The Waffle House.
So, when is the last time you have been to the Waffle House? This, my dear mates, is a true Southern tradition. Many people refer to it as the 'Awful Waffle'. That is not really nice, is it? After all, they do stay open 24 hours for your convenience!
Honestly, I cannot remember seeing them in Australia, but...it is not a place I frequent a lot. I am now wondering if they are located all over the world. ??? GOOGLE...here I come. I bet you anything that the Waffle House is in the northern part of the United States, but probably named something else! Anybody?
I had received a phone call from my daughter telling me to dash to the high school explaining I needed to pick up one 16 year old teenager and I needed to do so a.s.a.p. The time was a little after noon. I complied; someone was still battling the last bits of the flu.
She was hungry, and pale with low, low energy. I did not want to stray far from the house. I am still not completely familiar with Bogart, Georgia. Waaaa-laaaaaah! The BIG, yellow and black WAFFLE HOUSE sign appeared right before my eyes. Sharp left and we were parked. I heard, 'Grand-Mum...what IS this place?' I replied, 'Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat? Girl, you have never had a Patty Melt in your life? You have GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!' No response whatsoever from the passenger seat, but a really weird look. I replied enthusiastically, 'Well, you are going to experience a FIRST today. C'mon, 'gel'...let's go in.' Yes, I was the most enthusiastic; it IS hard to get this child worked up, but even more so (of course) when she is not feeling well. I love to witness FIRSTS.
We entered and received the BIG Waffle House Welcome. Old, young, dreadlocks, black, white, skinny, fat, businessmen, students, housewives or stay-at-home Moms...you name it: THEY were there. Everyone quiet, in their own worlds, but lots of smiles and people nodding/acknowledging when one entered. That same, familiar smell of coffee and I do believe...lots of grease...wafted through the air. I mean they DO cook a lot of hash-browns, waffles, eggs any way you like 'em, sausage, bacon, grits, (Oh, please...do not ever mention the word 'grits' to my English husband or you will be forced to listen to his most outrageous AND derogatory description of this ground, coarse corn!), and if you remain insistent upon something non-fried they will make a nice, fresh garden salad for you and serve it in a cold bowl. Sweet.
Food arrives. And, you can watch the nice, efficient cook make everything right in front of your eyes if you are keen. Cook is good. Cook is not stressed at all and keeps performing like a machine. I did notice cook did not like it when someone put a SPIN on the Waffle House menu and wanted it 'their' way instead of the Waffle House way. Cook had a great look SHE gave and the 2 requests I quietly heard were withdrawn, heads down. First timer got everything she ordered and it all came out on separate plates. First timer said, 'I didn't order all this food.' I replied, 'Yes, you did, but it is spread out over 3 plates.' First timer asked, 'Why?' I said, 'Eat.' Then...the beloved and yummy Patty Melt arrived. My order was complete on ONE plate. The only plate I needed. I thought to myself...'Why? and I chuckled inside.' First timer did not notice or if she did she did not make a comment. Hunger must have taken over because this lady has a hundred questions an hour normally. I smiled when I saw 3 thinly sliced dill pickles next to my Patty Melt. Could not help but think that I needed 4 slices...2 for each side of my Patty Melt. I mean,'C'mon, if you are going to jump into this nostalgic place to dine, you have to have everything right. I did not remember the bread that they used for the Patty Melt was sourdough bread - nice, pleasant surprise. My hash-browns appeared deflated and that caused the tiniest of frowns because I wanted them FAT and FLUFFY. Damn, only because that is the way I remember them. I immediately placed my pickles on my Patty Melt very carefully and precisely. First Timer said, 'Yummmmm - that looks good.' My thoughts exactly. I cut one of the halves into 2 pieces and placed one half on 1 of her 3 plates. Sharp observer said, 'I don't like pickles.' WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT? And you are a part of me? Damn. I quickly took her pickle and she had NO clue how delighted I was at that moment. I also took the bread off of the other side of my Patty Melt. The bread slices were as big as a house...well, perhaps not that big, BUT FAT. Little Miss Priss took a bite and said, 'Mmmmmmmmm, this tastes good.' Yet, she did not ask for anymore. Felt a bit deflated, but I do remember seeing a hint of approval in her sweet eyes. Not so sure that this was really a 'FIRST' but, more like a trip down memory lane for me with someone I love very much.
