A cafe at Cannes
| Photo Credit: Maxim Tolchinskiy

I have a confession to make. It took me a while to develop a culinary relationship with Cannes. The first time I was in Cannes for the film festival as an accredited journalist six years ago, the ritzy coastal city on the French riviera intimidated me.

During the festival, it comes alive with glitz and glamour — athletic French people wield their carb-starved bodies in power suits, wine bars buzz with film professionals, and cafes are shrouded by cigarette smoke where espressos and fluorescent orange aperol in long-stemmed, plump-bodied glasses are sipped by people sitting cross legged on fashionable wicker chairs with leather ridges.

That day, six years ago, to shake myself off the strange trepidation that overtook me, I went for a walk along the La Croisette, to reorient myself and investigate what culinary offers lurked in the streets spider-webbing away from the event location. After all, the festival goes on for two weeks and if I have to eat out every day, I might as well get used to the snobbish reputation of French cuisine.

The Tunisian chapati is India’s cousin, except it is a yeasty flatbread split and filled with harissa and meat or veggie fillings
| Photo Credit:
Prathap Nair

May in the French riviera is blessed with balmy sunny days, occasionally punctuated by rain showers that catch you off guard when you least expect it. The sky is a gorgeous robin blue and the beaches are filled with pre-summer vacationers roasting in the sun, sunscreen be damned. Yachts that later fill up with afterparties from the festival bob in the breeze and seagulls, the size of beavers, circle overhead menacingly.

I came upon a cart with a large cast iron griddle roasting a circular turmeric yellow bread slash pancake, flecked with thyme — Socca. I bought a slice after confirming it was socca and bit into it. As far as flavours go, it was one of the nuttiest pancakes I had ever tasted. Made with three ingredients — besan, olive oil and salt — I thought I could eat this for breakfast every day. Fate as it may be, I never found the food cart after that initial encounter, but I took it as an enigmatic welcome Cannes bestowed upon me.

Since then, my breakfast ritual includes queuing up in front of one of the numerous boulangeries (bakeries) in the vicinity of the festival venue and getting a croissant with coffee. Then, one day I discovered the creamy matrimony of pain au chocolat and croissant aux amandes. Let me explain: someone came up with a genius idea of slathering the insides of (usually one-day old) croissant with almond paste and chocolate bits and baking it. A new breakfast champion was born: pain au chocolat aux amande.

Yachts docked in the bay come alive in the evenings with the sparkle of Cannes afterparties
| Photo Credit:
Pragya Mishra

Lunch remains a pesky affair. Pressed for time between movie screenings, I sometimes go to one of the sandwich shops that line La Croisette and eat pan bagnat, a specialty of the region. In essence it is a hefty baguette split in half, rubbed with salted tomato and aioli and filled with salty anchovies and fudgy, canned tuna. The gush of umami from the tuna and anchovies never fails to hit me like a slap and I wash everything down with beer.

When there is enough time to spare, I go to L’Ardoise, an old school establishment with red and white checkered table cloth, large white towels, scrappy waiters and no-frills food. Or, to one of the numerous creperies to eat crepes with my favourite kebab filling.

But the most memorable lunch I have had was at the cosy Le Pompon, a perpetually booked out restaurant that serves elevated French cuisine. I continue to have dreams of the marinated seabream with a side of trout cream and horseradish I ate there one overcast afternoon.

Food at a restaurant in Cannes
| Photo Credit:
keshb3

Some days, bored with all the eating out, I go to a supermarket and buy a tub of mint-couscous, filleted anchovies swimming in olive oil and goat cheese. I pile it all in a bowl and top it with sundried tomatoes in oil then eat it over chilled beer in my Airbnb. On other days, I go to Rue Meynadier, a side street filled with restaurants and cheese shops and buy a small tub of lasagne or quiche Lorraine for dinner.

As my excitement about hunting for lunch and dinner grew, each day revealed itself to me like a Pan’s labyrinth of culinary excitement; a hole-in-the-wall Filipino deli where I had chicken adobo and ube sago coconut milkshake, a Tunisian chapati place where I got to taste brik, a triangular filo pastry slathered with harissa and stuffed with a whole raw egg and deep fried, resulting in a ooey gooey centre.

Tunisian Brik has a gooey centre and the salty, spicy kick of harissa
| Photo Credit:
Prathap Nair

Cannes took a while to reveal itself to me but now in my sixth year I can tell that there is everything in this town of tinsel, from French gourmet and fancy Asian to no-frills immigrant food. With Cannes, the success in food relies on picking a lane and sticking with it. That is to say, you don’t have to go broke or go home.