The dish arrives, releasing a strong aroma of garlic. I look down—a pool of velvety butter shimmers back at me. I take a bite, hoping for the best.
To my surprise, it is wonderful—delicately tender, like high-quality chicken, the rich garlic butter enhancing every mouthful.
But what is this mystery dish? My day exploring Niçoise flavours had started hours before, on a perfect autumnal Saturday.
Stepping out of the hotel, I see cloudless blue skies. For late October, the sun feels warm, but the gusty offshore wind keeps me cool. Along a quiet shopping street, oak trees are still in full leaf, their greenery still holding on to summer. The enticing smell of coffee and pastries from a boulangerie draws me in. I sit down to a flaky almond croissant—the size of a small rugby ball—and a rich, strong café noisette.
I head south, across Massena square, to Nice’s largest food market, Cours Saleya. I am greeted by a fragrant wall of mint, laurel, thyme, rosemary, and oregano—the full bouquet that makes Herbes de Provence, each fighting for my attention. I battle the crowds to the fruit section, admiring plump red Thomas de Prince apples, lemons from the Italian border, wrinkly to my fingertips, and juicy Corsican clementines. The vegetable stalls display cherry tomatoes from Brittany, giant white Cevenne onions like mini moons, and foot-long stalks of garlic. Finally, I spot imposing wheels of Camembert and chunks of charcuterie.
The market sparks my appetite. In a nearby square, a stand sells Socca, a Niçoise speciality: a savoury pancake made of chickpea flour, delivered fresh throughout the day by a man on an adapted bicycle with a front-mounted warming vessel. It is tasty, though my mind insists it looks like a sweet crepe in need of Chantilly cream!
I walk off my snack along Nice’s famous Promenade des Anglais. The wide palm-lined walkway is full of couples, families, and tourists enjoying the sunshine. The pale-pebbled beach and the layered blue sea glint in the sun. Four Mediterranean yellow-legged gulls bob in the water like life buoys. Rows of blue and white chairs with umbrellas line the shore. I sit back, soothed by the sound of the lapping waves.
Leaving the promenade, I stroll into the old town. Narrow, car-free passageways are framed by grand eighteenth- and nineteenth-century churches and apartments painted in mustard yellow and terracotta red.
On a back street, I find a quaint delicatessen preparing Pan Bagnet, a French sourdough bun stuffed with slabs of tomatoes, thin wisps of spring onions and green peppers, generous amounts of tuna, tiny local olives, perfectly cooked hard-boiled eggs, and Provençal basil, all doused in peppery olive oil. The friendly owner adds anchovies at no extra charge.
Eating a sandwich this size is a challenge, and the battered metallic table wobbles so much I have to steady it with my foot to save my lunch!
Craving exercise, I hike up to the Colline du Château. The steep staircases climbing the hill are a solid workout in the afternoon sun, but the views are worth it. I can see the entire length of the promenade stretching towards the airport in one direction, the food market, and the old town in the other.
I head down the other side on a much more gradual path which opens up at the port area. In the harbour, small traditional fishing boats are dwarfed by the towering superyachts moored beside them.
As the sun fades, I head to dinner in old town. In the restaurant, I notice unusual lighting made with old wooden wine baskets hanging from the ceiling, contrasting with the modern cordless USB lamps on the tables. The waiting staff wear wooden bow ties, and there is a wall-length chalkboard with “have a good meal” written in at least fifty languages. Despite the cosmopolitan vibe, the cuisine they serve remains classic French.
A short while later, the dish I ordered arrives. The familiar aroma of garlic greets me again. I look down at four frogs’ legs, served with a simple green salad.
A surprising, delicious, and quintessentially French finale to a day spent eating my way through Nice.
