Waffle House

In a conversation the other day my daughter-in-law admitted that she had never been in a Waffle House restaurant.  My son looked at her with astonishment.  I'm not sure if the look was amazement that anyone hadn't been in one or wonder that anyone had escaped being in one.  You see this is one of those insider, family stories.

From the time the kids were around 9 years old until they were out of high school our summer vacations tended to involve going to and from cattle shows.  Since we were usually pulling a trailer that meant that we were all crowded into the front seat of the truck.  Now that is family togetherness, especially after a long day of close communication with a bunch of cows.  We spent a lot of hours traveling and getting on each others nerves.

Hubby always drove and so he usually got to make the decision of when we stopped.  When we would finally prevail on him to stop for food, he would always demand to know where we wanted to eat.  Of course, that meant a long discussion because two kids cannot agree on anything immediately, it's against the rules.  At the next exit after hubby had endured maximum whining and arguing he would pull off.  The first thing he would inevitably see would be the big, yellow Waffle House sign and in we would go. Hubby loves them because you can get a good hot meal, fast, any time day or night. We have eaten at Waffle Houses all across the US and I can tell you they are all the same.

If you are like my daughter-in-law and haven't eaten in one (I guess there are some of you out there), they are tiny little grills that remind me a lot of old fashioned diners.  They feature a long bar with stools that overlooks the grill where all the cooking is done.  There are a few booths arranged around the walls but little else.  They serve a pretty full menu of items that can be prepared on a grill, but the specialty is, of course, waffles.   They also serve a full breakfast 24 hours a day.  Sitting at the bar and watching the waitresses and the grill cook perform is a fascinating education.  (Don't look to closely at the area, being open 24 hrs. a day doesn't leave a lot of time for frivolities, like cleaning.) 

The waitresses take your order and shout it to the grill master in a short-order shorthand that I haven't figured out yet.  The grill master will juggle up to fifteen orders for eggs (any style), toast (white, whole wheat or cinnamon raisin), hash browns ( with various toppings), waffles, plain or with pecans, bacon, sausage, and the occasional pork chop without missing a beat.  He moves continuously with no wasted motion.  It's a ballet of poetry in motion.  Of course, this ballet is accompanied with dishes being smacked down, orders being yelled, chatter with the customers,  and all the hustle and bustle of a busy kitchen about two feet in front of you.

The people who you eat with are as varied as the travelers on any highway.  We have munched with truckers, cops, families, young teens, retirees, workers, and street people.  Everyone rubs elbows at the counter with the same purpose in mind, a hot meal.  There is the usual chit-chat between the waitress and the customers but mostly everyone just minds their food.  Except one time when we almost got thrown out. 

We had been at a cattle show when our son was around fourteen.  He and some of the other kids had acquired  key chains that played various messages when a button was pushed.  Naturally the messages were mostly the things they would like to say but knew their parents would have a fit if they did.  The mildest being "shit" the worst usually containing the "f-word".  Hubby had finally tired of hearing it and confiscated it and put it in his pocket, where he promptly forgot about it.  We were on our way home and lined up on the bar stools at a Waffle House enjoying waffles and eggs, when hubby shifted on his stool.  Clearly the words "fuck you" floated out.  A large, burly guy sitting next to hubby turned and looked at him questioningly.   Hubby quickly grabbed his pocket in an attempt to remove the offending key chain and pushed the button again.  Again, it clearly repeated its message, this time proclaiming, "fuck off asshole".  The big guy started to swell up, "Hey buddy.  If you got something to say, just say it." He blustered.  Hubby started apologizing while I started laughing.  In confusion the big guy looked from one to the other, obviously unsure whether hubby was to be taught a lesson or given pity for such a crazy wife.  Finally, muttering under his breath, he heaved himself off the stool and left.  He probably still thinks we were nuts.