Marseille PIZZA
(number 76. march.)
I was walking around Le Panier (The Basket), a neighborhood of Marseille, France, looking for lunch. I didn't find it there that day, but I did find the closed front façade of a pizza restaurant, Chez Etienne, that looked very promising. You couldn't actually see anything behind a pull-down storefront– just the signage above the door, with the restaurant's name in great large typography. But the smell of pizza sauce either hung in the air or was drifting out between the cracks in windows and doorways, enough to stop my steps. Upon closer inspection, I noticed a menu printed on basic white printer paper, tucked into a plastic sleeve, decorated with some 90s-looking clipart pizzas:
PIZZA a EMPORTER................10 euro
ANCHOIS
FROMAGE
ANCHOIS ET FROMAGE
I took a pixelated photo of this menu with my aging phone, thought about it for the rest of the day. That day I noticed several other iconic-looking, old pizza restaurants around the city – many also closed (it was a Sunday). Because the minimalist menu of Chez Etienne inspired such romance and hope for me, a now unquenched thirst for this French pizza, I patronized a pizza takeaway window late that night; Pizza Capri, which has been there since the 80s. Pizzas with french cheeses, tuna, provençal olives filled their windows. It was good, but it wasn't as beautifully straightforward as I imagined Chez Etienne to be. So late that night I looked up the history of Marseille style pizza and learned that it was, indeed, a thing.
Apparently, in the first years of the 1900s, there was a mass emigration of people from Naples, the 17th-century birthplace of pizza, to Marseille. This factoid really caught my eye: in the 1906 census, Marseille had 20,000 residents. Of those 20,000, about 13,000 were Italians, and 10,000 of those 13,000 were from Naples. And that isn't counting those who were naturalized before! Marseille has a long history of being a sort of bombed-out, hyper international city. One of the articles I read said something to the effect of "in decrepit homes abandoned by the aristocracy, Neopolitans started opening up pizzerias." This spirit is what we really inspired me about being in Marseille in the first place – the sort ad hoc nature of the place.
When I first stepped off the train, I was taken with how much more of a busted big city it felt like than I'd expected, more Bushwick, Brooklyn, than, say, the cleaned up port vibes of today's Portland, Maine. In narrow alleyways, gorgeous plants that thrive in the Mediterranean climate spill out from planters on the ground and mounted the walls, out of people's windows, and from their fire escapes. Layers of graffiti cover every surface not hidden by a gorgeous plant. African guitar music drifts out of those windows. The smell of grilled fish gets carried down the alleyway from somewhere – either blown in from further away by the coastal wind, or right there at the end of the alley. When the street opens up again, there might be a square with a mix of closed storefronts, a wine bar with little more than a counter and some broken furniture out front, fountains, children playing on playgrounds of experimental architecture, a bookstore/record store with plywood cabinets displaying fantasticly designed covers of books and records, from all over mid century Europe. If you know me at all, you can imagine how this was a kind of sensory overload, or maybe just my kind of paradise.
I had lunch at Chez Etienne that Monday. It was everything I could have hoped for. Well worn, unfussy atmosphere. Red and white tablecloths. The smell that had grabbed me the day before, headier as it included the smell of blistered pizza crust as well. Families eating around large tables. A giant salad station for making large-bowl sized salads, the only option available being 'for the table.' I got the pizza I'd dreamed about – the half cheese, half anchovy – was delighted and surprised to see the anchovy side with no cheese; the contrast! – served with a bottle of chili oil and a 1664 blonde beer with a chilled glass. The cheese blobbed, grew more complex with each bite, brought to the brink by the briny blasts of oil cured olives. The thyme perfumed everything, but especially the anchovy side – cooling the salinity in that spooky, magical way that only the right herb in the right place can.
When I find myself in a restaurant, that’s what I look for above all: a familial atmosphere. It’s true that the daily dishes may not be on par with those at Chez Etienne, in the Panier. But that’s a bit like life itself. You take what the day serves up. You know that one day something miraculous is going to come your way. It couldn’t be otherwise. And when it does you will be struck dumb by ravioli in olive puree, calamari in parsley, or even just a little fried fish. Nothing more. That’s how I like Marseille.
- Jean-Claude Izzo, ‘I Like To Feel Marseille Pulsating Beneath My Tongue’ in Garlic, Mint & Sweet Basil essays on Marseilles, Mediterranean Cuisine, and Noir Fiction
See below for Gallery #1 of my time in Marseille, including phots of Chez Etienne’s exterior and the inspirational pizza itself. Including these photographs, I hope to give a glimpse into the extraordinary atmosphere of this place that has so captivated writers throughout history, and me just one summer ago.
I returned home that summer with the dream of making Marseille style pizza in Portland, and we waited until the pieces came together. I met Tyler and Sarah, whose house hosted the dinner, years earlier when their daughter was in my class at the last preschool where I taught. Tyler runs a subscription bread service called Brainfood Bread, and he built out a bakery in his garage. I loved the idea of making these pizzas with the garage door open, and bringing them to folks eating on ad hoc seats around the yard. The fact that Tyler is a bit of an outsider artist himself, with broken mirrors and orbs and other "authentic" atmosphere just right there made the place all the more correct for such a venture.
