The Lava Fondue Showroom and House of Bacon

PART 3

In order to get to the Lava Fondue Showroom, we had to go down a hall in the back of the House of Bacon, past the bathrooms and the kitchen, and then up a ramp into a small alcove outfitted to look like a vintage hotel reception area. We showed our tickets to the girl behind the desk, and she told us to follow her as she swung open the bookcase to her left. It was totally Scooby-Doo. 

We walked through the bookcase entry and into the Showroom. There was a small stage at one end of the room; a bar against the wall, house left; and several cabaret tables filling the floor space. I'd say the whole place could seat a solid 50.  Damon and I took our places at the bar, ordered drinks, and perused the menu. Damon had never had fondue before, which seemed ABSURD, so we ordered the House Ale Fondue (a basic fondue with bread and veggies) and the Potatoes Dauphine (balls of deep fried mashed potato).  My official review: it was pretty good. I mean, the fondue was fondue. Like all fondue, there's never enough cheese, right? Which means the cheese must have been pretty good. Case closed.  And the mashed potato balls were fine, but they really needed salt and would have been great with a huge slab of butter on top. Or sour cream. Or both*.

At showtime, the place was packed. And the audience was a mixed bag. Most surprising to me was the number of people who looked over 70.  Not that I have a problem with that demographic. It just wasn't exactly what I expected.  And speaking of that demographic...Damon and I got totally off-topic while enjoying our cheese (which explains the dearth of notes about the meal)**. 

The lights went down, and a young woman stepped on stage. Music started and she began to dance. Not terribly well, but she started to unbutton her shirt, so I decided to withhold judgement.  A couple of other women joined her. They tried to dance suggestively with each other. It was not exactly embarrassing to watch; it was just...not sexy.  And here's a thing that may have made it LESS sexy: it became apparent that the grandparent-y people in the crowd WERE grandparents. Or parents. Here to watch their offspring perform. Like a common dance recital. And when "Jareth" came on stage with a gigantic codpiece and began rubbing it all over the dancers, these old people lost it. They hooted. They cat-called. I swear I heard a man in his mid 80's claim to be lifting (without his hands, mind you) the cabaret table he was slumped at.

I'm not sure if you're familiar with the Labyrinth story-line. I was not. And I believe I can say that I am still not. I watched the movie once. Sort of. My sister Heather had talked my mother into renting it at the Short Stop gas station in town along with one of the two VCR machines available. This was how it was done back in the day. And the Short Stop typically had three movies to choose from: Hot Dog...the Movie; Against All Odds; and Duran Duran's Rio video compilation. We had seen all three a million times. Evidently, Heather was ecstatic about the new video addition and badgered my mother to bring it home. I happened to be on the TV room couch convalescing from having my wisdom teeth removed*** when Heather started watching it. And so, I watched Labyrinth while zonked on Percocet. It was like a fever-fueled nightmare of sorts.  I guess in terms of accurate stage production, the Lava Fondue Showroom performance wasn't far off the mark.

I learned a few things watching my first burlesque show, and because of that, I consider the night a success. First, "burlesque" doesn't mean naked. It means dancing around in your underwear with band-aid things over your nipples.  Second, codpieces come in many different shapes and sizes. Third, grandparents will attend anything their grandchildren do and LOVE it.  Fourth, I have really good rhythm for a white girl because it was driving me crazy that Jareth couldn't seem to hump with the beat of the music. Last, the combination of cheese and bacon and fried potato makes Damon fart more than usual. Bad farts. So bad that he ended up changing his own answer on his fart survey.  Live and learn.

* But then again, these are suggestions from two individuals with blood pressures nearing the "Hypertensive Crisis" arena.

** So, Damon's parents are in Florida for the winter, and he had received a text from his father just as we ordered. I've tried to replicate the texted conversation accurately:

Dad:  HOW ARE YOU SON? HOT HERE WHAT ARE YOU DOING
Damon:  Why are you yelling?
Dad:  COOKIE AND DIANE ARE COMING OVER TONIGHT. AT 20:00
Damon: (...)
Dad: TONIGHT
Damon:  Are you guys planning on swinging?
Dad:  NOT SURE. WELL [sic] SEE WHAT HAPPENS
Needless-to-say, the two of us spent the following 30 minutes debating the meaning of this exchange, and the conclusion we came to was this: it totally sucks when you think you're slipping something funny into a conversation with your parents that you don't expect them to pick up on. But then they come back at you with a response that shakes your foundation. It happens a lot with my own mother, but Damon seemed to have had little experience with it. He totally didn't appreciate my lecture on at-least-your-parents-have-a-healthy-albeit-non-traditional-sexual-appetite. I tried several times to broach the topic, but apparently it's now "off limits".
*** "Removed" is a euphemism in this context. It was a hatchet job. It's also a story for another time. But let's just say, I am STILL spitting out bits of teeth that slowly erupt from my gums.