Hello there, 

I’m writing from Arlington, VA, sitting outside, taking in some sun, and enjoying early spring weather. We’ve spent most of 2025 away from our home in Vermont: Japan in January, Texas in February, and Northern Virginia in March, where we’re cat-sitting for my in-laws. My tenure as house muscle daddy of Chez Kim-Martin was short-lived—hours after my proclamation in my last letter, I also sustained a knee injury while skiing. When you read this, I will be two days post-op after an ACL reconstruction. Gaston has also ruptured both of his CCLs (the dog version of an ACL, according to our veterinarian) and is having surgery next week. Luckily, Romaine is doing much better and healing from a bone bruise and a sprained ligament. Though it may be easy to dwell on the negatives, I’m trying to focus on the positives: the amenities of the DC metropolitan area, having access to excellent medical care, and the possibility that I may experience spring twice.

Though I’m enjoying the warmer weather, I find myself thinking about our little cottage in Vermont, the snow, and winter. In an attempt to embrace winter and cold and remain active, Romaine and I decided sometime last summer that we’d learn how to ski. We envisioned having a day in the snow, coming home, and getting cozy over a shared steaming pot of melted cheese burbling away, accompanied by a crisp glass of white wine and a crunchy salad. Though skiing is suspended until next season, fondue is not. Korean meals, by nature, are communal. For most Korean meals, each diner has individual bowls of soup and rice and shares the various banchan 반찬 (side dishes) in the middle of the table. On occasion, my mom would pull out one of her tabletop cooking devices, the butane stove for a bubbling jjigae 찌개 (stew), a little skillet for Japanese sukiyaki, or a griddle that we’d angle to one side for the fat to drip off the pork belly we’d fry and eat with ssamjang 쌈장, lettuce, and garlic confitted in pork fat. Cooking and eating at the table is one of my favorite ways to share a meal. Sitting around a pot of cheese and dipping hunks of crusty bread feels deeply familiar yet exotic.

At some point in early winter, I decided it was time to demystify fondue for myself and figure out how to execute this type of dining. Why shouldn’t I? I adore the seventies, love table-top cookery, and a little quest. I began where I often do: with questions to ask and research to seek answers. I went online and found I didn’t care for the guidance, lack of context, or basic copy-paste recipes and posts. So I ordered Fondue Cookery (1970) by Alison Burt. I must share that I picked this book purely based on vibes, as the reviews I found online were sparse and unhelpful. The moody cows on the side of the ceramic crock, the hunk of cheese with a teeny Swiss flag perched on top, and the sizable Sans-serif typeface on the upper right-hand corner of the background screamed seventies. When the book arrived and I saw a picture of her clad in a two-toned orange latex apron, setting her dimly lit kitchen for breakfast, I knew Alison was the one who could and should guide me through my fondue journey. I read through the book quickly; the recipes were variations on a theme, and I found her introduction chapters most helpful. I learned fondue originates from Switzerland due to geography and climate and because of eating foods preserved for the long winters. As the winter snows cut off the access from the smaller villages to the main towns, the villagers would rely on locally made cheese. As the cheese aged, it would dry and harden, and melting this hard cheese with wine was a way to make the cheese more palatable. Fondue originates from the French word fondre, which means to melt. 

Whilst I waited for my book to arrive, I began my quest to procure a fondue set. I knew what I did not want: electric pots (cords are cumbersome), tea candle fondue pots (Absolutely not. What is a tea candle going to cook?), or any type of fuel that I could not find at my local hardware store. I knew I could find Sterno easily, so I decided to find a pot and stand that would be compatible with that. I also love a good eBay hunt and searched for a vintage fondue set. I found one from the 70s in a vibrant shade of orange to match Alison’s apron, of course, and when she arrived, I was delighted by how vibrant the shade of orange was. But I was also disappointed because she was missing her lid, and the aluminum felt flimsy. Alison wrote the best pots are earthenware caquelons. Caquelon is the name of the fondue pot. This information I read after I ordered my pot. I’ve since learned that enameled cast iron pots are also a good choice, and aluminum pots are horrible to clean.

