pimenton, a rouille laden with spicy pepper.
[And please, whatever you do, when in Provence, do not make the mistake of referring to rouille as mayonnaise. I think there’s a legal statute somewhere forbidding it. Such a faux pas results in horrified looks on French faces, and precise lectures on the nature of rouille. And the nature of mayonnaise. And only ignorant barbarians don’t know the clear and present difference between the two. So do not make that mistake. Fair warning.]
Our server parades around the room with the variety of fish and shellfish of the day: the same fish that we saw come off the boats at the fisherman’s market that morning are about to go into our bouillabaisse this night! As the fish are taken away to be prepared, a second server enters with a huge tureen of the soup and ladles it over the rouille-laced croutons in our bowls, and we spoon the hot, spicy, rich, tomato-based soup, now fragrant with even more garlic and spice from the rouille, into our mouths.
As we finish our soup course, the freshly cooked fish arrives, accompanied by golden-yellow potatoes, and all is plated beside our bowl for us to pick what we wish, and the tureen comes around again to refill the bowl. For the remainder of the evening, the soup tureen keeps coming around, again and again, as needed. More croutons are slathered with rouille and pimenton, fish is added at need, more broth is ladled, more rosé is poured, and the conversation and laughter get louder and louder. A classic Marseille Bouillabaisse dinner is not only a meal, it is a convivial affair.
As an obligatory wine aside, I have to say the Provence Rosé was absolutely ideal with bouillabaisse! The robust flavors and tangy spiciness of the soup would destroy almost any red, overcoming the delicate racy ones and clashing horribly with anything with noticeable tannins. Full-bodied whites would clash as well; even whites that would normally pair well with either fish or soup dishes would be difficult here. But the chilled rosé is perfect with its lightly perfumed floral/fruit nose, tangy acidity, and dry, crisp assertive finish; it refreshes the palate, perks up the taste buds, and restores the senses for that next spicy spoonful (especially if, like me, you have become addicted to the pimenton, which has stoked the heat index to dangerous but delicious levels, requiring the loosening of shirt collars and the addition of more chilled rosé.)
Applying the Gerald Asher Rule (Pay attention to what others are drinking the most of; that’s probably the best wine with the food. At tastings, look for the bottle that empties the quickest. It’s not infallible, but it’s pretty reliable), I notice that of the twelve of us dining, and with red, white, and rosé available, all but one person is opting for the rosé!
[Which brings us, of course, to the question of rosé as a suitable main course wine. But that’s a lengthy topic for another post…]
After a light dessert--- nothing else was necessary after the gluttony of bouillabaisse we had just performed--- we lumbered back out into the blessedly cool night, to be carted back to our beds. Who knew fish soup was such a heavy meal???
What a day: a fish market in the morning, a tour of the magnificent and otherworldly calanques, a traipse through old Marseille, and a superb bouillabaisse dinner. Next, we launch ourselves into the wine country of Provence!
Tour of Marseille and dinner at Chez FonFon photos here:
http://picasaweb.google.com/hoke.harden/ProvenceMarseille?authkey=Gv1sRgCP2rsoPd8LbHXQ#