There are a lot of fish and Africans in Marseilles.

I recall automatically Sarkozy’s attempt to forbid the wearing of hijab in public areas…

Probably there are lots of good restaurants also.

Nobody knows how many of them are booked constantly, in the afternoon and in the evening. And what restaurants among good and booked are still quite available?

La Cantinetta corresponds fully to all the criteria.

At first the façade attracted my attention. I dropped in at time off (the kitchen operates from 12:00 to 13:30 and from 20:00 to 22:00).

I took a notice of the atmosphere and asked could I have a dinner. In reply: we are fully booked. Permanently.

In five minutes it became clear that the next day I’ll be able to have a lunch however.

The menu is short and a half of courses are cooked every day in different interpretations. The waiter in wicker hat told us very simply about each course. The same day I managed to have a dinner also. The restaurant is fully booked in the daytime and in the evening. The manager wasn’t insincere. In spite of tiny kitchen and quite reasonable prices, the taste of the courses was provocatively. That was the reason to tell about Italian restaurant at not at all tourist area of Marseilles.

P.S. At the day of my visit the owner of the restaurant gave birth to a child and her husband was at maternity hospital also, but that fact didn’t has an impact on food and service not in the least.

P.P.S. In this restaurant all guests settle the accounts with manager on leaving. The waiters only took the orders and serve.

 

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In the village Biot I met with the master who is really fond of his job. Christian teach children to make bread for 20 years… And Christian himself paid attention to the fact that he teach exactly to make… not to sell and make money, but BREAD. He taught me through the interpreter but many things were clear even without him. The master uses water of room temperature only when kneading the bread and offers to be guided only by intuition when you estimating the dough. Below you can find the photos.

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A bone and other rituals about gastronomy

My grandfather on mother’s side wasn’t notable for sweet temper. Because of the war, shoulder straps and his position he was unsociable, silent and he afraid of his own shadow. The only one person about which he cared and worried was his wife and my grandmother… Concerning the fact that we lived two short blocks from Privoz market and there were two constantly empty near us, my grandfather went to the market every day early in the morning and always by himself.

After Privoz first of all he told to my grandmother about that he saw, and then he complained of the prices about 15 minutes and only then unwrapped the purchases.

The standard ritual repeated almost every day. My family was big – seven people. It goes without saying that everybody ate at home solely, because there weren’t the restaurants, and those ones that worked actually, sold only «boozes-dances» in the evening and disgusting cookery, boiled eggs almost daily and chicken-tapaka smeared with tomato paste on high days and holidays.

Now about ritual. My grandfather unwrapped the package with meat especially carefully, so that everybody noted importance of the moment. Then he demonstrated to grandmother one or another part of meat very slowly and gently and… he always founded inside a bone 150 grams by weight. Then sounded the phrase: «They slipped it again! » – and long explanation, according to his words  while he examined the counter and talked with the butcher, the bone got into the package and only then he was announced the weight and price. My grandmother carried out the psychotherapy session and convinced herself and grandfather that it’s all right…and anyway it needs to cook the bouillon.

And this situation repeated almost every day except Monday. Privoz was closed on Monday. And my grandfather didn’t visit another markets…

All the time that I remember my grandparents, they always ate from one plate. I don’t know, the display of what was that ritual, but it also was observed strictly.

Only my grandmother cooked always. My mother also tried to cook, but that meal which she cooked could eat only totally not fastidious father. My brother and I got the food from grandmother’s pans. I liked meatballs with sour-sweet sauce and my brother liked pilaf. Once, I remember, it was almost criminal story with pilaf. My grandmothers cooked it in small cauldron and twist it by blanket, expecting for dinner. Dima and I found the cauldron and just tasted the pilaf, and then ate it up. At that time I was about 13 years old, and my brother was only 5 respectively. I washed and dried the cauldron carefully and hided it in the kitchen cabinet as far as possible. At a moment when my uncle returned from work, my grandmother came to warm up the dinner… but she didn’t find the pilaf. That evening my uncle ate the sandwiches. Then my mother and grandfather looked for pilaf all the evening. I was got involved in the process also.

The next morning my mother found empty cauldron and almost convinced the grandmother that the pilaf wasn’t exist at all…

 

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In Vienna, at Cantinetta Antinori restaurant we found ourselves rather by chance. The reputation of chain-style business put certain veto upon my expectations…

Nevertheless, when the child said: «I will eat mashed potatoes» again, we were passing by it and dropped in there. We visited five restaurants before this, where they refused to cook mashed potatoes in principle. At one restaurant they agreed but served deep-fried potatoes, having said: « what’s the difference». It must be said that mashed potatoes isn’t present in the menu of majority of Vienna’s restaurants and I believed naïvely that it will take 20 minutes to cook it and therefore it won’t worth the trouble.
Nevertheless only at Antinori they agreed to cook it.

We were at the restaurant not at business time, between lunch and dinner and therefore it will be occupied only 3-4 tables. The tables are laid conservative and the personnel look much more conservative but unpretentious. There are only men among the personnel, men of rather various ages, from 60 up to years old in my estimation. One of them, a younger one, were dressed in rather casual dark suit, the others were dressed in white shirts and traditional white aprons.

We were accompanied to the table by the man in the suit. Later it turned out that it was the manager of the restaurant. Mashed potatoes was cooked and served in about 20-25 minutes, and while we were waiting they served ordered appetizers and tea. The child was offered colouring books and pencils. I ordered pasta, my fellow ordered – vitello tonnato, for the child were ordered only mashed potatoes and tea. It must be said that the question of child’s meal was very burning, because even at home four-year-old Sofi allows herself only a few dishes…

We were served by Luca almost all the time; it was theу name of the man in the suit.
We got into a conversation only when I asked about special features of pasta, and I liked it very much. At first Luca posed and said that this is a secret, but then commented in details the process of cooking, and specified that the question is only in products. Then I was kindly shown the kitchen and met with the chef, young-looking Lorenzo. Both of them are Italians. There was quite noisy at the kitchen and nobody paid attention to me with camera, except Latin American dishwasher. The chef and the cooks were prepared to dinner…
The food and service were irreproachable. After mashed potatoes the child was served a plate of cantucci to the tea additionally, that aroused admiration of Sofi, because rusks in Odessa version were reckoned among her gastronomic preferences also.
We were brought the check and Luca gave us the change again. He thanked us warmly for the visit and tips which we left.
All the service was taken so organic and easy, that only a suit made me to doubt whether it was a waiter…
At another very good restaurant Plachutta we were met and seen off by a man in the suit also …
Why in our country the majority of restaurants’ managers in the masks of peafowls-businessmen never serve the guests, and more often simply don’t appear in the dinning area and allow to themselves only to watch from outside and greet with personal friends only?

A few photos.

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Odessa. Love

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