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We ate twice at the Stockhorn in Zermatt, Switzerland. We arrived in town on the Glacier Express in snow storm. Big flat flakes blew everywhere. An overgrown golf cart picked us up from the station and brought us to the Albatross Hotel. After checking in, we inquired about the local fondue joint. A short walk from our hotel landed us in a stinky cheese cellar. Travel weary and eager to relax, we ordered wine and beer. Shortly afterwards, a salad and charcuterie plate arrived at our table to our delight. The meat was fatty without being greasy and had nice spice. Steaming and stinky, our cheese fondue was delivered next with toasted bread. Garlic and white wine filled the air, and a slight aroma of vinegar. Drool flooded my mouth as it wafted into my face. There was more melted cheese than we could possibly eat but dammit, we had to try. As we dipped towards the bottom, our pores oozed with oily cheese. I knew the best cheese was burned to the bottom of the crock, all crunchy and dark. I chiseled with my fork to get those last few bites. After eating our fill, we waddled back to the hotel in hopes of hot tubs and glasses of proseco. The following day the hotel served a buffet style breakfast. I ate three croissants, scrambled eggs, bacon, cottage cheese, two kinds of dried meat, yogurt , and buttered bread. Afterwards, we frequented swiss bakery fuchs, where the smell of chocolate lured us into to melty heaven. We sat around our hotel most of the day, sporadically venturing out for snacks. We wanted to catch a glimpse of the Matterhorn, but as much as it teased us we never did. We watched old Frank Sinatra movies and BBC sitcoms while drinking and playing cards. Our hotel room in Zermatt was one of the nicest we stayed in. Later that night we wandered down to the StockHorn again. We sat in the upstairs dining room this time, with a great view of the fire place. Here all the proteins were cooked. A server would bring up little plates of raw meat from the kitchen. Dude would then toss them all into a bain of marinade for a few minutes , then throw them on the grill. I ordered beef tenderloin (44 francs,) and sure enough, right into that sticky sauce, then onto the grill. As we watched it leave the flames, a server dished out sides from a chafing dish near the grill. Au gratin potatoes and sauteed veggies met the steak on the plate. It all came to the table moments later with a crock of garlicy compound butter. Kate and I split the perfectly temped beef and side salad. As the night got rolling, dude flew through his orders, a blur of motion. A little intercom on the mantle kept him in touch with the kitchen. This guy cooked fifty or so steaks plus chicken, as we ate and watched. The night winded down and we drank more wine. We walked dreamily back to the hotel for more chocolate and sleep. The following day we would travel to France.