When my black coffee was poured I do remember thinking that the Waffle House always had, heavy, white ceramic coffee mugs. ALWAYS. But, this time there was a brightly coloured Waffle House logo on the front and the mug looked only a tiny bit different. Felt the same, nice and heavy to hold. My daughter collects coffee cups. I sent her a photo because I was having such a sweet time with her baby. WHY did I do that? I won't say what she said when she saw the photo, but I purchased a nice, new one to add to her collection. She needed one more mug like she needed a hole in her head.
Mission somewhat accomplished, so we left. Can you even imagine what we heard when we grabbed the door to exit? No, I bet not. 'Ya'll come back now.' MADE MY DAY.
I do have one more story that is etched in my mind forever. Each time I return to the States and drive by a Waffle House or a CK's Coffee Shop I can't help but laugh and smile from ear to ear. As most of you know my husband is British, more like an Australian now that he has lived there for so long, but believe me the British accent is in permanent place and his lips never move when he speaks.
Years ago...I mean decades ago...Tinto (Marcus) and I had tons of errands to run and we thought we were starving so we stopped at the first convenient spot: CK's Coffee Shop in Memphis, Tennessee. I do not know if it still exists; it used to be on Park by Mendenhall (I think!). Tinto studied the menu and, of course, was searching for a proper English breakfast OR the closest thing to one. You know, poached eggs, baked beans on toast, and fried tomatoes with a little sauce (ketchup) on the side, with 2 pieces of bacon. Plain and fairly simple. Marcus could not find exactly what he wanted so he decided to instruct our server. He asked for dark toast, 2 fried eggs, but he did not want the whites runny, (eye-roll from server, remember it distinctly), 2 pieces of nice, crispy bacon (this is the ONE THING he loves about America) because, believe me...you will never find crispy bacon in England OR Australia, plus it is referred to as streaky bacon there - in any event, Marcus orders some fried tomatoes in his only accent: his beautiful British accent. The world stopped. The female server said, 'What, I don't understand. You want fried tomatoes?' Marcus replied, 'Yes.' She asked, 'Well, I don't understand. What kind of tomatoes do you want?' Marcus said, 'The regular kind: red tomatoes.' AND...please understand: Marcus says 'tomaaaahtoes, NOT tomAtoes, with a LONG 'A'. Server said, 'You mean fried green tomatoes?' Marcus said, 'No Ma'am, I do not want any fried green tomatoes, red ones, please.' Server put her pen behind her ear and her pad on the table in front of us and her hand on her hips. Then she asked (rather loudly), 'You mean you want sum narmal, regulah red tomatoes and you want 'em fried?' By now you could hear a pin drop in the place. Everyone had stopped eating (the place is REALLY small) and all eyes were on Marcus. Marcus said, 'Yes, Ma'am, that is exactly what I want.' Server really glared at him...eyes turned to tiny slits and she said, 'Well, I never.' Whew! Got that order over with. Server takes order to cook. Cook is a huge, gregarious, wide smiled woman who decided to turn around as she is cooking a hundred items on her griddle and she, too, places HER hands on her hip only one hand has a spatula in it and she YELLS out (yes, yells...), 'Who ordered fried tomatoes?' This woman, this cook, made 4 of my husband. Marcus, always the proper, British gentleman, smiles, raises his hand and replied, 'I did, Ma'am'. HERE WE GO AGAIN. Cook YELLS, 'You mean you want narmal red tomatoes fried?' Marcus: 'Yes, Ma'am'. Smoke is coming out of her nostrils and her ears. Cook: 'Ya want 'em whole or sliced?' Marcus, 'Sliced, please Ma'am, if that is not too much trouble.' Cook turns her back, mumbling something like, 'Well, I never.' Entire place goes back to eating. We can hear the clanging of forks and knives and spoons stirring copious amounts of coffee. Order took a while. Cook and servers not saying a lot. I am about to pee in my pants, but I keep a blank expression. This entire time I have been kicking Marcus under the table and he was not totally appreciative.
Then...
2 beautiful plates, well, really more than 2 plates, but...food appeared and it was hot, wonderfully made and as Marcus says, 'Spot on'. Cook and server (again with hands on their hips) turned to watch Marcus eat, but only for a few seconds. After we finished, cook stops her frying and grilling momentarily and YELLS, 'Well, how was they?' Marcus exclaimed: 'Perfectly done and perhaps the best fried tomatoes I have ever had.' You have never seen a broader, wider smile on anyone's face. I thought the place was going to erupt in applause. Cook could not stop smiling and her belly was going up and down with laughter. She said, 'I ain't never...!' If Marcus could have jumped over the counter he might have hugged her or perhaps been smothered to death with love BY accident. You could feel the relief in all of CK's Coffee Shop. When we hopped back into the car, Marcus declared, 'I think while I am in the States I shall refrain from ordering fried tomaaaahtoes for breakfast.' I was laughing so hard I cried. We tell this story time and time again...
