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DISH
No one knows better than she does how I love goats' cheese. Seemed worth a look. I opened one eyeball and saw … cows. "You woke me up to see goats' cheese made from cows?!" I pillow-whipped her and tried to resume unconsciousness. I was distracted, though, by what she was watching, "Smart Travels with Rudy Maxa." Rudy was in Switzerland, and the cows were making Emmental cheese. Immediately, I thought "romance." What's so romantic about Emmental? I'll explain; it has to do with a certain fondue pot. First, let me say that I love my husband, really I do. But he's genetically challenged in the romantic gift-giving department. I think when God was handing out that talent, he was stalled on the line dispensing "practical gift know-how." I still remember how upset I was on my 18th birthday; he gave me a Walk-Man. After we were married, I made it clear that I never wanted anything from him that plugged in or required charging, assuring him that I could purchase my own electronic items. I wanted gifts from the heart, not Radio Shack. Thereafter, he went into a state of gift inertia, a.k.a. "the easy way out." "I want to get you something you'll really like; let's go shopping together." I couldn't see through that one, right? I had to do the footwork for my own gifts. Well, actually, I did get a lot of good jewelry out of it … but that's not the point. Like any girl, I longed for surprise and romance. It wasn't until several years later, upon his return from a business trip in Switzerland, that he finally got it right. He was uncharacteristically thrilled about something stashed in his suitcase - something for me! Of course, I had to curb my enthusiasm; I knew full well that a diamondencrusted precision timepiece was not likely to emerge from his toiletries kit. What I wasn't prepared for was my reaction to what remains the most romantic gift I've ever received: a "caquelon," a traditional ceramic Swiss fondue pot. But the real romance wasn't just the pot. Granted, it was charming, with a hand-painted alpine scene on the side and all. But it was the crumpled piece of notepaper he produced that yanked at my heartstrings. It contained a handwritten recipe for classic Fondue au Fromage which a Swiss colleague had sent him home with. The best part of all - he wanted to make it for me. He went shopping for all the ingredients himself, each of which he was very particular about. The cheeses had to be the correct ratio of Emmental and Gruyére; the wine used had to be from Neuchâtel; only potato starch - not cornstarch - would do; the addition of Kirsch was essential; and the caquelon had to be rubbed with a cut clove of garlic before anything could happen. It was luscious. I found myself so enamored and moved by his gesture that I was willing to forgive years of future bad-gifting. Well, there's actually more to that … but the point is that fondue - traditional Swiss peasant food, eaten communally out of necessity, not whimsy - is the perfect romantic dish for a community of two. Although my husband's recipe might be worthy of being called a "classic," the fact is that there are as many varieties on the classic as there are regional cantons in Switzerland. It's believed, however, that fondue - past participle of the French verb "fondre" ("to melt") - originated in the Canton of Neuchâtal, located in the central Jura Mountains, bordering France to the northwest. Traditional lore has it that the dish was created by mountain herders compelled to make due with what they had: hard cheese, crusty bread, wine and fired clay pots. The wine allowed the cheese to melt and the result was the perfect foil for what otherwise would have been just stale bread and scraps of cheese. As with most dishes of peasant lineage, no one had a laptop handy to record recipes. But fondue eventually made its way from the mountains to the tables of Swiss aristocracy by way of kitchen servants. The first published mention of fondue was that by French gastronome Jean Anthelme Brillat- Savarin in his 1825 masterpiece, "Physiologie de Got" ("Physiology of Taste)". But Brillat- Savarin's recipe, which contains eggs and butter, bears little resemblance to what's believed to have been the original dish of the Neuchâteloise, acknowledging himself that his fondue was [translated] "nothing more or less than eggs scrambled with cheese." What's easier to trace is how fondue came to America. Following World War II and the return of U.S. soldiers, "Swiss cheese" fondue began turning up on restaurant menus in New York City. This was coupled with Switzerland's emergence as the winter playground of the affluent; elaborate ski lodges cropped up all over the Alps. By the late 1950s, with commercial jet flights to Europe available, the poverty diet of Swiss mountain dwellers had become the party food of international jet-setters, giving way to not only one kitschy era in the American home entertaining archives, but spotlighting the fondue pot as the de rigueur wedding gift of a generation. In 1956, Swiss-born Konrad Egli, Chef/Owner of Manhattan's once-fêted Chalet Suisse restaurant, put a nouveau spin on fondue, one that was sans fromage. Egli's creation consisted of cooking thin slices of beef in hot oil, a communal dish he called "Fondue Bourguignonne." But while his twist may have been new to the modern legion of fon-doers, it could hardly be considered original by 13th Century standards, when none other than Genghis Khan introduced what's still known as "Mongolian Hot Pot" to feed his troops. A similar dish of Asian origin is the more recently devised Japanese "Shabu Shabu" ("swish swish"), introduced in 1948 at a restaurant in Osaka and consisting of beef and vegetables cooked (swished) in hot dashi broth, then served with a variety of dipping sauces. Egli, however, did earn a rightful place in fondue history at the same New York restaurant in 1964: he introduced the world to chocolate fondue. It's speculated that his creation was more the result of a corporate marketing strategy conceived by Swiss chocolatier Toblerone, of the triangular ("peaked") chocolates (packaged roll-style) fame. Nonetheless, chocolate fondue has maintained its regard as an American innovation. And even Toblerone is now American; Kraft Foods bought it in 1990. So what's become of that caquelon? I'm sad to tell you that it hasn't seen the light of day since my husband's first turn at romancing the pot. I hadn't even so much as thought of it until Rudy and the goat-cows compelled me. (Psst - here's the worst part: I got an iPod for my last birthday.) Dag-nammit - enough is enough! That pot's coming out; there's no better occasion than Valentine's Day. But I think I deserve a little more than just fondue to undue all of those years of doing without. Crusty bread? He can keep it. Diamondencrusted doodad? That will do just fine. I SUISSE FONDUE
AU FROMAGE Long overdue- Rub insides of caquelon (or fondue pot or small Dutch oven) with garlic. Combine grated cheeses with potato starch in a large mixing bowl. Toss well to coat; set aside. Pour wine into pot and heat over medium heat until warm; add Kirsch. Add cheese by the handful, stirring constantly with a wooden spoon. Once each handful is melted, add more cheese until all the cheese has melted and the mixture has the consistency of a creamy sauce. Add pepper and nutmeg and bring to boil. Remove pot from heat and transfer to table burner. Adjust flame so fondue continues bubbling lightly. Serve with bread on fondue forks or skewers. Serves 4. |
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