That's right, I said fondue. You wanna make something out of it?
It's a Valentine's Day tradition in our house (regular YASTM readers will attest to the fact that we have many traditions in our abode).
This year the girl's were old enough that we were able to train them in the ways of non-double dipping and anti-saliva-swapping fondue forking techniques, which made for a much more authentic fondue pot sharing experience for my in-laws (now infamous for their lack of food sharing proclivities...even with each other).
No, I didn't get the awesome USB powered fondue pot that I was jonesing for last year, but we did add a little dessert pot this year and I found a new recipe that looked promising.
Chedder and beer fondue.
Problem was, we're not beer drinkers, so there wasn't a drop of beer to be found in the house.
On went my Sketchers, up went my hoodie, and out I went into the chilly below-30 degree morning in search of a can of beer.
First stop, the local grocery store, which, much to my chagrin, does not sell beer.
3 years in this town and I didn't realize this. Shows how much I buy beer.
The barely 17-year old checker informed me that I'd need to go to the gas station to get beer. The gas station. Of course, how silly of me.
Gas stations in my small town have long been relegated to the Leave-it-to-Beaver era and are now meccas of consumables and general merchandise known in the modern vernacular as "convenience items."
The fuel gauge on my daily driver was hovering comfortably close to F, so I felt confident that the few singles I had in my money clip should be enough to cover my one and only purchase - a beer.
Unfortunately, the barons of petrol convenience stores have deemed single cans of beer as unshelfworthy, opting instead to populate the valuable wired real estate in the chilled coolers with multi-packs, multi-multi-packs, and mega-multi-multi-packs of the hopped up, malted, barley'd, grain'd, and pure mountain spring water'd beverage.
Way off at the bottom southern corner of the last cooler door on the left, I found what I needed....single cans of beer.
Only, not the 12 oz. normal 6-pack sized cans. These were 24-oz monster towers of pop-top aluminum, that are normally relegated to golf carts because the Beer Lady can be mighty scarce at times when playing 18 on a hot, summer day.
My dreams of walking out of the store with a single, little tin can of Bud Light along with change from a buck were dashed, as I reached for a can of the only non-multi-packed beer they sold.
Then the puritan in me (okay, I was surprised to find that I had a puritan side) found myself attempting to devise some sort of explanation to the elderly cash register wielding clerk for why I was buying what amounted to 1/3 of a six pack of beer at 9:30 in the morning....on a school day.
Quickly I reasoned that the truth would be too bizarre and more than the lady could comprehend, so I kept my fondue story to myself and resigned myself to accept that from now until the end, I will be labeled as a "morning beer guzzling alky" by a small portion of the population of my small town.
After I used the requisite 6 ounces of beer for my fondue, the rest of the can sacrificed itself to the spirits of the insinkerator.
Some might say, "what a waste."
Others may mutter, "what a shame."
My in-laws just said, "I liked that beer fondue."
3 comments:
Try being the preacher's wife who needs blackberry wine for cake.
A friend of ours who was the Pastor of a local church recently left to work with a worldwide charity in a "larger market."
Before he and his family left, my Wife chatted briefly with the Pastor's Wife who said in no uncertain terms that she was looking forward to NOT being a Pastor's wife in a small town.
One can only imagine the "pressures of position" she, you, and others in your situation must deal with on a daily basis.
The benefits to my family and faith FAR outweight the pressures. But it is definitely the "fishbowl" effect.
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