I’m going to the Melting Pot this Saturday, for the first time ever. I’ve heard it is quite an experience. I love melted cheese and the concept of dipping foods is pretty much heaven for me.
Sometimes I make food just so I can eat certain sauces and dip, dip, dip. Like those times when all I want for dinner is ketchup. I mean, as an adult, people think you are a complete weirdo if you admit that all you want to eat for dinner is ketchup. Instead, I have to bake a handful of Mickey Mouse chicken nuggets and use them to shuttle the ketchup to my face.
I need psychiatric care just so I can say to a group “Hello, my name is Heather and I am addicting to dipping. Sauces.” I can’t forget to add that last part or they’ll make me go to a tobacco support group instead. But that may be a good thing since I could get the whole group off tobacco and onto ketchup. Ketchup has to be healthier than tobacco.
So back to the original topic. Why haven’t I been to the Melting Pot since this restaurant was obviously designed with me in mind? I married a guy who loathes most cheese and isn’t a huge fan of dipping food into things. Don’t even get Hubster started on the fact that they are charging you money so you can cook your own meat at the table!
The Hubster is quite the weirdo.
I will be fasting on Friday and Saturday so I can get ready for the extravaganza that my Saturday night 4 course dinner will be. Then I’m going to pack sweatpants because the long drive home from the restaurant will be brutal.
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