On my family's back from Christmas eve mass, I hear my sister's stomach grumbling. As my mom prepares the rice, Mckenna and I set up the table; four placemats, four forks, four knives, and eight fondue sticks.

While she gets two fondue pots out to set in the middle, I grab the champagne glasses from the cupboard. Rob, my moms boyfriend, cuts the tenderloin perfectly and proceeds to get all of our soon to be fried, frozen food out of the freezer.

We place the food into separate bowls. Steak, pizza rolls, cheese curds, potstickers, chicken, breaded pickle slices, eggplant, and so forth spread across the table. Mckenna poors the peanut oil to the marker in pots and my stomach makes that deep scream for food for the last time. The oil sizzles and smacks as it hits the pot. We all can not wait anymore. Mom pours the champagne for rob and herself and sparkling water for my sister and me. Our glasses clink while we cheers to family.

I immediately rush to the steak. Our pokers are diving into the pots one after the other kids leap into the pool on a summer day. The sound of the sizzling and crackling fill the room. We hardly say a word to each other but that doesn’t seem to matter. Everyone is happy.

“This was a great idea,” says Rob, with a mouth full of juicy steak.

“We should make this a tradition,” Mckenna replies.

The dining room fills with the smell of fried food and oil, almost sickening when we are finished. Although there had not been much said during the feast, it was obvious that our family was satisfied

Recipe

Peanut oil, Fondue pots turned on high.