Imogen Rowland continues her gooey quest.
After a pleasant but tame initial fondue experience at Bedford and Strand, I was beginning to lose hope. Perhaps that evasive golden gloop was the stuff only of ski-season fables. And, as someone who never learnt how to stop while skiing -even when forming the perfect snow-plough stance I still just careered hopelessly downward - I feared that I might never reach that yellow nirvana of the perfect cheese fondue.
Then, I found L’Art du Fromage. Trust Chelsea to come up with the goods. Purveyor Julien sat us down with a knowing smile. He gave us the menus, but we both understood it was an empty gesture, unnecessary for the case in hand. In my very best French (accent), I told him: ‘Bringonzefromage, tout de suite!’.
He looked a bit confused, but seemed to understand.
And, well. How to put it? The fondue Savoyarde – a heady combination of Emmental, Comte and Beaufort flambéed in Kirsch in front of our eyes – was the stuff of dreams (and subsequent cheese-fuelled nightmares, in the best possible way).
Our fellow diners were equally enthralled – one table with steak fondue gurgling proudly, the others scraping raclette urgently from their table-top grill.
My only concern is this: did we peak too soon? What is to become of my fondue-fuelled quest, if it has already reached this level of exper-cheese (sorry)?
Find out next time…