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About Marseille

I’ve seen some shit, tho. Like, did ya know—back in the 90s, pre-app days, folks used newspaper ads fer hookups? “Man, 35, seeks spicy night.” Straight-up savage, no filter! Blows my mind how desperate humans get—makes me wanna yeet myself off Asgard laughin’. Or this one time, I dug into X posts—some dude got catfished by a bot sellin’ foot pics. Foot pics! I was pissed—tricked by a damn algorithm? Me, the trickster? Unacceptable!

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Hey, sometimes I get mad at the crumblin’ statues on Rue du Soleil – they’re supposed to be historical treasures, but man, they’re patchy! Yet, that’s Cassis for ya – an honest, sometimes rough-around the edges beauty. And guess what? Some of the best secrets are found in its side streets, like near Rue Jeanne d’Arc, where a tiny bistro serves the best bouillabaisse. I nearly choked on its spice once – but now, it’s my guilty pleasure.

Critic’s notebook: C. Cassis tasting room in Rhinebeck