In search of bouillabaisse…

After more than 28 years of marriage to a gourmet/gourmand, I have developed a well-trained palate and surviving on French food for more than a week has been no hardship. But for gourmets, France, especially the Provence region, is probably their idea of a food heaven. Food in Provence was indeed delightful; tasty, well-cooked and well-presented and wine was always cheap and drinkable. But I must say that coming home reminds me that nothing can rival our cuisine. Where else can one get a range of Chinese, Malay, North and South Indian, and Western food? Well, perhaps in California but still, food is available here almost 24 hours. I can have a week of meals from a range of cuisines without repeating a dish or menu and that certainly beats Provence hands-down.

So we did indulge a little in rich food for a week and even croissants tasted special. But my husband was determined to have some bouillabaisse. This dish of fish stew is famous in Marseille but is also available along the coast. The story of this dish is linked to Venus, who created it to serve it to her husband Vulcan, so that he would be lull into a deep sleep while she indulged in some hanky panky with Mars. Bouillabaisse is more than just a fish stew; it is made with a mixture of fish and seafood and it’s the inclusion of saffron, fennel seeds and orange zest that gives it its special flavour.

We had it in Nice many years ago and as expected, never found the equivalent in Paris or any other part of the world. So, this trip must include an obligatory trip to the best bouillabaisse restaurant along the coast. The search for the fish stew took us to Antibes and our guide book recommended De Bacon restaurant for the 120 euro dish. This restaurant is so famous that it did not need a signboard, and the directions simply told one to drive towards the Cape of Antibes and look out for this place. Well, I drove this time and we had a smooth drive to Antibes and with some directions from a local, found ourselves heading in the right direction to the Cape. The road got more and more narrow and before we knew it, we were driving next to the sea and voila, we were at Juan le Pins, the next town. Yup, we completely missed the restaurant. By then, it was well past lunch time so we just parked (French underground car parks are narrow, dark and quite trying) and ate at the nearest restaurant. The meal turned out to be another delight. I had the degustation meal ( a series of small tasting dishes) which included a Provence pie, some octopi, assorted marinated vegetables and a saffron infused seafood soup. My husband, still longing for the fish stew, had Soupe de Poisson, another version of fish soup which was not the real thing, but served to temporarily satisfy the palate. After this meal, we drove back to Aix-en-Provence where we were based. A light rain accompanied us all the way. No, we didn’t weep for the lost bouillabaisse because we were still determined to search for it while we were there.

Our last two days found us back in Vence. On the way, we went to St Paul, described as the prettiest village in France. Here we visited the Maeght Foundation to see a renowned collection of modern Mediterranean artwork. The South of France was, of course, the home to famous artists like Chagall (buried at St. Paul), Van Gogh and Picasso. St Paul is a pretty walled village on the hillside with many art galleries, restaurants and great views.


Our last attempt to find the elusive fish stew took us to Vence itself where we found a restaurant which declared the dish to be among its specialities. We also found another restaurant serving paella and perhaps it was our need for some rice that made us decide to have the bouillabaisse in one restaurant followed by paella in the next. So we did that, and was it outstanding? Sadly no. Of course we didn’t expect it to be like the one we had in Nice years ago, but this bouillabaisse disappointed with the lack of seafood and flavour. Still, it was edible for 22 euros.

The day we were supposed to return was filled with rumours about the volcanic ash from the volcano with the unpronounceable name in Iceland. Fifteen Spanish airports had closed by then, but our flight was cancelled due to a technical problem with the plane engines. So we were sent off to the swanky Radisson Blu along the Promenade des Anglais in Nice for a night. Dinner was provided by the airline but given the short time the hotel had, all they could rig up for us was a tomato and mozzarella salad to begin with and ravioli with tomato sauce as the main course. The passengers, who were predominantly Malaysian tourists and Filipino cruise ship workers on their way home via Dubai, almost staged a revolt in the dining room. A few four letter words were hurled around because the Asian passengers wanted rice or Asian food. As expected, the dishes were left uneaten and many left, hungry and angry. In retrospect, the hotel should have served spaghetti instead; the Asians would have taken better to that than ravioli. Well, the next day they served rice with roast chicken; not quite Loy Kee but enough to placate the Asian palate.

Thus ended our culinary adventures and upon reaching home, I found the fridge full of porridge that I had cooked for Junior who was recuperating from a minor operation and in Junior’s room, a huge pile of dirty laundry. He ate only a portion of the porridge (cooked from a special recipe) and said he had no energy to do the laundry. On that note, the post-holiday blues begun….