Making pizza in public, in this town, is no breezy feat. I practiced *several* times, adjusting the sauce, the selections of cheese, and the dough each time until I felt like it was a reasonable prospect to produce this pizza for a crowd. Never getting sick of it, I was able to confirm for myself that yes, this pizza was worth sharing. Somewhere during these months I met Mike who does Duality Brewing, and since he has worked in restaurant kitchens and approaches making beer from a cook's perspective, I asked him to make a French style lager and he came up with Ever Pleasant; a pitch perfect French style lager, exactly what I’d dreamed of serving with these pizzas! We sourced cider from The Place, a groovy cider bar run by a groovy guy, David, who really knows its french cider. I asked my old roomate and friend Jenny Mosbacher of Fossil & Fawn if they had any wines that would go nicely with this pizza on the very day they had bottled the 2022 'Do Nothing.' Sam at Cowbell cheese shop is an aquaintance pal, and I was lucky enough to work with him to find the perfect cheeses throughout all the practice sessions and finally for the event itself. A sensitive and thoughtful guy, he casually pointed out the provençal olive oil they happened to be carrying, which ended up really sending our salad dressing into very special territory. I picked up flours for the dough directly from Camas Country Mill, blending it with Italian 00 flour to make a go at a sort of "best of both worlds" crust.
The band got back together again; Lucas, Will, Adam, and Holly were all excited to bring this idea to life, and I truly couldn't have done it without them. Will held down the garage / salad station, Adam joined me at the pizza deck, Lucas produced the appetizer and desserts and jumped in everywhere else. Holly was there from before dusk to full night, expertly capturing the atmosphere. She also got one multi-exposure film photo, which serves as the header at the top of this page. Tyler and Sarah didn't just host, they got the place looking extra magical and jumped in wherever help was needed. At the last minute, our team expanded with the help of Lucas's wife, Elise, who hosted and worked the dining room and our dear friends Lyndsay and Tim of Field Day PR, who tended the bar and with a keen sense of good hospitality and delightful pizazz.
at the bar:
“ever pleasant” duality brewing french-style lager
“do nothing” (2022) fossil & fawn pinot gris, pinot noir, pinot blanc co-ferment
the original 75th dinner “cellar” wines at random
french cider
something fun and n/a inspired by french cordials
the menu:
marseille style pizza
fromage et anchois (half cheese and half anchovy). bay and garlic tomato sauce, french cheeses, thyme, oil cured olives, anchovies. served with chili oil. twelve to fourteen inches, depending on the mood of the dough.
salad, classic and large
lettuces, chicories, herbs, crunchy vegetables, shallot vinaigrette. salad for two or salad for four.
fruits de mer
whelks (sea snails) in the style of escargot. lots of garlic and butter and herbs – a novelty appetizer with great crust dipping as a bonus. 6 per serving.
crème brûlée
the super-classic. a touch of citrus.
The actual orchestration of guests was a bit bananas. We had people come for 3 separate seatings, but kept the bar open the entire time. We were very lucky with the weather; the first balmy day of the year, with a night comfortable enough for folks to hang out outside in. Our friends who got married 6 months later, in mid September, focused in on that date being "the last saturday of summer," and even though this was technically the last saturday of winter, it felt like the first saturday of spring.
CREDITS:
We’d like to thank our hosts, Tyler and Sarah; you are the best!
Andrew Barton and Lucas Winiarski were joined in the kitchen by Will Boal and Adam Monkaba and Holly Myers. Holly shot the fantastic photos of the dinner! Andrew took the atmosphere photos in Marseille, France in 2022. Including them was an idea that arrived after revisiting Autumn Wanderers, the Tumblr I kept in 2012 while traveling through Europe, photos I took to be able to look back to and remember the light, scents, and sounds in the streets.
Gallery #2 of my time in Marseille:
from ‘Marseilles between Sea and Light’:
To linger in the Panier is to feel the old heart of Marseille throbbing. A heart that speaks the languages of the world, the languages of exile. It is surely no chance that Pierre Puget, the architecht, too little known as a painter, built the most beautiful building in this city: the Cherité (the old Cherité as the Marseilles call it). Out of love for the neighborhood where he was born. That may well be why the Panier resists renovaton, why it refuses to become the Montmarte of Marseille that it was earmarked as. The neighborhood has been beautified, of course. And everyone is pleased about that. But unconsciously, those who live in it want to prolong its old history. "It's always been like this," they will tell you in any café.
The Trieze Coins, for example. And they will add, in case you haven't understood, "Aren't we fine like this, my friend?" It is on the other hill, the hill of the Plaine, in the streets close to Cours Julien, which have also been renovated and restored, that what was dreamed of for the Panier has actually happened. Not that this is Montmarte either. It's just Marseille in a different register. The boutiques of Marseilles fashion designers rub shoulders with bars and restaurants, art galleries and antique shops stand next to jazz clubs, blues clubs, raga clubs. But the nearby Place Notre-Dame-du-Mont has not changed its habits. A working class square that seems to ignore the hustle and bustle that overcomes Cours Julien every afternoon. Here, too, we looked out over Marseilles. A glance at Rue Estelle, which descends steeply only to come back up in a gentle slope on the other side. And even Cours Julien has to be reached by climbing Rue d'Aubagne. After crossing Rue Longue-des-Capucins. The street of the Eastern market. People say you don't smell the smells of Provence here. And it's true. Here, it smells like an Oriental port. The smells of the eternal Marseilles. You have to breath them in, at least once. To become dizzy with the spices and the beauty of the women who come here to do their shopping. To take the time to argue with the vendors, who all come from the other side of the Mediterranean. This street, like Rue d'Aubagne, at the end on the left, before you get to the old Halle Delacroix, is a voyage along the Mediterranean, from Istanbul to Tangier. It is there that we feel – really feel – that the two shores have been responding to each other for centuries. It is when we have admitted that Marseilles is as Eastern as Beirut is Latin and that the apparent urban disorder of this city will disappear for the confused traveler. For he – you – will start to feel the sheer happiness of being here for one day, one week, or one month. Or forever, perhaps. And that's when you will discover the sea. And the bay. Vast and beautiful.
- Jean-Claude Izzo