As the end of 2023 was scuttling towards me, I contemplated Dry January, briefly. I’ve partaken in the parroted exercise four times now, three successfully and one very much unsuccessfully. I didn’t contemplate for too long this year before deciding that it wasn’t in the cards. My Dad was getting married on the 13th of January, so a celebratory glass of champagne was always going to be drunk this month. I then decided, as many of us do, that January is a toughie, so why would I make it even harder?
One of the first pieces of writing I read this year was the Substack newsletter from Ha’s Dac Biet, a fantastic culinary duo, who I’ve had the pleasure of meeting and eating their delights a handful of times. They had decided late December, that instead of doing a Dry January, that they would embark upon a “No Restaurants January”. This would have been much more of a challenge for me, as my sole personality trait / hobby / passion project is eating out at restaurants. However, their mission triggered a thought, in lieu of cutting out restaurants altogether, I will attempt to choose my meals mindfully. To reignite the joy of cooking for myself at home and to temper my addiction to eating other people’s cooking.
Saying that, it has been a tasty month with a last minute trip to the south to soak up some sunshine and breathe a different air. Two trips out of the city allowed for a break from the repetition that I sometimes feel in Paris, one joyous marriage in Tbilisi and one attempt at restoration in Marseille.
This newsletter is taking on a slightly different format now, with my monthly recommendations and reviews being principally available to paid subscribers. But fret not, there will still be a free monthly roundup available on my Instagram page, and I have even rejigged the layout. 2024 is the year of being organised?
Special mentions this January go to Dawnie Perry, my very good pal, and her record-breaking pop-up at Les Oeillets. A hungover airport / aeroplane Wendys, three consecutive Pret visits whilst dealing with a 3h30 delay for a train and finally, A Moro in Marseille reminding me why I love restaurants.
A Moro
I was recommended A Moro by my charming serveur at Livingston the night before and he said be sure to call first thing in the morning to book a table, otherwise you’ll be out of luck. I called, booked my table for one, arrived and was seated at the bar, which is like the celebrity spot for me. The bar was inox, there was a Liverpool football flag on the wall, two servers: a boy and a girl drifted gracefully around each other punctuated by a quiet “chaud” (French version of Carmy’s “behind”). Being on holiday (weekend) and in the South, a glass of red wine at lunch felt acceptable, and apparently so did two glasses. A light grenache was poured and I chose my entrée and plat off the speedily written blackboard. The restaurant is open from 12pm until 2pm from Monday to Friday, and for Thursday and Friday dinners, and the menu changes daily. Entrée + Plat / Plat + Desert for 23eu or all three for 26eu, with a choice of five starters, three mains, and two puddings, the quality-price point is fantastic. From what I understand, the Vitello Tonnato doesn’t budge off the menu, as it is such a big seller. I ordered a focaccia bruschetta with anchovies, and an orecchiette with lemon cream, pistachio, and a gremolata. Focaccia was fluffy as anything but lightly grilled which allowed extra absorption of the acidy tomatoes and salty anchovy juice. Heaven in the winter to have such a yummy tomato dish, thanks to the Southern sun I guess! Sadly, the orecchiette shape was sold-out by the time my plate was arriving, so was replaced by rigatoni. An acceptable swap but I was slightly forlorn as I do love the “little ears”. This tristesse quickly subsided when I tasted the lemon-y, pistachio sauce and I forgave the kitchen. A friendly chat with the chef who came out at the end of service solidified my already very positive review of the beautiful little spot.