I am staring at the peeling walls and worn wooden chairs and wondering about Carlos Ghosn’s taste in restaurants. The multinational car mogul whose empire straddles the world from France to Japan has held parties in Marie Antoinette’s palace in Versailles. Yet I have just stepped through the lace-curtained doors of Paris’s Joséphine Chez Dumonet into an old-fashioned bistro, seemingly unchanged since the owners bought it in the 1950s. To my left, a lonely poster features a stand-up comedian; to my right, a frame holds a decaying theatre review. By the time Ghosn walks in, looking relaxed in an unbuttoned white shirt under a dark blue business suit and warmly shaking hands with every waiter at the door, I am sipping champagne and nibbling on a copious portion of foie gras rushed to my table as the first amuse-bouche. "Joséphine is special and homey," he says, taking a seat opposite me at his usual corner table. "They tell you what to eat depending on what they have: the latest meat, ...

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