| Cheese pot |
While spending parts of three days in Switzerland in between funicular rides to mind-bending heights in the Swiss Alps and window-shopping for wallet-busting Swiss-made watches, we had fondue. Although the word comes from the French word, “fondre” (to melt), the service staff at the restaurant simply called it a “cheese pot.”
| The funicular to Harder Klum |
Ordering was easy, or I should say, should have been easy. “We’ll have a cheese pot please.” See? Wouldn’t that have been a cinch? Yeah, well…after I asked for “fondue” I asked, “What comes with that?” No response. “I mean is it just fondue?” Same.
Finally, he said, “You must like cheese. It is a cheese pot.” My restraint was
unparalleled. “I hope you like cheese,” he said.
| The view from 4000 ft. |
Slowly as if to make sure I understood, he said, “Bread."
“Is that all?” I replied. “OK then we’ll take some French fries to dip in there.”
And as if I had asked a Frenchman to add Sprite to his cognac
or a Scotsman to pour diet coke into his whisky, he slowly turned his head
until our eyes met.
With ever so slightly raised eyebrows and a look of quiet
disappointment he said, “Classy.”
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