The Melting Pot

Photo: The Melting Pot

Christa and I recently ate at the Melting Pot, a fondue restaurant about which I've heard only good things. We walked through the door at 7:20pm, ten minutes before our reservation time. After te hostess informed us that we'd be waiting a few minutes, we overheard her mention to a party that arrived well before us that "finding a waiter" for them was taking some time. Christa and I looked at each other resignedly. Forty minutes later we were seated in a comfortable booth at a glossy, cultured stone table equipped with an electric burner in the center that read "Caution: Very Hot."

Atop the burner rested a fondue double-boiler pot. When our waitress introduced herself and took our order, she turned began heating it by flipping a concealed switch beneath our table. For our dinner, we settled on the "Big Night Out," a four-course monster that began with a cheese fondue appetizer and salad, then moved to a fondue-cooked entree and finished with chocolate fondue-based dessert. We were ready for all of it.

And, just to be fancy, Christa ordered a small, delicious, bright-pink rum cocktail. And in only two hours sipped out nearly a fourth of it.

Our empty fondue pot heated and began bellowing steam, signaling to the waitress it was time to add fondue. She returned with our drinks and poured what must have been close to two cups of white wine and sherry into our pot. Next in were scallions and large portions of Fontina and Butterkäse cheeses which she stirred into a smooth cream. Finally, she melted in several crumbles of buttermilk bleu cheese. The fondue was piping, and the scent of the boiling wine climbed into our noses. The waitress instructed us on the use of our fondue prongs -- long, primitive spear-like implements with which we would stab a tasty morsel and submerge it beneath the fondue -- and served us chunks of fresh breads, apples and vegetables. "Dip these," she spoke. And we did.

Repeatedly, we dipped.

Our salads came next. Mine was insalata caprese, dressed lightly with a mild balsamic vinegar. I don't recall Christa's salad, unfortunately; I was too focused on the food in front of me to even offer her a bite of mine. She reminded me of this, it seemed, as she picked up her fork to eat hers.

During the course of salad, our cheese fondue was purged and replaced with a coq au vin fondue: rich, aromatic chicken stock and thick burgundy. This was allowed to simmer briefly before the waitress brought our entrees on a very large plate -- raw, bite-size portions of beef filet, pork, shrimp, pasta, chicken and lobster -- accompanied by several dipping sauces and more fresh vegetables. Everything would cook in two minutes, she said, excepting one minute for the seafood and pasta. We grabbed our fondue prongs and began stabbing. I took a piece of filet and doused it in the boiling fondue. Christa also stabbed something, but I, too much involved in my own affair with the filet, wasn't paying close attention.

Since I don't often stew meat, much less bite-size chunks of meat, I placed my phone on the table and used its digital clock to get an accurate cooking time. Two minutes later, I removed the filet and watched it steam as I set it on my cool, metal plate. (That was a curiosity, the metal plate with picnicware-like dividers. The only other time I've eaten from a metal plate was while in the outdoors, where ceramics, obviously, are easily breakable and unwelcome. The place insisted on using metal plates anyway.)

I hadn't tried the sauces, one of which was bright yellow and curry-flavored, we were told. I drizzled some on my chunk of filet, then eagerly bit into it. Mustard and fenugreek hit my tongue, followed by a pleasant combination of spices whose burn lingered on the back of my tongue after finishing the bite. Perfect, I thought. I wanted more. No, I needed more.

Since each bite required cooking -- an agonizing wait, I assure you -- we finished our entree over the course of an hour, which prevented rapid eating and the uncomfortably full feeling I might have otherwise endured after such an Olympic meal. For dessert we chose the s'mores chocolate fondue, consisting of melted milk chocolate topped with toasted marshmallows and mashed graham crackers. Into this we dipped bites of brownie, pound cake, cheesecake and strawberry slices.

Surprisingly, the Big Night Out was not followed by a commensurately Big Bill; it was very reasonable for hours of eating.