Rightio, I've been at the computer typing for a while dealing with heaps of interruptions and distractions. Normally, the sound of Toby (miniature cream and caramel coloured poodle) and Spooky, the spectacular cat chasing each other up and down sofas, under chairs, dining room table, calms me and lets me know all is right in the house. But...I got up to make a cup of coffee and Spooky was not in her normal place. Usually and strangely, Spooky will appear when I call her name. Not this time and I remember distinctly when everyone first moved in Spooky went missing and 1 teenage girl was beyond consolation. It was a horrible night. Spooky is brindle coloured and was found later that night in a pile of chocolate brown pillows on her Mamma's bed. The neighbours, the NEW neighbours must have thought THEIR new neighbours belonged in an institution because there was so much screaming and crying outside while Spooky's name was called. That episode jogged my memory like an electric jolt. I remember seeing Spooky by the door to the garage as the girls left this morning. She has been known to hide out in the garage to get away from the terrorist poodle - I do not blame her. Anyway, I grabbed my coffee mug and stomped through the house yelling her name. Damn. No response. No meow. First place I looked this time was in all bedrooms and on top of any chocolate coloured pillows. Nowhere. Spooky wasn't eating in her special place where her food is kept. She was not answering me. I did not relish the fact of getting down on my knees to look under beds - feel like I'm past that now. But, my heart started pounding and I could only picture the face of the precious 16 year old who adores her. Aaaaagggghhh. Gheeeeez. Damn. Why does stuff like THIS happen when I visit? Bit of a panic. GUESS WHO CAME TO THE RESCUE? Toby! Ha! He is a complete irritation to her, but DAMN, he IS smart. He felt my anxiousness so he bolts into all the rooms as I did, then he starting wagging his little, round ball of a tail furiously, while he is down on his front legs and yelping as if to say, 'You idiot! All you had to do was look in this big brown purse you left open on the floor of your bedroom.' Problem solved. All is right in the world again.
I need another cuppa.
Posted with clarity.
Blanco of the Roaming Stevens.
PS: Remember to visit a Waffle House near you for a sweet, genuinely southern experience.
Honestly, I cannot remember seeing them in Australia, but...it is not a place I frequent a lot. I am now wondering if they are located all over the world. ??? GOOGLE...here I come. I bet you anything that the Waffle House is in the northern part of the United States, but probably named something else! Anybody?
I had received a phone call from my daughter telling me to dash to the high school explaining I needed to pick up one 16 year old teenager and I needed to do so a.s.a.p. The time was a little after noon. I complied; someone was still battling the last bits of the flu.
She was hungry, and pale with low, low energy. I did not want to stray far from the house. I am still not completely familiar with Bogart, Georgia. Waaaa-laaaaaah! The BIG, yellow and black WAFFLE HOUSE sign appeared right before my eyes. Sharp left and we were parked. I heard, 'Grand-Mum...what IS this place?' I replied, 'Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat? Girl, you have never had a Patty Melt in your life? You have GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!' No response whatsoever from the passenger seat, but a really weird look. I replied enthusiastically, 'Well, you are going to experience a FIRST today. C'mon, 'gel'...let's go in.' Yes, I was the most enthusiastic; it IS hard to get this child worked up, but even more so (of course) when she is not feeling well. I love to witness FIRSTS.
We entered and received the BIG Waffle House Welcome. Old, young, dreadlocks, black, white, skinny, fat, businessmen, students, housewives or stay-at-home Moms...you name it: THEY were there. Everyone quiet, in their own worlds, but lots of smiles and people nodding/acknowledging when one entered. That same, familiar smell of coffee and I do believe...lots of grease...wafted through the air. I mean they DO cook a lot of hash-browns, waffles, eggs any way you like 'em, sausage, bacon, grits, (Oh, please...do not ever mention the word 'grits' to my English husband or you will be forced to listen to his most outrageous AND derogatory description of this ground, coarse corn!), and if you remain insistent upon something non-fried they will make a nice, fresh garden salad for you and serve it in a cold bowl. Sweet.
