Hi, my name is Maggan. Welcome to Maggan’s kitchen—still in Paris!
This is not only hip (as you can tell by its name) but also a popular place in Paris. As soon as H and I entered the city, we were welcomed by the Hippopotamus neon sign. We should eat there! I thought screamingly. A second later, I calmed myself down with the thought that it was only our first night in the city of lights. Hold your horses Maggan! You have 3 whole days! Check in the hotel first! See you later, alligator! Oh, sounds vintage. Or should I say, latus, hippopotamus. Oh, sounds latin and nerdy.
Fast forward to the second day. H and I had planned to devote the day to the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de triomphe. Champs Elysee was a bonus. There was no way to avoid walking up and down that avenue (translate as checking out the shops). A pair of Cartier earrings for 17,900 euros?! Lacoste t-shirt for at least 1,000 euros?! The Louis Vuitton house of bags and purses streaming with Japanese buyers who were paying 200 euros for a small purse?!
Whew, what a relief to walk away from the spending crowd! H and I started walking toward the river Seine and the Eiffel Tower. There was another Hippopotamus on the way to the Eiffel from Champs Elysee. Well, closer to Champs Elysee and the shops, really. A strong sign that H and I should eat there today. The Hippopotamus wanted us!
Fast forward to a few hours later. H and I had seen the Eiffel Tower. We had walked along the river Seine. Got good souvenir photos that would last a lifetime (sounds like a Kodak commercial). Finally, it was time to answer destiny’s call. H and I entered Hippopotamus all ready and decided to order Hippotrio even before we were seated.
Bonjour! Place pour deux, s’il vous plait. Non fumer. We were then showed to our table and given the Hippo menu which would make an excellent souvenir for a hippopotamus collector. That is, if you know one. Unfortunately, the menu was too big for any of my pockets. Hippopotamus size, you know. The Hippotrio included an appetizer (salad or soup), main course (steak, chicken, hamburger or fish), and dessert (ice cream, chocolate mousse, creme brulee, or tartare). Drinks were not included, which was not unusual.
While H had onion soup for the entree, I had salad. It felt ages since I ate salad last. For the main course, we had a piece of grilled steak each, whose size were to our complete satisfaction. No time for guilt trips. I mean, how often do I have steak? Even less than sometimes. How often do I have steak in Paris? Never. So, the Hippopotamus provided the rare occasion to have it. H’s steak was medium with bearnaise sauce. Mine was well done with onion sauce. As it was, my steak was slightly resistant to the knife and challenging to the bite. Well done, remember?
For dessert, H and I had tartare d’ananas. What’s tartare? I know tartar from tartar sauce that goes with fish filet. I’ve heard about the Tatar ethnic group in Russia. Tartare d’ananas? My guess was that the pineapple attracted H to order it. I seconded H’s order.
Well, the tartare came. It was all but a scoop of caramel ice cream on a plate surrounded by diced pineapple. Beautiful arrangement. I could have ordered the dessert with 2 scoops of ice cream, which I thought was not French enough. But no, I had to go for the better- sounding tartare. Well, at least I got some pineapple bits.
H and I came out of the Hippopotamus very pleased. If we ordered the Hippokidd instead of the Hippotrio, we could have likely gone home with hippopotamus toys. Like in every McDonald’s kiddie meal. Mmm, after all that gastronomic pleasure, I needed a toothpick. My teeth were desperately begging to be picked.