April 10, 2008

Last night, I met several of my friends, and friends of friends over at The Melting Pot for an evening of dining, drinking, and conversing. On Wednesday nights, they have the “Wednesday Winedown” - a fondue smorsgabord of cheeses, salads, chocolates, and wine.

Since there were 8 in our group, we had booked ahead of time and made our selections by democratic vote. Our two cheese choices were: cheddar, and spinach and artichoke. Not a fan of artichokes, I was eagerly anticipating the cheddar. No sooner did I start digging in, I hear someone talking to Billy, our server.

C: I’m allergic to garlic. Do both of these have garlic?
Billy: Uh, yeah - that’s one of the base ingredients. We can make you a plain one without it. What would you like?
C: How about traditional swiss?

(Oh yeah by the way - i HATE SWISS CHEESE. With a bloody passion.)

I’m still - very unladylike - devouring breads, veggies, and apples dunked in the cheddar fondue and thoroughly enjoying myself. The next thing I hear is that we can only have 2 cheeses on the table, and the cheddar is about to go in lieu of the swiss.

No! Not my cheddar! As my eyes darted to the artichoke cheese, I’m thinking - please, don’t take my cheddar. But I didn’t say anything. Instead, I sat and watched as they took my beloved cheddar fondue. And, like a child who had been given a cookie and then had it taken away, I sat there dejected.

That didn’t last long once I realized it was either try another one, or sit and sulk. Wine at the ready to choke it down, I tried the spinach and artichoke cheese. Hmm. Okay. Not horrible. Not too horrible at all. But it wasn’t my cheddar. I saw Billy go by and beckoned him over.

Moi: Do you think you can bring me back some of the cheddar fondue in a small bowl?
Billy: I’m sorry - they’ve already disposed of it.
Moi: Damn. Oh well, thanks anyway.

I guess he sensed my loss, for not long after that, Billy came strolling back grinning - carrying a small bowl of cheddar cheese fondue for me! You’re the man Billy! I would’ve planted a big ol’ kiss on him but was much too focused on the fondue. The little kid in me happily dipped and ate. Did I share? Sorry, nope. (If you’ve experienced their fondues before, you’ll understand my love affair.)

Meanwhile, we have salads coming.

I’ve ordered the California salad. When it arrives, I discover it’s covered with crumbled bleu cheese. Yep. HATE bleu cheese - more so than the swiss. (I’m a southern girl, what can I say? It smells like feet. I don’t eat feet.) Again, not wanting to be a troublemaker, I pick at the salad trying to separate the crumbled bleu cheese from the rest of the salad, and choke it down with gulps of wine.

Somewhere inbetween the cheese and the salad entree, the manager stopped by to remove the fondue pot. They use this clamp-like device that’s spillproof and heatproof. As he’s tightening the clamp, we’re watching him. He notices this.

Manager: Ladies, don’t get any ideas. My head won’t fit in there.
Moi: Maybe not that head.
Manager: Uh, uh. Your server will be back shortly.

Every time we saw him for the remainder of the night, he was mysteriously standing with his hand protecting the family jewels. Go figure!

A little later, they brought out the chocolate fondues. We had the Ying Yang and the Baileys. Can I just say that, despite the foobar so far, I was truly anticipating this course! And it did not disappoint. Served with platters of strawberries, bananas, coconut and cocoa dusted marshmallows, cheesecakes, brownies, and other cakes - it was better than sex. That’s right men - you ARE replaceable!

We capped off the night with a final glass of wine, and parted ways - leftover chocolate fondue and dippings in hand. And that, my friends, is what we had for breakfast at the office this morning.

Next time, we’re doing Hibachi grill. Hope they’re ready for us.

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