"From the South of France to Your Kitchen: The Delicious Debate Over Pissaladière!"
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"From the South of France to Your Kitchen: The Delicious Debate Over Pissaladière!"
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In Nice, the day begins early. Not with coffee — but with dough. And not with butter — but with oil. As the sun slowly stretches over the Mediterranean, bakers in the old town slide golden, fragrant slabs into the oven: pissaladière. Not quite a pizza, not quite a tart — and certainly not a quiche. It’s something in between. Something deeply and deliciously its own.
I remember a morning in Vieux Nice when an old woman — hands dusted in flour, eyes dark as olives — handed me a still-warm slice straight from the board. “Pas trop chaude,” she warned. “You’ll taste the onion better.” She was right. The onions were soft as jam, the anchovies salty as the breeze, and the crust just crisp enough to cradle it all.
Pissaladière is a dish of simplicity, yes — but also of patience. Onions must not be rushed. They need time. Time to melt into themselves, to become something golden and sweet and deep. And the anchovies? They should not shout. They should whisper of the sea.
The Recipe
Pissaladière Niçoise Makes 6–8 slices
Ingredients:
For the dough: • 250 g flour (2 cups) • 5 g dry yeast (1½ tsp) • 150 ml lukewarm water (⅔ cup) • 1 tbsp olive oil • ½ tsp salt
For the topping: • 800 g onions (about 6 large) • 2 tbsp olive oil • 1 small garlic clove, minced • 1 tsp fresh thyme leaves (or ½ tsp dried) • 10–12 anchovy fillets in oil • 15 black Niçoise olives (or Kalamata as a substitute) • Black pepper
Method:
🍷 Wine pairing:
A chilled rosé from Bellet, the secret wine region nestled in the hills just above Nice, pairs beautifully — dry, pale, and slightly salty. No Bellet nearby? A classic Côtes de Provence rosé will do perfectly. For something bolder, a Bandol rouge served cool will bring out the anchovy’s depth.
So there you have it — a slice of Nice without the flight, without the fuss. Just bread dough, a few good onions, and the sea in a jar. Eat it on a bench, or standing barefoot in your kitchen. And know that for a few perfect bites, you are in the south.
And if you ever find yourself in Nice, go early to the Cours Saleya. Not for the flowers — but for the pissaladière, still warm, eaten from a napkin, with salt on your lips and crumbs on your shirt. |