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Once is Enough

How did I miss National Cheese Fondue Day on April 11 and Chocolate Fondue Day on February 5?  Maybe because after Husband and I hosted a fondue dinner we both said, “Never again.”

            In a column recently, I wrote that by the time I had a fondue party, others had fondued for years.  Many of us long-time married folk received fondue pots as wedding gifts.  In the early 1970s, Husband and I heated cheese in our pot and dunked chunks of bread, but our only time to fondue with a group was about ten years later when we hosted a fondue dinner.

            In 1978, Husband and I and five other couples formed a supper club, that we named The Gourmet Group, and we began gathering in each other’s homes.  We cooked and served food from many countries, and fondue seemed like a fun and easy meal.

             Fondue originated in Switzerland in the 16th century as a way to use hardened cheese and stale bread during winter months.  So, melted Gruyere, a traditional Swiss cheese, and bread cubes was the logical choice for our appetizer.  As we six women planned our menu, we decided to make the whole meal fondue since each of us owned a fondue pot.

            Fondue appetizer.  Fondue meat.  Fondue dessert. 

            Husband and I set two tables so six people could share one pot. The cheese melted perfectly, we dipped bread and drizzled cheese on tables and our chins.  We dropped bread chunks in the pots and retrieved them with slotted spoons. We enjoyed every bite.

            The cheese pots were removed and main dish pots were brought to the tables.  The person in charge of main dish had researched the size to cut beef cubes, the oil to use, and how much oil to put in pots   Each person’s dinner plate held raw beef and sides.  I don’t remember the sides, probably traditional Swiss vegetables or salad, whatever those are. 

            We waited for the oil to heat.  We waited and waited.

            Finally, the oil was hot. Each of us put a piece of meat in pots.  After the suggested time, the meat was raw.  Hardly warm.  Maybe just two people could cook, but cooking two bites at a time would make for a long evening.  

            None of us were that patient so I pulled out my heaviest deep pot, put it on the stove, and poured in oil. We stuck a few pieces of beef on forks into the hot oil and within seconds it cooked.  Not perfectly, but not rare. Forgoing forks, we dropped beef cubes into the oil, which splattered everywhere, and quick-fried.

            I don’t remember dessert.  Maybe we ate strawberries and chocolate hand-to-mouth.

            What Husband and I never forgot was the grease – on the stove, the floor, the tables. Now, about forty years later, The Gourmet Group continues to gather monthly and if the word fondue is even said, Husband and I shake our heads.  Never again.

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