Because I'm an uncultured American whose definition of cheese is Velveeta and whose idea of bread begins and ends with wonderment, I could never dream up the magic that is a Raclette. I would never be so bold to melt a wheel of cheese and be so daring to spread that gooey goodness onto toast.

Never in my wildest dreams would I ever get to eat a Raclette because I'm sure the only people allowed to ingest such deliciousness must be angels in heaven where melted wheels of cheese come spilling out on tap and into every open mouth (or just be Swiss).


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