Second to None

26. french restaurant

Ryoma took Mayu on his motorbike to bypass the rush-hour congestion. He zipped through impossibly narrow alleyways and side streets at a dizzying speed. Twenty minutes later, they stopped in a secluded quarter in Azabu. The French restaurant was in a medium-sized house. Strings of lights decorated the front entrance like stars were descending from the rooftops. The exterior was made of wood-panel walls painted burgundy and embossed with gold letters. 

"Here's the place that's been recommended to me over and over again," he said while parking his motorbike. "What do you think?"

Mayu pretended to think. "It'll do. What's so wonderful about it?"

"I'm told it's authentically Parisian."

"I'll be the judge of that," said Mayu. 

After they were seated in the back, she warned, "By the way, if you plan on asking about Paris all night, then I'm out of here. The entire Japan seems to think France is only Paris. They're so infatuated with this idea that they develop Paris syndrome."

"Paris syndrome? What's that?"

"Japanese tourists fainting from disappointment on their first trip to Paris because it isn't as beautiful and perfect as they were made to believe."

Ryoma laughed. "What's more sad is that I don't doubt you for a second. Leave it to us Japanese to develop such a condition." Recomposing himself, he said, "But I wasn't going to ask about Paris. I was going to ask which city you're from."

"You're saying this now to save yourself."

"You got it."

Somehow, his straightforward answer dragged a smile out of Mayu. "Even if I tell you, I don't think you'd be able to point it out on a map."

"Let's try."

"I'm from Lyon."

"Ah. The gastronomy capital of the world."

She was taken aback. "How did you know?"

"Learned from the Americans. They're obsessed with French cooking."

"Because of Julia Child, the famous American who lived in Paris and then popularized French cooking?"

"That's it," he said. "There's a famous market in Lyon, isn't there?"

"Paul Bocuse market. It's in honor of one of the greatest chefs. Plus, they serve otherworldly wine-braised chicken."

Waving over the waiter, Ryoma said, "Let's hope the food here doesn't taste like trash to you." He ordered the wine-braised chicken and Mayu ordered duck breast. Ryoma didn't drink, yet Mayu didn't hold back on ordering the most expensive wines on the menu.

When the food arrived, Ryoma nudged his plate towards her and said, "It's time to test out the authenticity factor."

Mayu cut a small slice of chicken and took time to chew. "It's not bad. It's a bit light on the pork fat and the chef didn't use the right wine—it's supposed to be Burgundy wine."

"Impressive, you could even point out the terroir." Jokingly, he added, "Maybe you should come with me to every French restaurant so I know which place is worthwhile."

Mayu tried to ignore the nameless flutters in her stomach. Aloud, she said, "An international city like Tokyo likely has quality French restaurants. Not that I'd know for sure—this is the second one I've been to."

"You don't have French food often?"

"Not really." Mayu shrugged. "I prefer Japanese food, anyway."