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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]
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