The Pointlessness of Fondue

At the end of day two, we were invited by our rep (Scottish and as competent as their rugby team) for a spot of ‘traditional Austrian food’, schnapps and tobogganing. After a half-hour scaling of half the mountain we arrived at a dubiously rickety one man chair lift to hoick us up to our restaurant du jour. At this point it was snowing rather heavily – good news for the next day’s activities but less so for the idea of hurtling down on a kid’s toy.

Upon arrival at the top we had a nice warm Austrian Chalet awaiting us, with cold beer and that most preposterous of meals – the cheese fondue. Along with the joy of dipping stale bread in tepid cheese, one gets to eat meat dipped, out of sight, for an indeterminate amount of time. This is not the set-up for michelin-starred goodness. This is the set-up for crap meat cooked craply and dipped in crap cheese.