Nomiya, an art-meets-food installation on top of Paris’s Palais de Tokyo, is one hot ticket. My sister-in-law, Yuko, had Jeopardy-button-pushing dexterity in order to secure this lunch reservation from—of all places—eBay. Availability was gone in less than a minute. Meant to be a temporary exhibit by French artist Laurent Grasso (hence the “limited-time fever”), it has been extended indefinitely: 12 strangers dining at one intimate table dangling above the Seine. It is most certainly more stunning at night, when Paris is illuminated beneath, but lunch had its artistic intrigue as well.
ONE The French aren’t rude. Here’s something I never thought I’d say: I think I like the French. (Cue the gong.) I lived in Italy for three years. Let’s just say I was Team Olive Oil, not Team Butter. Plus, everyone’s heard the stories of notorious French snobbery, especially toward uncouth Americans who don’t speak the language. I was prepared for a throwdown by Day 2, but it never happened. Taxi drivers doubled as tour guides, waiters were friendly and dutifully answered any menu translation questions, and even when we stopped into cafés for a quick coffee (obvious strategy for using their bathrooms) we were welcomed.