Mrs. O’leary’s Cow
Wt: 154.4 (1.1)
Mood: Laaaazy. But hey, it’s Saturday.
Breakfast 24 frosted Mini-wheats in 1/2 cup 2% milk = 270 calories
Homeowner’s Docket: Laundry, light cleaning touchup, trip to Lowe’s to look into wallpaper liners.
Lunch/Dinner: Unknown.
Exercise: Was supposed to go to the gym this morning, but I slept in. Will probably settle for 20 minutes of Dance Dance Revolution.
Last night, my groom and I dined at Swanky Bubbles on Front Street in Philadelphia, I put a lot of effort into looking goood — wore the one-shouldered top from this hostess shot and made my hair more voluminous than it’s been since 1989*. Swanky Bubbles is a small restaruant with a “Pan-Asian” menu and a champagne bar. Brick walls, candles, techno-ish music. Little city restaurant. Dinner was fabulous, and when it came time for dessert we eschewed the usual suspects (chocolate cake, creme brulee) for chocolate fondue.
I’ve never done fondue before, so I was delighted when the waiter arrived and put the dish down in front of us. A small, blue bowl with chocolate sauce rested above a tea-light sized candle. This contraption was in the center of a large, round plate that was filled with small chunks of fruit, tiny squares of pound cake, and mini marshmallows. We were given two long and skinny forks with which to skewer the morsels and plunge them into the chocolate.
Me: This looks great!
Waiter: And this is if you wish to toast the marshmallows first.
(He then sets the top of the sauce on fire and walks away) No, let me type this again: He. Set. The. Fondue. Sauce. On. FIRE.
Me: Good God, NOW what??
The flame made for a pretty sight, so I gamely took the waiter’s suggestion and stabbed two mini marshmallows. I flashed Thor a “look at what a sophisticated and elegant wife you lucked out upon” glance and delicately extended the fork over the flame.
The marshmallows promptly caught on fire.
Me: “Oh God oh God oh God oh God oh God they’re on fire! Fire!”
As Thor dissolved into laughter, I frantically started waving the fork around in an attempt to put out the blaze. But Oxygen FEEDS fire, so that didn’t work. I blew on my little fork-come-torch but to no avail. Finally, remembering the Dick Van Dyke “Stop, Drop, and Roll” PSAs I saw as a kid, I plunged the flame under some fruit on the dish and snuffed out the fire.
As I pulled the now-charred marshmallows out from the pile, I realized that in my haste, I had also blown out the candle meant to keep the fondue sauce warm and smooth. And I really didn’t want to call back the waiter. He may have set the tablecloth on fire to impress us.
“Why don’t you just set the marshmallows on fire again and use it to relight the candle?” Thor said in between hearty laughs.
While flashing Thor a “look at what a sophisticated and take-no-prisoners, you-making-fun-of-ME??? wife you have” glance I did exactly that.
Setting my jaw, I skewered two more marshmallows, plunged them into the pyre and relit the candle.
After I snuffed out my latest conflagration, the flame on the sauce (no doubt caused by a wee bit of alcohol on top) burned out, and we enjoyed our fondue.
Thor: You need to blog this.
So I did! This post will be enjoyed twice as much by people who have met me in person, no doubt.
*Hairstyles have been mostly straight and limp since 1991. For over a dozen years now stylish ladies have flatironed, blown out, and chemically straightened their hair. My hair is meant for bigger things. It was made to be curled, teased, and sprayed into action. It is meant to brush against the ceiling of the car as I drive to work. I don’t know how much longer I can get it to conform with this repressive style. Bring back big hair!
