Casse-Croûte

By 10.00 there is a tense crowd around a dark gipsy-like lady next to an oil drum (filled with hot coals to form an impromptu barbecue) in the market. Any uninformed tourists who approach are first deafened-by the woman’s punctual half-minute shouts ‘saaa KA-LA saaaa KA’- & then puzzled; what are these people waiting for? The answer is a moped that scatters crowds on its lethal way across the market’s pedestrian precinct. Stacked precariously on the back of this two-wheeled wasp are wide flying-saucers of the Niçois chickpea crêpe ‘socca’. No sooner are these plonked down on the hot oil drum khan the gipsy scrapes up the flat, blazing-hot corn-yellow pancake in great curls. Money from the crowd flows into the gipsy’s pocket as smoothly as olive oil, and satisfied customers disperse clutching waxed-paper cones of the nutty-tasting treat. A new crowd forms to await the next delivery. It is an old Nice routine.