Food arrives. And, you can watch the nice, efficient cook make everything right in front of your eyes if you are keen. Cook is good. Cook is not stressed at all and keeps performing like a machine. I did notice cook did not like it when someone put a SPIN on the Waffle House menu and wanted it 'their' way instead of the Waffle House way. Cook had a great look SHE gave and the 2 requests I quietly heard were withdrawn, heads down. First timer got everything she ordered and it all came out on separate plates. First timer said, 'I didn't order all this food.' I replied, 'Yes, you did, but it is spread out over 3 plates.' First timer asked, 'Why?' I said, 'Eat.' Then...the beloved and yummy Patty Melt arrived. My order was complete on ONE plate. The only plate I needed. I thought to myself...'Why? and I chuckled inside.' First timer did not notice or if she did she did not make a comment. Hunger must have taken over because this lady has a hundred questions an hour normally. I smiled when I saw 3 thinly sliced dill pickles next to my Patty Melt. Could not help but think that I needed 4 slices...2 for each side of my Patty Melt. I mean,'C'mon, if you are going to jump into this nostalgic place to dine, you have to have everything right. I did not remember the bread that they used for the Patty Melt was sourdough bread - nice, pleasant surprise. My hash-browns appeared deflated and that caused the tiniest of frowns because I wanted them FAT and FLUFFY. Damn, only because that is the way I remember them. I immediately placed my pickles on my Patty Melt very carefully and precisely. First Timer said, 'Yummmmm - that looks good.' My thoughts exactly. I cut one of the halves into 2 pieces and placed one half on 1 of her 3 plates. Sharp observer said, 'I don't like pickles.' WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT? And you are a part of me? Damn. I quickly took her pickle and she had NO clue how delighted I was at that moment. I also took the bread off of the other side of my Patty Melt. The bread slices were as big as a house...well, perhaps not that big, BUT FAT. Little Miss Priss took a bite and said, 'Mmmmmmmmm, this tastes good.' Yet, she did not ask for anymore. Felt a bit deflated, but I do remember seeing a hint of approval in her sweet eyes. Not so sure that this was really a 'FIRST' but, more like a trip down memory lane for me with someone I love very much.
When my black coffee was poured I do remember thinking that the Waffle House always had, heavy, white ceramic coffee mugs. ALWAYS. But, this time there was a brightly coloured Waffle House logo on the front and the mug looked only a tiny bit different. Felt the same, nice and heavy to hold. My daughter collects coffee cups. I sent her a photo because I was having such a sweet time with her baby. WHY did I do that? I won't say what she said when she saw the photo, but I purchased a nice, new one to add to her collection. She needed one more mug like she needed a hole in her head.
Mission somewhat accomplished, so we left. Can you even imagine what we heard when we grabbed the door to exit? No, I bet not. 'Ya'll come back now.' MADE MY DAY.
I do have one more story that is etched in my mind forever. Each time I return to the States and drive by a Waffle House or a CK's Coffee Shop I can't help but laugh and smile from ear to ear. As most of you know my husband is British, more like an Australian now that he has lived there for so long, but believe me the British accent is in permanent place and his lips never move when he speaks.
Years ago...I mean decades ago...Tinto (Marcus) and I had tons of errands to run and we thought we were starving so we stopped at the first convenient spot: CK's Coffee Shop in Memphis, Tennessee. I do not know if it still exists; it used to be on Park by Mendenhall (I think!). Tinto studied the menu and, of course, was searching for a proper English breakfast OR the closest thing to one. You know, poached eggs, baked beans on toast, and fried tomatoes with a little sauce (ketchup) on the side, with 2 pieces of bacon. Plain and fairly simple. Marcus could not find exactly what he wanted so he decided to instruct our server. He asked for dark toast, 2 fried eggs, but he did not want the whites runny, (eye-roll from server, remember it distinctly), 2 pieces of nice, crispy bacon (this is the ONE THING he loves about America) because, believe me...you will never find crispy bacon in England OR Australia, plus it is referred to as streaky bacon there - in any event, Marcus orders some fried tomatoes in his only accent: his beautiful British accent. The world stopped. The female server said, 'What, I don't understand. You want fried tomatoes?' Marcus replied, 'Yes.' She asked, 'Well, I don't understand. What kind of tomatoes do you want?' Marcus said, 'The regular kind: red tomatoes.' AND...please understand: Marcus says 'tomaaaahtoes, NOT tomAtoes, with a LONG 'A'. Server said, 'You mean fried green tomatoes?' Marcus said, 'No Ma'am, I do not want any fried green tomatoes, red ones, please.' Server put her pen behind her ear and her pad on the table in front of us and her hand on her hips. Then she asked (rather loudly), 'You mean you want sum narmal, regulah red tomatoes and you want 'em fried?' By now you could hear a pin drop in the place. Everyone had stopped eating (the place is REALLY small) and all eyes were on Marcus. Marcus said, 'Yes, Ma'am, that is exactly what I want.' Server really glared at him...eyes turned to tiny slits and she said, 'Well, I never.' Whew! Got that order over with. Server takes order to cook. Cook is a huge, gregarious, wide smiled woman who decided to turn around as she is cooking a hundred items on her griddle and she, too, places HER hands on her hip only one hand has a spatula in it and she YELLS out (yes, yells...), 'Who ordered fried tomatoes?' This woman, this cook, made 4 of my husband. Marcus, always the proper, British gentleman, smiles, raises his hand and replied, 'I did, Ma'am'. HERE WE GO AGAIN. Cook YELLS, 'You mean you want narmal red tomatoes fried?' Marcus: 'Yes, Ma'am'. Smoke is coming out of her nostrils and her ears. Cook: 'Ya want 'em whole or sliced?' Marcus, 'Sliced, please Ma'am, if that is not too much trouble.' Cook turns her back, mumbling something like, 'Well, I never.' Entire place goes back to eating. We can hear the clanging of forks and knives and spoons stirring copious amounts of coffee. Order took a while. Cook and servers not saying a lot. I am about to pee in my pants, but I keep a blank expression. This entire time I have been kicking Marcus under the table and he was not totally appreciative.
