Before I could say, "Wait I'll do that..." my Mother in Law stood up on the chair and pulled out the raclette machine from the kitchen cupboard. With the raclette machine cradled in her arms, I noticed it was nearly as big as she was, she found her balance, then hopped off the chair.
I don't know what was more impressive my mother in law and her endless, teenage energy, or her tiny frame manhandling that monster of a machine. Whatever it is I stood in awe at her spunk.
To have a raclette it must be cold, preferrably snowing, and always it is best in the mountains. Especially when the cheese is locally made, and the wine runs steady.