At first I thought I would do a post about the wonderful restaurants I have dined at in Nice, and promise a list to anyone who is visiting and would like to know my opinion.
The only thing I can say for certain is enjoy Greek food on your trip to Greece or if you are in Toronto, on the Danforth, also known as Greek Town. The same is true for Mexican food; better to leave that for your trip to California. I had a craving for “food from home” and tried two restaurants that will never appear on my list. I told a friend I was thinking of trying an Indian restaurant as there seem to be seveal in Nice, and he said they would be nothing like I expected—he is probably right and I will take his advice and forego the pleasure!
Nice, being French, but also having its history in Italy, has a cuisine that is a mixture of Italian and French. There are many Italian restaurants, some good, some less, and one a friend and I tried that was hopeless. I ended up throwing away the portion I took home for next day’s lunch.
There is one restaurant I cannot omit from this post, La Merenda. It is located at 4 Rue Raoul Bosio in Vieux Nice. It seats only 24 people and you can watch the chef as he cooks. It has no phone and you must go to the restaurant to make a reservation. And guess what, the chef was the two star Michilin Chef at Le Negresco!
I eat a lot at home, and a friend introduced me to Picard’s—frozen food that is really, really good and healthy too. Vegetables and fruit fast frozen, and entrees for one or two that don’t have you wondering why you ever thought getting it was a good idea. A step up from frozen pizza—although they have those too!
After two months of agonizing in the chairs (think steel folding bistro chairs with small seat pads) trying to seriously write, and finding no good cafe alternative, I found a reasonably priced “outdoor” chair with good back and bum support and arms (no, it does not fold.) There should have been a video of Nanou and me hauling it up five flights of marble stairs in my apartment building when, of course, the small French elevator was just a smidge too small for it to fit in. I hope I will be able to take it to my next year’s apartment—that is, if I can find an apartment before I leave. So now I have no excuse not to make some good coffee, put my bum down and Write Until There’s Nothing Left To Say.