Okay, this first bit is just to whet your hunger, so skip this paragraph if you wish. I ate chez Hippopo last night: for appetizer, I had a carpaccio dressed in olive oil; for the plat principal, a nice steak saignant with roquefort sauce and a side of gratin dauphinois; for dessert, a crème brûlée.
Anyway, this restaurant’s motto, for the Anglophones, is ‘for the love of meat’. Indeed, my meat love was nicely satisfied. Apparently, my cousin’s asked for this place for his every birthday since he was like eight, and I can see why, although I’m more the type to ask for variety and thus make different ethnic food choices every year.
But on the menu, there was a little section called the Hippotheosis of the Desserts (Carnival of the Animals, anyone?). I’d almost be willing to wager that such a pun on apotheosis wouldn’t work in America, because few people use the word apotheosis. In Shakespeare, Professor Landreth explained the term while lecturing on the ending of Antony and Cleopatra, and before that I knew the term in connexion with heretical adoptionist Christology.
Perhaps I ought not to be surprised: the French are required to take philosophy to graduate from high school.