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.

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...

We opened the restaurant…

Approximately a month later than we planned. The guests divided into two categories. One liked everything veeery much and a third of the guests came again, other guests smiled and said that anchovies are too salty and in general everything is so-so. The tables and chairs are without lacquer, there are no pictures and garlic in the dining area, the menu is short and there are no hookahs and music. The vector is become clear now. The doubts are over and daily hell’s kitchen of hospitality begins. We won’t please those guests who don’t like the restaurant, and we don’t have the goal to be liked by everybody.

Today I counted in the dining area 6 tables with the guests from other restaurants at the same time. One of the beginners recorded everything in computer and took pictures at the same time. The residents of Kiev were glad like children. There weren’t Italians yet. Piennolo and burrata were taken with great success by some guests and were criticizeв severely by others. All employees were at their best. No one complained about tiredness.

Many thanks to the guests who didn’t stint his reviews in the restaurant. In fact thanks to feedback we took a few important improvements and hung the mirrors in the toilets within two days only.

Many thanks to the restaurant’s team, managers and to everyone who took part in the creating of this project.

We work.

PS. I’m waiting for the criticism and comments.

And in other cities?

Restaurant in Kiev: place to appear in society during the hours of darkness in the cold season accompanied by live music

Restaurant in Dnepropetrovsk: place for 5 oligarchs and their family and companies and one nice place in the basement

Restaurant in Tbilisi: place where men eat Georgian dishes and drink Georgian wines accompanied by beautiful toasts about women

Restaurant in Ivanovo: place where weavers dream about men

Restaurant in Odessa: place where people eat well delicious food examining one another

Restaurant in Vienna: place where Ukrainians pay for very delicious food much less then in Kiev for very average food, and without live music

Restaurant in Lvov: place for shooting of delicious desserts and themeв interiors accompanied by beer  

Restaurant in Kherson: place where people discuss how tastefully they ate in restaurants of Odessa

Restaurant in Moscow: place where one can spend a lot of money on very average food at any time of day and year

Restaurant in Tatarbunari: this place isn’t exist