This conjured in me the same blinding rage as Emily in Paris and for the same reasons.

People need to be banned from writing about a perfect American girl being treated like a princess and incredibly lucky in Paris, finding themselves with colorful side characters who only live to serve them (and one Moroccan man, complete with a fez, to sell Pakistani spices and show how multicultural the city is, I guess). Bref, my scorn towards Americans is one degree higher and I hadn't even realized it could go higher.

At least the food was good, although the logistics of the wine and dishes had me anxious the entire time.