But then, I was completely stunned! Speechless, almost spellbound! Especially since I wasn’t expecting it at all. Nice is a city I don’t know very well. To be completely honest, for a long time, to me it was nothing more than its airport—a gateway to other destinations. That was a terribly narrow view.
Another Light
Marseille is rougher, more unpolished, more rebellious, and more authentic. I often say that the Phocaean city could be summed up by a Gainsbourg song: “Je t’aime… moi non plus.” Nice has a different kind of light, a different kind of gentleness. Old Nice is magnificent. The Promenade des Anglais, lined with palm trees, takes on orange hues at sunset, falling somewhere between Cannes’ Croisette and Marseille’s Corniche Kennedy. But I’m not here to make comparisons.
I walk, lose myself in the streets, and make the mistake of taking Rue Masséna, with its array of indistinguishable restaurants. Not necessarily cheap—far from it—but terribly standardized and disappointing, soulless, and of poor quality. A type of dining experience designed more as a tourist trap than as a source of joy—something we all deplore. Fortunately, a few side streets further on, I discover Chez Davia. And there, everything changes.
Alumnus of Louis XV
What I feel upon my arrival isn’t just a simple emotion. It’s an explosion. A whirlwind of flavors, gestures, smiles, and energy. Davia brings you back to life and reconnects you with the world of dining. Since 1953, this family-run restaurant has been celebrating and elevating—and for once, the word isn’t overused—Nice cuisine. Not by making it artificially elegant (a nod to La Petite Maison), since it already is, but by serving it with absolute precision and sincerity. In the kitchen, Pierre Altobelli—who spent many years in Alain Ducasse’s kitchens at Louis XV—is a master of his craft. In the dining room, even when service is in full swing, the team remains unfailingly kind.
We’re a far cry from the snobbish excesses of certain Parisian bistros and their exorbitantly priced wine lists. This place has soul. It’s full of life, but without any pretension. An authentic atmosphere, nurtured by a family of restaurateurs and passed down through the generations. Even before I read the menu, I’m already under its spell. Then the menu arrives, and I want to try everything: Mediterranean anchovies, young rabbit terrine, ratatouille, pistou soup, calamari, melon in sweet wine, figs, fish soup, stuffed sardines, beef stew… But I have to choose.
Gourmet Barbajuans
I start with the liche, a wild Mediterranean fish served raw, cut into generous cubes—larger than those in a hand-chopped tartare—served with olives and seasoned with olive oil. A bold, vibrant dish, followed by barbajuans—stuffed and fried ravioli—which arrive piping hot and deliciously crispy. And how could I not stop at the linguine with pistou, served with a few fagiolini and coconut beans? I take my time. I savor every bite. I’m dazzled by so many flavors, the perfect seasoning, and, above all, by such simplicity.
The pleasure is like an electric shock. For the next course, I’m torn between the beef stew—cooked in the traditional backcountry style—and the local farmers’ vegetables stuffed with lamb. I’ll go with the latter. Rich meat juices and slow cooking: the finest stuffed vegetables I’ve ever tasted. I set down my cutlery. I wait, eager to make time stand still…
I was planning to skip dessert, but some sound advice about the lemon tart made me change my mind. What a moment! I’m still taken aback, speechless, and overwhelmed. And I want to reiterate my praise, because writing about this dinner calls for neither restraint nor the usual formalities of letter-writing.
A luminous story
Davia brings together the finest elements of gastronomy: simplicity, a warm welcome, a passion for passing on traditions, and a genuine local identity—even if that term is thrown around all the time, even in my own writing. Here, there’s no need for artifice, long speeches, or marketing concepts. The sincerity of the cuisine, the warmth of the welcome, and the loyalty to the local terroir, to a family, and to a history are enough to create an exceptional dining experience. All these virtues combined seem to weave the fabulous story of Chez Davia: that of a small restaurant in Nice which, without trying to impress, offered me one of my greatest culinary experiences of recent years.
