Ah, the French. They make those cool new wave films. They have that whole “joie de vie” thing. And then there’s the obscenely fattening food. After all, who else but the French would take a fatty goose’s liver, put it in a terrine and ask us to eat it? Of course, these are the people who consider Gérard Depardieu a national treasure–even after that creepy piece of shit movie, My Father the Hero. Now before I start getting hate mail from the stinkin’ French consulate or something, we’ll tell you that we didn’t even eat at Marseille, so we’re not going to dog the food. We did in fact enjoy a few drinks at the bar though–and it wasn’t completely unpleasant. In fact, the bartender was quite pleasant (and quite American), serving us our beers and cocktails with the utmost proficiency and friendliness. The bar itself is at one end of the nice dining room, and besides being a little crowded, is pretty cool. The place is bustling with pre-theater folks and work-bedraggled locals. A thing or two actually smelled good as they went by. A former waitress from across the street at Don Giovanni once told us that she was coming to Marseille to be the pastry chef. That’s a little scary, but who knows. I only wanted to review this place as an opportunity to make fun of the French, and here I am talking the joint up. I’m such a softy. Maybe next time I’ll actually take a flyer and order some foie gras with my Stella Artois. [MF]
630 9th Ave.