Only an adventurous few will enter Mai’s restaurant once they’ve glimpsed the cupboard-sized space that is largely filled with junk. Those brave enough to visit will, at the end of the narrow wood-panelled room, find an abundance of video cassettes, reams of sewing kits, blue tubs of Nivea, piles of papers, plastic bags and cardboard boxes filled with God-knows-what, and the token broken radio and telephone. There are only three tables to sit at (the fourth being entirely taken up with more papers, plastic bags, etc.), which are, rather surprisingly, often full. Mai is an old Chinese lady who’s about 2 feet tall and mad as a box of frogs – madness being no barrier to serving up delicious noodle soups and fried rice dishes. She will happily chat to her audience of customers in a mixture of English and French (don’t expect it to make much sense or be able to hear most of it, because she insists on calling out through the food portal of the kitchen). Behind a little counter is a 2-foot bed where Mai sleeps. Possibly the most surreal meal you’ll have in Paris, or indeed, your lifetime.