Earlier today the wind here was gusting to 39 MPH. We’re not in Pennsylvania anymore, Toto.

Our friends threw a fabulous fondue feast this past Saturday. Imagine what Queen Elizabeth’s table would have looked like at Thanksgiving dinner (okay, so the Brits don’t observe Thanksgiving, but you get my point). Now transform all the food in your mental image into a vast array of cubed meats and vegetables, sauces and skewers. Now you’re starting to get the idea. We had an appetizer fondue composed of fruits and bread to be dipped in a hot melted cheese sauce, a main course of various meats and vegetables to be skewered, cooked and dipped in your choice of a plethora of sauces from around the world, and a dessert fondue with fruit to be dipped in a steaming chocolate glace. It was amazing.

But that, my friends, is not the point of this post. The point is the explosion. We were just beginning Course Two, talking and laughing, our stomachs rumbling in entree anticipation, when the pot on our end of the table began heating up. Oh, it looked innocent enough, but brewing beneath its pristine surface of cool cooking oil was the birth of a wild, volcanic eruption. Because the oil was cool, and thus somewhat thick — we hypothesize — a bubble of air and hot oil formed near the heat source, unbeknownst to us. All was quiet… and then, without warning, bloofsh! the bubble rocketed to the surface, sending a geyser of liquid a good eighteen inches out of the pot and spewing it over anything unlucky enough to be within range of its freakish fury. How cool is that? Thankfully, no one was hurt. It certainly didn’t stop us from having a second go at things once we surmised the problem. I imagine that with a little TLC, even the tablecloth will survive.

Have any of you had this sort of experience while fonduing? Or are the fondue gods just out to get me?