We went to a fondue party last night. Who would have thought that a warm pot of melted cheese could cause such mirth....especially when I spilled a load down my cleavage.
I can't even blame it on the drink, seeing as I was on the wagon after a somewhat over-indulgent previous evening at a regional communications managers meeting in Birmingham. Well, it would have been rude not to join in with tequila slammers on offer from the Cambridgeshire representative. I tell you, those East Anglian women can drink! At the end of the night it was only Norfolk, Cambridgeshire and me standing. Plus I was born in Essex and my parents live in Suffolk, so I'm East Anglian by default. And they always say it's the Northerners that have staying power!
Anyway, back to fondue. We had a steaming pot of Emmenthal and Gruyere mixed with white wine, kirsch, lemon juice and tiny bit of garlic, a pinch of nutmeg and black pepper. Very retro and actually very filling. I felt the need to release the top button of my jeans from their tight grasp and collapse on our friends' sofa with their menagerie of cats.
Match that with a "name that tune" board game, a long conversation about trumping (it must have been the veg we dipped in the fondue) and more cava for the girls, it turned out to be a very memorable night.
And the cheese didn't give me nightmares!
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