Fondue. Photo: 02b, flickr.

Just when you thought fondue was any combination of melted cheese bubbling away in a pot, along comes the Swiss government with their strict rules and regulations. Not that we're surprised -- a country known for its precision and design sense would naturally prefer to mandate the definition of exactly what goes into the pot.

According to the Canadian Press, a new national cookbook, "The Swiss Cookbook," put out with the help of the country's tourism agency defines the recipe as a mix of "only Vacherin and Gruyere cheeses mixed with Fendant wine and a dash of kirsch (cherry) schnapps." The book even includes instructions on the proper way to eat the fondue, including stirring tips and what to drink with the dish. Aside from the classic fondue recipe, the book packs more than 140 national dishes for rib-sticking mountain fare.

After the jump, get the authentic fondue recipe.

Last night on a subway halfway under the East River a quick purse excavation confirmed what we suddenly feared -- a distinct lack of house keys on our person. The day's lunch of leftover Easter ham and homemade challah bread satisfied our epicurean side but was woefully inadequate when it came to blood sugar maintenance -- hence the walking away, the leaving the keys behind and the "aw, crap!"

We panic a tad in moments like this and scramble right to our happy comfort place -- mentally cataloging the contents of our fridge, flipping the pieces this way and that until they interlocked and a picture formed.

The ham, gotta get through the ham. Well it could go with the red cabbage ... no, no ... the scallions. And eggs, oh right! We remembered to buy eggs. Tortilla espanola? Oh wait, got it -- still have that puff pastry left over from the Eccles cakes and that makes ... sacre damn bleu! We've got the makings for a serious quiche -- if we can actually get into the house.

By some strange miracle (we like to think it's The Secret, of course) our beloved husband materialized on the same train car two stops before ours, and in lieu of a civilized "Hi honey, how was your day?" we collapsed into him sighing "We'regonnahavequichetonightpleasedon'targue." Once in the house, we made a beeline for the Julia Child to verify proportions, and got to rolling, chopping, whisking -- grateful not to have to think, just to act. Half an hour later, there was a ridiculously delicious quiche in front of us, without single extra cent or second spent at the grocery store.

Perhaps y'all are more forward-thinking than some of us, but when do you actually decide what's going to be for dinner that night? Do you cook it all up on Sunday, and apportion throughout the week? Do you daydream about what's on hand and pick up any extra ingredients on the way home? Or do you stand in front of the fridge, staring, and make do with what's in front of you?




Get the Ham and Gruyere Quiche recipe after the jump.

I love baked spaghetti, even if I haven't had it in many, many years. I first had it over a friend's house. His wife made it once in a while and it tasted so fantastic - all salty and cheesy. She made it without any tomatoes or tomato sauce of any kind, and I'm not sure of her exact recipe (I'll have to call her soon to get it), but this recipe sounds damn good too. I don't think my friend uses Gruyere and Gorgonzola (she probably uses cheddar, mozzarella, and/or Parmesan), and she used to break apart her spaghetti so it would be easier to eat, but I'm going to try this one.

Saturday night, I had some people over for fondue. It was a dinner that a friend and I put up in a service auction last spring and it was due time to give the winners the event they had won. I did both cheese and chocolate, all with a varied array of appropriate dippers. Someone commented, as they took in the number of things I had put out to dip, that they'd never really been given so many options of things to dip.

I served the cheese fondue with the traditional chunks of bread as well as pieces of grilled and cubed chicken, blanched veggies (broccoli, carrots and brussels sprouts) and grape tomatoes. The chocolate was matched up with pound cake, chunks of rice crispy treats, shortbread cookies, pineapple, strawberries, apples, oranges, banana and pears. I was disappointed with the cheese fondue, for the first time ever, it was sort of chunky in texture. I don't know why that happened. However, it was totally redeemed by the chocolate. Smooth and the perfect consistency, it was a winner. The recipe is after the jump.

Sometime last week, while I was on the phone with my mom, she said, "Just a second, there's a recipe I want to read to you." Pulling out an ancient pumpkin cookbook, she proceeded to narrate a recipe that consisted of pumpkin, potato, cheese and egg, all mashed together and baked in a casserole dish. It sounded yummy, but a little plain, and so I tucked it into the back of my mind to let it hang out for a couple of days.

Then Friday rolled around and I needed a recipe that would be delicious, seasonal and just ever-so-slightly impressive because it would be my offering at the first-ever Philly food blogger potluck. I called my mom for the exact recipe to use as inspiration and then went my own way with the dish. The final product was amazingly good, full of acorn and butternut squashes, yukon gold potatoes, gruyere, parmesan, sage and nutmeg. It was something of a hit with the food bloggers and by the end of the night there was only a little bit left in the far corner of the pan. If you're looking for something new for your Thanksgiving table, this would be an excellent way to go.

Every month, Karina Longworth picks a different food and eats her way around New York until she finds the best preparation in the Five Boroughs. This month, her search for New York's best macaroni and cheese will take her from speakeasies to supermarkets. First stop: Dumont.

I'm thinking back to the lardon-studded macaroni and cheese ($9) I had Sunday night at Dumont (432 Union Avenue, Brooklyn, NY 11211)  and I'm torn. As I'm craving the meaty chunks of salty ham, my mouth is simultaneously puckering from the memory of the even saltier islands of Parmesean.