Return to The Melting Pot

So in celebration of me not being at college anymore, my family and I went out to The Melting Pot. I have a history at that place that goes back a few years, but it's okay, because none of the servers recognized me when I arrived. We got seated and they brought out the first fondue pot. It was full of cheese.

This place again! Minus my nutty friends. Plus my nutty family!

When my family goes out to dinner, things can get pretty interesting pretty fast. Like this time. They brought us fruit, vegetables  bread, and chips. My sister grabbed the chips. My mom grabbed the vegetables  Despite her assurance that the cauliflower was delicious, I was the only one who tried it.

My dad's wearing this sweater that's older than I am. Turns out, it was a Christmas gift for my uncle back in the nineties, but my mom lost it and didn't find it until after Christmas, so it went to my dad. This would explain why it's too big for him. What it doesn't explain is how a garment that's almost twenty years old can be worn out to a formal dinner (although my sister is wearing a sweatshirt, so I guess there's a precedent).

The conversation turns to world affairs, because we're just smart like that. Mom says she'd love to travel more. I mention Scotland, and we both decide we'd love to go there someday.

"Scotland? Why Scotland?" Molly says.

"Because it's a beautiful country," says Mom.

Dad laughs. "I know the real reason they want to go to Scotland. It's because of those stupid--I'm sorry, heartbreakingly beautiful--romance novels."

"The Outlander books are good!" I insist.

"Get this, Molly," he says. "Your mother and sister are reading these books about these Scottish men who wear nothing under their kilts. Diane," he says to my mom, "would you rather I wear a kilt out to dinner?"

"No!" Mom says, thankfully killing the worst mental image ever.

The meat comes. We put it in the boiling broth. You're supposed to leave shrimp in for ninety seconds, red meat for two to three minutes, potatoes for four . . . and it's all really complicated and I don't pay attention. As long as there's no red, it's probably done. Molly, however, is pretty sensitive to getting it right. I hear her over on the other side of the table: ten mississippi, eleven mississippi . . .

"Tell you what," Dad says, when she's gotten to about one hundred twenty seven mississippi. "Why don't I let you borrow my watch?"

So meat is consumed in vast quantities. Looking  back, I'm surprised Taylor put up with that last year. What a good friend!

My mom and dad each stick a broccoli in the pot. Each broccoli falls off its stick. A hunt begins with the search and rescue spoon. The ownership of both broccoli things is contested.

Molly complains about chores. Dad tells her those chores are nothing compared to what he did as a kid (and since he spent a whole summer digging up and leveling his lawn, it isn't). Molly tells him, yes, because he was struggling to survive in the wilds outside of Princeton. To be fair, I know quite a few Princeton people, and it can indeed get pretty wild up there.

"You went to a prep school," Molly says. "What kind of hard work did you have to do there?"

"Schmoozing," I say.

"What's that?"

"Something you practice at douchebag club," I explain. Mom throws her head back with soundless laughter. Dad frowns.

"We're starting a family swear jar," he says. "Every time a kid swears, they put in a dollar. Every time a parent swears, they put in ten dollars."

"Sweet!" I say. "Dad, you owe me money."

He mumbles something about the jar not starting until January, so I guess I'm still allowed to swear.

The sever came and offered us the desert and drink menu. I wondered out loud if they carded. My mom tells me that whenever you're out with your parents, they card. She sounded a bit like she was talking from personal experience. Dad says what I really should do is bribe the waiter.

"Mr. Franklin says I'm twenty one," he says.

Molly winces. "That's a lot of money. What about George Washington? He never told a lie."

I laughed. "George might have been honest, but he's never been that persuasive."

"Try a penny! Honest Abe vouches for me!"

Dad shakes his head. "I think they'd throw you out of the restaurant for that."

Two hours after our arrival, we drag our full stomachs out to the car. It's parked in the same garage we parked in for my eighteenth birthday party, and I guess the more things change, the more they stay the same.