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There's something almost primal about the fondue experience: you immerse your own forkful of bread into a still-bubbling cauldron of cheese, remove the dripping morsel and get it into your mouth as quickly as possible, usually leaving a little trail all the way down the table to your chin. Then repeat, until you've consumed enough bread to make Atkins turn over in his grave and enough cheese to test the lactose tolerance of a cow. God, I love fondue.
So this week we're heading to Dip, a nifty little place in the east twenties noted for an impressive variety of cheese and chocolate fondues (among other good snacky things), for some neat specialty cocktails (the raspberry sake cosmo was popular last time I went), and for a spiffy design scheme. The first person there should mention PubNight or my name; they've set some space aside for us which will hopefully be enough. In the event that it's not enough, we've got the benefit this week of a first-class backup in Failte, a warm Irish place with a solid bar menu. (It's pronounced "FOAL-cha," Gaelic for "welcome," but I somehow always end up saying it as "felch." If we end up there I'll try to avoid doing so in front of the staff.)
See you there!
-Mike and the Triumvirate