Marseille's seaside charm

The dark red blood smeared on work tables should have prepared me, but the decapitated head, propped near its sliced body, stopped me in my tracks.

Tuna never looked so fresh.

During my midmorning stroll through the fish market at Marseille's Vieux Port, shallow blue trays overflowed with exotic offerings fresh from the small boats that jostled in the nearby port. Red-cheeked fishmongers hosed off freshly caught fish, chattered on cellphones and shared hearty laughs. Large, sharp knives were lying about, whole slippery fish still flopped, and the tangy scent of the sea permeated the air. No pristine romance to this market, I observed.

It was gritty, hardworking and authentic. Like the city of Marseille itself.

Founded in 600 B.C. by Greek sailors, Marseille is the oldest city in France (and the second largest, after Paris). Today its Old Port (Vieux Port) on the Mediterrean is still the keystone of its existence — and the location of its famous fish market.

High above the terra-cotta roofs of the old quarter, the iconic golden statue of "the Good Mother" at the Basilica of Notre Dame de la Garde watches over the city. Within its waters, fishing boats, sailboats and pleasure craft park year round (the main commercial docks were transferred north in the 1840s). At the Old Port, besides strolling through the daily fish market, you can also catch a ferry to view the nearby quiet coves and rocky cliffs called calanques, taste the city's famous bouillabaisse or hike up a hill to wander through the historic and picturesque Le Panier neighborhood.

Acclaimed food writer M.F.K. Fisher loved this city despite (or perhaps for) its renowned rough edges — describing its diverse people and food as "assertive" and "intense" and the city as "insolate" or "indefinable" in her book "A Considerable Town." I wonder if she would be surprised to learn that Marseille is also France's new European Capital of Culture.

I chose one that pleasantly whiled away a couple hours on the water — leisurely passing by tiny fishing villages tucked away in the coves and between the towering white cliffs. We even passed by a few brave souls jumping off the high cliffs into the turquoise water. The only frustrating part was not being able to disembark in pretty Cassis, where I could only fantasize about enjoying a hot sun- and cool rosé wine-drenched lunch.

But the next day more than made up for that loss. I experienced the delicious fish stew that Marseille is famous for: bouillabaisse.

With its humble beginnings, few recipes have risen in prestige and have as much ritual and history associated with them as Marseille's signature fish stew. Even fewer have an official charter: The Charter of Bouillabaisse was created and signed by several local chefs to protect the authentic recipe in the 1980s.

Today, diners can find the real deal at several restaurants in Marseille including (surprise!) the founder of the charter, the well-regarded Restaurant Miramar. Fisher wrote she was not a "passionate devotee" of the city's bouillabaisse — which confounded me. But I suspect she never ate it at the Miramar.

Located within touching distance of the Old Port, the restaurant serves up bouillabaisse in all its superb taste and tradition. First, a bowl of rich saffron-scented fish broth is presented, accompanied with croutons to rub with garlic and spread with rouille (a rust-colored mayo flavored with saffron, peppers and garlic). After the soup and bread, a platter of fish is presented at the table, then a waiter delicately slices and places it in another bowl of soup before serving it.

Not far north of the Old Port is Marseille's oldest quarter — Le Panier — and while a touristy electric train can take visitors there, a hike up from the water after my bouillabaisse feast seemed like a better idea.

The lively neighborhood is an eclectic mix of sloping sun-washed streets, great views of the city, laundry hanging on lines and lots of artsy shops. Various lanes straggle off hither and yon; I found a small ceramic workshop where a woman crafted and sold bowls, plates, and hand-painted blue and white tiles (two hang in my kitchen today), while at another atelier I found a woman carefully painting the exquisite santons (figures) that are a Christmas tradition in Provence. I ducked into a shop selling the familiar cubes of the Savon de Marseille soap I love, into another loaded with olive oils and finally a cookie shop that sold navettes, those boat-shaped biscuits faintly touched with orange for which the city is known.

Eventually, I came upon a quiet square under leafy trees — crowded with turquoise chairs and tables, neon pink seat cushions, bright yellow napkins, lime green buckets stuffed with flowers and a purple framed chalkboard printed with things like tarte citron meringue. The whole place was a carousel of sparkling colors. As the afternoon (and my body) were waning, I couldn't help but sit down and order.

Donna Tabbert Long writes about food and travel for the Star Tribune and other publications.