Then...
2 beautiful plates, well, really more than 2 plates, but...food appeared and it was hot, wonderfully made and as Marcus says, 'Spot on'. Cook and server (again with hands on their hips) turned to watch Marcus eat, but only for a few seconds. After we finished, cook stops her frying and grilling momentarily and YELLS, 'Well, how was they?' Marcus exclaimed: 'Perfectly done and perhaps the best fried tomatoes I have ever had.' You have never seen a broader, wider smile on anyone's face. I thought the place was going to erupt in applause. Cook could not stop smiling and her belly was going up and down with laughter. She said, 'I ain't never...!' If Marcus could have jumped over the counter he might have hugged her or perhaps been smothered to death with love BY accident. You could feel the relief in all of CK's Coffee Shop. When we hopped back into the car, Marcus declared, 'I think while I am in the States I shall refrain from ordering fried tomaaaahtoes for breakfast.' I was laughing so hard I cried. We tell this story time and time again...
Rightio, I've been at the computer typing for a while dealing with heaps of interruptions and distractions. Normally, the sound of Toby (miniature cream and caramel coloured poodle) and Spooky, the spectacular cat chasing each other up and down sofas, under chairs, dining room table, calms me and lets me know all is right in the house. But...I got up to make a cup of coffee and Spooky was not in her normal place. Usually and strangely, Spooky will appear when I call her name. Not this time and I remember distinctly when everyone first moved in Spooky went missing and 1 teenage girl was beyond consolation. It was a horrible night. Spooky is brindle coloured and was found later that night in a pile of chocolate brown pillows on her Mamma's bed. The neighbours, the NEW neighbours must have thought THEIR new neighbours belonged in an institution because there was so much screaming and crying outside while Spooky's name was called. That episode jogged my memory like an electric jolt. I remember seeing Spooky by the door to the garage as the girls left this morning. She has been known to hide out in the garage to get away from the terrorist poodle - I do not blame her. Anyway, I grabbed my coffee mug and stomped through the house yelling her name. Damn. No response. No meow. First place I looked this time was in all bedrooms and on top of any chocolate coloured pillows. Nowhere. Spooky wasn't eating in her special place where her food is kept. She was not answering me. I did not relish the fact of getting down on my knees to look under beds - feel like I'm past that now. But, my heart started pounding and I could only picture the face of the precious 16 year old who adores her. Aaaaagggghhh. Gheeeeez. Damn. Why does stuff like THIS happen when I visit? Bit of a panic. GUESS WHO CAME TO THE RESCUE? Toby! Ha! He is a complete irritation to her, but DAMN, he IS smart. He felt my anxiousness so he bolts into all the rooms as I did, then he starting wagging his little, round ball of a tail furiously, while he is down on his front legs and yelping as if to say, 'You idiot! All you had to do was look in this big brown purse you left open on the floor of your bedroom.' Problem solved. All is right in the world again.
I need another cuppa.
Posted with clarity.
Blanco of the Roaming Stevens.
PS: Remember to visit a Waffle House near you for a sweet, genuinely southern experience.
The Patty Melt...Yes Ma'am!!! Mmmmmm-mmmmmm, GOOD!
And...TRY to get the 'non-squeaky' booth. Wish you luck!
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