By Lily Radziemski
On a warm evening in Marseille, France’s second-largest city, throngs of people wander through the graffiti-laden streets of the lively Cours Julien area. Buildings are adorned in vibrant colors, reminiscent of the Mediterranean having washed ashore and left behind a palette of a fragmented rainbow.
As midnight approaches, the square remains alive with laughter and shared pastis. Most restaurants are closed, but a welcoming glow emanates from open counters, where the aroma of tomato sauce, cheese, and dough fills the atmosphere.
“Here, late-night fare isn’t generally kebabs or crepes,” my friend Simon, a local from Marseille, informed me shortly after I relocated to the city a little over a year ago. “It’s pizza.”
Marseille-style pizza boasts a firmer crust than the soft Neapolitan kind. It’s usually topped with Emmental cheese rather than mozzarella. Some attribute this to the historical availability of Emmental, while others argue it’s saltier and richer. Often, pizza artisans substitute Provençal marjoram for oregano and occasionally add raw garlic on top.
The quintessential Marseille slice is the moitié-moitié (half-half), a tomato-based pizza featuring anchovies on one side and cheese on the other. The Armenian variety encompasses minced beef, onions, and peppers. The Corsican slice is topped with sweet figatelli sausage and brousse cheese, akin to ricotta. Halal pizza can be found in Noailles, a district near the port.
This diversity mirrors the spirit of the city itself. Italians introduced pizza to Marseille in the late 19th century, and since then, waves of immigrants from regions like Armenia, Corsica, and Algeria have adopted the dish, personalizing it.
“It’s not vastly different from other prominent industrial port cities, but in Marseille, similar to New York perhaps, there exists a narrative of cosmopolitanism,” said local historian Céline Regnard. “The city perceives itself as a melting pot.”
Marseille epitomizes a collage of the individuals, culture, and history that shape its identity. Pizza serves as a means to explore this collage.
‘Pizza That Holds a Narrative’
Italian immigrants flooded into Marseille during the late 1800s and early 1900s, settling primarily in Le Panier, the city’s oldest area, where they established restaurants like La Bella Pizza, recognized as the city’s first documented pizzeria.
Joséphine Roccaro and her husband tended a farm in Sicily before relocating to Marseille in the 1920s, though the exact year remains uncertain. Initially, Roccaro sold pizza from a wooden crate on the street before launching La Bella Pizza in 1924.
The original establishment is no longer in operation. However, a nondescript black door near the Cours Julien leads to the vibrant hum of a softly lit, bustling space. The sound of clinking wine glasses resonates like wind chimes. The pizza maker stretches and twirls dough against the backdrop of a roaring oven. The venue is narrow, but when the weather permits — which is frequently in Marseille — diners pour out onto the terrace. This is the contemporary La Bella Pizza, operated by Romain Sapienza, 34, the great-great-grandson of Roccaro.
During a recent visit, Sapienza emerged from behind the counter with a grin. He opened the establishment in 2021 after years in an office role, expressing a desire to work with his hands, mimicking the motion of kneading pizza dough.
Having grown up in a nearby town, he reminisced about how both his parents’ and grandparents’ homes — less than half a mile apart — boasted pizza ovens in their backyards, as he browsed through old photo scans on his phone.
One photo captured a family gathering around a white plastic table adorned with a floral cloth, his grandmother cutting a pizza. Sapienza shared how his grandparents operated their own Marseille restaurant, although under a different name, during the 1960s. He noted that, there, drug dealers and pimps would dine alongside the police chief and tourists.
La Bella Pizza specializes in Marseille-style pizza, garnished with fresh garlic; Sapienza believes each slice should be firm enough to be held by three fingers — the thumb, index, and middle — and should possess a hard base with a soft interior.
“Marseille pizza is a pizza that carries a narrative,” he remarked. “We perceive the history, humanity, and culture through the food and the manner in which it’s consumed.”
Where ‘the Truck’ Prevails
Takeout pizza thrives in Marseille; over 50 trucks navigate the city, parking in different spots based on the day. People enjoy pizza at the seaside and informal bars, often proposing to share with those nearby. When the local soccer team, Olympique de Marseille, plays, it seems that everyone in the city holds a slice. Many even consume it while on the go, a rare occurrence in France, where mealtime is often treated as sacred.
Every Thursday, starting around 4 p.m., a white truck owned by Bruno Lafaurie, 48, the treasurer of the local pizza truck union, typically parks just across from the Notre-Dame du Mont church, a stone’s throw from La Bella Pizza.
One afternoon, a colleague of Lafaurie’s was silhouetted against the counter. He moved with a steady cadence, executing multitasking as if it were an effortless, instinctive dance. He took an order, pivoted to slide a pizza into the oven, spun back to the counter for napkins, served customers, then returned to the fridge to grab a hunk of dough and slam it onto the counter, kneading, spreading sauce, sprinkling cheese, and sliding it into the oven.
For 15 years, Lafaurie has operated this unassuming yet delectable venture: “There’s no name,” he said while I enjoyed coffee with him. “‘The truck’ is all it’s called.”
You are more likely to encounter offerings like the Corsican and Armenian slices at these trucks, which often feature broader menus than traditional sit-down restaurants.
“Each wave of immigration contributes its influence,” Lafaurie noted. “Every pizza embodies the essence of its time.”
