It was the concluding day of a five-day Conference on Tobacco Control. There was an icy wind blowing outside the Conference venue, though it hadn't snowed. The waters of Lake Geneva lay calm, sparkling in the sun. Our delegation hadn't had much to say the previous five days, so I made bold to ask the Secretary whether we could leave early and catch some sight seeing. He nodded, too fatigued by the endless drone of speakers to even say "Yes". We bundled ourselves into the gleaming Mercedes that the Indian embassy had thoughtfully provided, and our Iraqi chauffeur, who had told me the evening before that he was a PhD consigned to being an Embassy car driver by the US invasion of Iraq, suggested that we drive down to Gruyere.
It was a long and lovely drive, the road winding along the shore of the lake, giving us glimpses of its vast expanse. Past charming little towns and villages, past curio shops and cafes, we drove down with scarcely a word being exchanged, so entranced were we by the beauty of our surroundings.The cheese factory at Gruyere was a little disappointing, because it had a strangely antiseptic feel ------ one would have expected to be assailed by the fragrances of cheese, but it was more like an obsessively clean factory floor ! We bought a variety of cheese, and stepped out, the bracingly cold air sharpening our hunger pangs. A charming little cafe was the next halt. Our chauffeur, Dr Badr, stepped in with us, rapidly spoken directions in French for a suitable table were given, and a couple of minutes later, we were comfortably ensconsed in a warm corner, right next to the French widows that overlooked a huge expanse of verdant green valleys.
The menu was a bewildering sight, French and German being the languages it was written in.Dr Badr made the decision for all of us in the masterful manner that made me understand why tall, handsome, mysterious men from the Middle East have so often figured in Mills & Boon romances. A cheese fondue, he explained, is what we'd have, that creamy, luscious, hotly dripping cheese in which we dip bread and potatoes and olives which we oh-so-carefully pop into mouths, salivating in anticipation of the delicious tastes and delectable textures. And what will you have to drink, our gracious hostess asked , as she handed the wine list. That well and truly flummoxed me, because the shortest, quickest route to my husband's displeasure is the mere mention of alcoholic drinks !!! He won't even get to know, a tiny , devilish voice whispered, and what he doesn't know won't hurt him. I smiled at the hostess, and asked for tea. She stepped back in shock, and there ensued a rapid, passionate dialogue between the Swiss who had taken affront at cheese fondue being paired with tea, and Dr Badr who appreciated a devoted wife's sensibilities !!! A compromise was struck -----tea would be served, but without milk!
The cheese fondue arrived, the wine was poured, my cup of steaming hot black tea was also placed on the table, albeit a little condescendingly ----and we had the best "social" meal I have had among near-strangers, each of us dipping the bread and the vegetables into the creamy cheese, kept hot by a flame that burned just enough to keep the cheese silky smooth, not allowing it to turn hard and stringy. The aroma was fabulous, Dr Badr's anecdotes were scintillating, and would you believe it, the black tea tasted just right !! Back in Delhi, I am still to find the perfect place for a cheese fondue.
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