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« If you want to go fishing on the sea, go and see my friend Marius on the Vieux-Port (Old-Port). He has a boat anchored there and he himself is permanently anchored in the first bar on the left, going up the Canebiere. You can’t miss him, he looks like… Marius. «

And, what’s more, that isn’t even his real name; in reality he is called Gerard Belbeoc’h but to sell his horrible paintings to tourists, he chose « Marius » in honor of the celebrated character in the Pagnol trilogy. With the money from his rare sales he provides for his large family and his pointu (wooden fishing boat) that costs him an arm and a leg for the slip and all the rest.

After he showed me around the boat he suggested we not put it off and go fishing the next morning.

« Not too early… let’s not get crazy! What about 9 am… is that OK with you? »

You’d better believe that I was ready at 9 on the dot and we raised anchor of the « Fanny » as soon as the motor decided to start. Ah… the music of those diesel motors… It’s maritime Dubussy, it’s Erik Satie of the blue waters… it’s marvelous! »

We didn’t go very far, barely a quarter of an hour out.

« To fish for a soup there’s no reason to go all the way to Corsica » said Marius, « the girelles, the sarans and the rouquiers (all small mediterranean rock fish), they’re everywhere. I know a spot over by Pointe Rouge where you only have to put your hand in the water to fill your basket with fish. You’ll see… in Marseille we’re not all liars. »

When we got to the secret spot Marius dropped anchor and handed me the palangrotte (fishing line wrapped around a piece of cork). Just the word alone « palangrotte » warms my heart and to let the line run from the plaque of cork had me salivating in advance.

« Here Flèche, do me a favor, stick these mussels on the hook and get ready, I sense that we’re going to have a big day. I can feel it… good lord I can feel it!

When the mistral (north wind) started around 10:30 neither Marius nor I had a single fish. Not even a nibble.

« Damn it, they’re not biting this morning. It has to be the hellish mistral that makes them timid! And shit… the wind is starting to pick up big time… C’mon Flèche… let’s pull anchor. We’ll go and find shelter over by vallon des Auffes.

Well, my friends, vallon des Auffes… what a jewel! It’s a tiny port nestled in a crook of Marseille; « surrounded by little cabins, not bigger then a pocket handkerchief » (or, so goes the song of Vincent Scotto).

« Well Flèche… We didn’t catch our soup today, but who cares. We’ll go for a swim at the calanque and afterwards I invite you to eat a bouillabaisse at Fonfon. Yesterday I sold a painting of the Vieux-Port to a couple of english tourists; let’s go and celebrate.

Dear readers. If one day you want to eat a formidable bouillabaisse, don’t go any further. Reserve a table at Fonfon in the vallon des Auffes. It may not be paradise, but it’s as close as you’ll get. The moment that you enter this gastronomic temple you are intoxicated by the delicate perfume of saffron. I had my taste buds in erection and when the waitress brought us the menu we didn’t let her leave.

« Two bouillabaisses, Victorine, and a nice cold bottle of rose’… tell me are there favouilles (flavorful, small green crabs) in the soup today? »

« And how, there are favouilles! And there are also rascasses that were fished this morning, as well as vives and pageots (all small mediterranean rock fish) that are still wiggling around and if you want, we can add lobsters. Even the good lord hasn’t eaten a soup as good as this! »

And it’s true that even the good lord has never eaten a soup as succulent and perfect; it brings tears to your eyes. The perfume has the odor of an orgasm and the color of the « rouille » (a rust-colored sauce) was a ravishment for the eyes. You would have to have the palette of a Bonnard to paint such richness.

That night on returning to the house I couldn’t get the famous song performed by the great Fernandel out of my head: « The BOUILLABAISSE ».[youtube=http://youtu.be/oVWCRkVmnxE]

The next morning I phoned Cyril.

« Cyril… you know what? Well, I have a dream. I’m dreaming of going to Marseille to retire; of buying a pointu and keeping it at the Vieux-Port; of going over by Pointe Rouge everyday to fish for a soup! »

« You know what Flèche » he quickly replied « me too! I have exactly the same dream! »

Oh, how great minds are alike.