Romaine and I decided to make fondue on a cold, snowy December evening when our friend Joe would arrive from NYC. The day of, Romaine grabbed some oysters, last-minute groceries, and a crispy white wine before picking up Joe from the train station, and I began my mise en place, washing and chopping the vegetables for the meal. I popped the mushrooms, potatoes, and sausage in the oven. Then, I made a bright, zippy salad with celery I wanted to use up from the fridge and tossed the celery with chopped dried tart cherries, freshly toasted pecans, herbs, and a bright vinaigrette. I grated Emmental and Gruyere cheese in the food processor and cleaned up. Romaine pulled out the ice cream maker to make apple sorbet with local Vermont apples. We’d later top the sorbet with a splash of Calvados to make a Trou Normande for dessert, though usually, it’s a palate cleanser served between courses thought to aid digestion during lengthy feasts of hearty Northern French foods. 

Joe set the table, and Gaston pattered around, sniffing excitedly. I melted the cheese gradually on my stove in my bright orange aluminum pot and brought the melted cheese to the table. I lit the Sterno, and the blue flame gently appeared, contrasting beautifully with the orange pot. I speared a piece of potato and dropped it into the pot, swirling it around to mix the cheese. I lifted my fondue fork, twirled the cheese around the potato to avoid drippage, and lifted the exquisite bite to my lips. I sat silent momentarily, appreciating and reveling in the cheese and wine. I eventually returned to the table and joined the conversation again, the three of us joyfully dipping into the communal pot while the fire in our wood stove crackled merrily.

Chic, 

Jen

I’ve linked the Le Fondue Party menu and recipes for classic Neuchâtel fondue and celery salad below.

Moments of Everyday Opulence - The Dairy Edition

Small things that make my day-to-day feel more luxurious

Here are local cheese makers who make gorgeous cheeses that Romaine and I love to eat. Though it will be easiest to find these cheeses in Vermont, I purchased them from cheese shops in Brooklyn back in the day. I’m linking them below and sharing some of my favorites in case you see them at your local cheese shop or specialty food stores.

Dona McAdams and Brad Kessler are friends who own Northern Spy Farm in Sandgate, Vermont, and we joined them last spring to feed their kids and meet their adorable and friendly Nubian goats. They shared a beautiful meal with us, and we got to taste their chevre, halloumi, and exquisite goat Tomme, which reminded me of the French Tommes we’d buy at the fromageries when we lived in France. Brad wrote about his experience raising these goats in Goat Song (2010), and Donna recently published Black Box (2025), her photographic memoir. 

A book recommendation for you - Kai Thomas’s award-winning and riveting debut novel In the Upper Country (2024). Kai is a wonderful friend who connected us to Brad and Dona. 

Parish Hill Creamery - I honestly like all of their cheeses, and this farm is just a few towns away from us. Romaine and I can pop over to the farmer’s market to pick up their cheeses.  

Jasper Hill Farm - Harbison is the closest cheese I can find to Mont D’or in the States, and I adore it. I also love the Alpha Tolman and the Bailey Hazen Blue. 

Grafton Village Cheese Co - I love the Storyteller and the Maple Smoked Cheddar.

Rebop Farm - I’ve mentioned them in previous letters because I cherish this farm. Abraham and Ashlyn have suffered a barn collapse that killed one of their cows. They are currently rebuilding and fundraising to rebuild if you’d like to help.  

Dorthy Ashby's 1968 album Afro-Harping is an excellent dinner party album to play while you host your own Le Fondue Party. If you’ve come over for dinner at Chez Kim-Martin, you’ve likely heard this album playing in the background. 

Share Le Dinner Party and this newsletter with those in your community who you think would love it!