Guess what we did on Saturday? We ate cheese! Can you believe it?! Of course you can. I actually cannot. I mean, I hadn’t planned on it.
This is what went down… The Husband was going to spend Saturday morning over at Papa’s house helping him move some things, so I went along to see Papa’s Wife and visit my second favorite dog, Ruby (Ruby is looking very old lately and I’m a little worried…)
When we arrived I found a dining room table being prepared for a Raclette including the new Raclette doohicky Papa’s Wife had bought for New Years Eve.
A bit surprised, I turned to Papa’s Wife, “Are you having a Raclette?“
“Yes, isn’t that why you are here?”
Cue confusion all around.
Papa’s Wife was hosting a Raclette for lunch and Papa had forgotten to tell us.
Obviously it was fate that led me to the cheese.
Papa’s Wife’s sister and brother-in-law were joining us as well, making the total six which in my opinion is the perfect number for Raclette (although I have racletted with ten and that was OK and I’ve racletted with only me and The Husband and that was pretty good too so really any number is a good number).
And this time, unlike the New Years Eve time, the new Raclette doohicky actually worked. That thing was in overdrive, you couldn’t get a plate under the melting cheese fast enough (for the record the Husband’s plate was there the most, homeboy had eight potatoes covered in cheese… eight!).
Being in super-overdrive, the cheese caught on fire at one point. So it was like Raclette a la Flambé, which caused me to shout, “the cheese, the cheese, the cheese is on fire!” But I shouted this in English and everyone just stared at me.
Since it’s still January, and France, and you’re not allowed to get up from the table without dessert, there was a Gâteau des Rois, which I confess to normally not liking very much, I find them a bit dry and blah, but this one was à la chantilly, as in it had a thick, like two inches thick, layer of cream in the middle of it. I’m pretty sure that that two inches of chantilly has magically transferred from the cake to my thighs.
And my piece of cake had the little thingy inside (which is actually called, la fève), I’m not too sure what it was, it looked like a smiling bear with his arm around a mole in a chef’s hat (???). I wanted to take it home but Papa’s Wife’s sister took it home because supposedly a friend of hers collects the things.