Paris and Tokyo are amazing food destinations for different reasons and, though I'd say I ultimately prefer Tokyo, most of my "What the fuck happened here?" mom

Paris and Tokyo are amazing food destinations for different reasons and, though I'd say I ultimately prefer Tokyo, most of my "What the fuck happened here?" moments happened in Tokyo. Like ordering a crab linguine only to be served a pile of fettuccine glued into a single solid mass with what looked and tasted like congealed Kraft cheese spread and the perfectly empty exoskeleton of a blue swimmer crab placed on top of it - like they had someone suck every morsel of meat out of it with a straw. There was no miscommunication: the elegant Japanese girl sitting next to us ordered the same thing and almost had an aneurysm wondering what universe her crab meat had disappeared to. Her expression similar to someone preparing for a particularly powerful sneeze that never came. I prefer Paris for relaxing - nothing better than sitting under the heated awning of a Parisian cafe with a table to yourself, a book, a pint of beer, a black coffee, a pouch of tobacco and watching people walk past. Well, pint[s] of beer. Or a bottle of wine.