If there is one thing I have learned from this trip, it is to explain yourself CLEARLY when speaking in another language. Don't just assume they can fill in the blanks. Even if you have to say something like, "the liquid that is burning" because you don't know the word for "lighter fuel", spell it out. "Mais, pourquoi?" you ask. Because otherwise, you end up with flaming fondue.
Tonight was my first experience with fondue. I swear, the Swiss have the best ideas. I don't know who came up with the idea to put melted cheese in a pot and dip bread in it, but the Swiss perfected it. Delicious. Very filling though. And it is essential to drink a warm beverage after eating it, or so I am told. Otherwise you'll end up with a block of cheese in your stomach. Healthy.
But tonight's fondue experience was a bit more exciting than normal, as far as I can tell. Mme has her own little fondue pot, which is as adorable as it is stereotypical. And delicious. It's like a small lantern from the olden days with a place for the fuel on the bottom, a wick in the center, and a wire rack for the pot of melted cheese to sit above it all.
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| C'est comme ça. |
Unfortunately, she was having trouble getting the flame to light because she had put in the wrong fuel previously. So, we spent a good while messing around with the matches to see if we could get the thing to work with the new fuel in it. Mme said the wick was too dry, as she had put in a gel when she needed a liquid. The wick would hold a small flame, but much too small too keep a pot of cheese in liquid form.
"Ugh! C'est pas possible!" Mme mutters as we stare at the tiny contraption now surrounded with used matches.
"Peut-être vous pouvez mettre un peu sur... uh, sur ...," I stutter and point to the top of the wick.
"Ah, une bonne idée!" Mme generously replies.
I smile at the thought of my genius saving our fondue dinner and then watch in horror as Mme pours some of the fuel directly onto the already lit wick.
It's amazing. Those little words, "Mais, arrêtez la flamme premier." I assumed they were unnecessary.
Never assume, kids. You know what they say.
So, long story short, the fondue pot and the table around it shot up in flames and Mme and I were running around trying to beat it down with towels. Finally, we opened the door and Mme chucked the flaming pot out into the garden. Woman's got an arm on her. It looked a bit like some beautiful shooting star, arcing gracefully across the night sky... until you remembered it was our dinner soaked in lighter fluid.
Moral of the story, explain yourself clearly. In all aspects of life. Otherwise, you'll be stuck listening to jokes about how you give terrible advice for an entire dinner.
