Not NYC

We went out last night with our friends. We went to "The Melting Pot"--anyone been there? It's a total 70s throwback, but with modern flair. A 21st century fondue restaurant. It's all fondue. Fondue for you, fondue for me, and hey, some fondue for the guy over at table 34. A few considerations before you go:

-It's overpriced. I mean, for God's sake, you cook your own food--what the hell are they charging you for?
-The stink. Oh man. It's worse than a Mexican restaurant.
-The waitress. I can't remember her name, but if she comes across like a used-car salesman, that's her. Just leave.
-You get tons of cheese fondue, but minimal chocolate fondue. What kind of anti-Christ establishment is this?

Let's just relive the nightmare, waitress experience: We're seated. The waitress walks by, tray in hand, and says, "I'll be right with you--let me drop this off to another table." Okay, no problem. 5 minutes later, she comes breezing by again, "I'll be right with you--let me go check this other table." Deja vu? Ten minutes later, she shows up and asks, "Have you all been here before?" to which we all staunchly reply, "YES," half because we're annoyed with her lack of service, and half because we're all dehydrated and starving. So she says, "Well, let me do a quick walkthrough of our menu." Huh? Didn't we say we'd been there before? And of course, the menu is one of those semi-complicated things that's going to require hours of explanation. Scott pitied her, so he "followed along." I sat there wondering if this was going to help my constipation, or just hinder what has already been hindered upon. The lady finally finishes reading the book of a menu, and takes our drink order, which she didn't write down. Which she promptly screwed up. Hell, I can remember the damn drink order: A Stoli martini, straight up, 2 olives; an apple martini; water; and Jack and Coke (I'm the water). She comes back with 2 unchilled martini glasses--one with 3 olives, and the other with a slice of apple. Then, she proceeds to pour the stoli martini over the apple. --sigh-- She goes back to the bar, then comes back with a chilled martini glass for the apple martini. She gets it right this time, woo hoo!

We wait for 10 more minutes. Oh, can she take our order? Damn skippy. 10 minutes later, she brings out the cheese to make the fondue. Do you fondue? I do? How 'bout you? Fondue? I do! It then occurs to me that being the "odd man out," in a group of four drinkers with meat pokers--that's the technical term for "fondue forks"--is not a good thing. So, I order an apple martini--it's the peer pressure, I always give in. It was pretty good, but oh-so-sweet, so I couldn't do more than one. My best friend, who I am now naming the "World's Greatest Lightweight," was three sheets to the wind, and is just the most charming drinker in the whole state of Texas, and maybe even Arkansas and Louisiana, too. She's a hoot when she's sober, but when she starts drinking, she turns into a giggly, ball of blonde ambition. She's hilarious. Everything all of a sudden has sexual conotations. I'm not sure how this came about, but there was talk of having three balls. And I'm not talking about meatballs. Well, I am, kind of. All this over the first fondue course. (By the way--the waitress fondued the cheese, then left. Never to be seen again--at least until the cheese was gone.) Did you know that the cheese-crust that's burned onto the bottom of the fondue pot is supposed to be eaten? WTF? It's a delicacy among fondue afficionados. First off, it's called "cheese skin"; secondly, that's frickin disgusting; and thirdly, what the hell makes you a "fondue afficionado"?? Well, check out this link, Fondues and Dont's, to find out.

Alas, no one at our table is an "afficionado," so there was no eating of the cheese skin. After the cheesiness was gone, we got our main course fondue pot, which was supposed to contain "coq du vin." I don't speak French, nor do I pretend to, but that means, "Rooster in wine." Not that I was EXPECTING a rooster in my fondue, but there wasn't one. That would have been interesting--the waitress takes the lid of the pot and (insert rooster sound here) out jumps a rooster! Nevermind. Back to the "coq du vin": So, we're all drooling like ravenous wolves, having been tempted by the cheese, so we're staring at the pot of roosterless-broth. AFter ten minutes of heating, the waitress comes back, looks at the pot, and says, "Wait...that's oil. Didn't you want 'coq du vin'?" Oh, for God's frickin sake! We're starving and thinking, "Sweet baby Jesus! Now we have to wait ten MORE minutes to eat?" But all was repaired when the waitress said, "Oh, don't worry, I'll just heat it up in the microwave." Microwave? So much for the frickin "fondue" experience. She heated up our rooster wine in the microwave, and slapped it on the table. Then we all got our raw meat and boiled it. I felt slightly transient, because really, who eats boiled meat?

We ate and ate and ate. We boiled all the meat, and then some. Then we ordered chocolate fondue. We got totally screwed on that one. Not EVEN enough chocolate for four people. But I digress. We walked out, overfull, and happy.

So I ask, "Do you fondue? I do!"