Waffle House Party

I love Waffle House, even if Waffle House doesn't love me. I’m usually the first to suggest the ubiquitous diner when I’m in a group trying to decide where to eat, and yet I don’t know how many times I’ve left feeling terrible. I can say I’m never going back, but literally the next day I will be face down in an All-Star Breakfast. I’m currently coming off of a three-night bender, and there’s a chance for a fourth. So what lures me inside those half-glass walls time after time? What siren song does Waffle House sing?

I have written about my love for greasy and loathsome restaurants before. Waffle House has taken this formula, perfectly mimicking the mom-and-pop dining experience, and mass produced it. Wherever you go in the South, there will be a Waffle House smiling at you with its musty, yellow, Scrabble-tile sign. Their business plan is to put a Waffle House on every corner until they run out of space, in which case they will start building Waffle Houses on top of Waffle Houses. 

Until they spring for the Waffle House Hotel, of course.

They are either purposefully cannibalizing their own sales, or the government has plans to convert Waffle Houses into an underground system of safe bunkers to be used as an escape route during a foreign invasion or zombie apocalypse. For instance, the Waffle House closest to my apartment is about 100 yards away from another Waffle House. If my time trials have been accurate, I could easily outrun a horde of zombies from one Waffle House to the next.

I like how Waffle House doesn’t take itself too seriously. The campy Americana on the walls and the Waffle House odes on the jukebox lend to a light atmosphere. I have always wanted to drop some coins into the jukebox and play some ridiculous Waffle House tune, but I have feared retribution from the staff in the form of a hot waffle iron to the face. I also like how you know what to expect from a Waffle House, because the employees and patrons have an unstated contract. The waiters and cooks all know that you’re there because nothing else is open, and the patrons all know that they’re in for a transient case of Irritable Bowel Syndrome. Everyone’s on the same page.

The food is actually delicious, too. I’ve tried almost everything on the menu, but I haven’t tried the steak. Actually, I’ve never seen anyone order the steak, despite their claims of being the nation’s leading provider. Big fat liars or not, they are the  King of Waffles, no matter what those even bigger, fatter liars Waffle King would have you believe. 

Waffle House is convenient, laid back, and tasty. But so are many other places. The key ingredient to Waffle House’s success, and Bert’s Chili, is consistency.

It's like cottage cheese suspended in half-congealed gelatin.

Whether it was celebrating high school football victories, or going after a dance and piling six YSA into a booth designed for no more than two people ordering toast, Waffle House has always been there. It is always open, and always around the corner. During the ice storm a few months back, Jen and I walked the half mile to Waffle House, because we knew it would be open. The city had shut down, so they must have sent evac choppers to their employees’ homes. And I'm grateful for that level of insane, dangerous dedication.

I’ve made many fond memories inside Waffle Houses, like the time I convinced Drew to order his hashbrowns “scattered, smothered, covered, and spanked” (the waitress obliged with a spatula tap), or the time Cam and I got into a bizarre conversation with a waitress’s awkward son who told me how lucky I was to be wearing his favorite color (green, for those who desperately want to know). But really, Waffle House has been the setting for many nights with my friends where we’ve just enjoyed each other’s company. It was a place to hang out after all the respectable establishments had closed and we didn't feel like going home and falling asleep.

So thanks, Waffle House! You're often full of belligerent drunks, but just know that there are some people who appreciate your tireless work. I look forward to many more nights spent chatting idly away into the wee hours, many more waffles, and many more regret-filled mornings.