Waffle House = Mecca

When I arrived in North Carolina for the first time, on Interstate 40 heading toward Chapel Hill through the darkness, I saw a yellow beacon beaming across the nighttime sky.  Black letters against a yellow lightbox glowed with the words "Waffle House".  I cried out, "What's that?!"

It was late and I was weary from my flight.  Within minutes we were seated at the counter of my first Waffle House, and it's been a love affair ever since.  There's something about The House that always works for me.  It's the hot diner style coffee.  It's the great folks who work there.  Then there are the waffles.

Perfectly hot.  A bit eggy.  Not too fluffy.  The fake maple syrup doesn't try too hard to taste like the real stuff.  It's more like butterscotch and it is a harmonious compliment to the waffle.

There's always a narrative component to the Waffle House experience, like those times when the whole staff is fighting.  Keith and I have witnessed some pretty gnarly fights.  Or it's when your server is just a cool person you were glad to meet.  Or maybe it's during an ice storm when you've had no power for days and Waffle House is the only place that's open because they are able to make coffee on the gas burners and cook whatever they can on the griddle.

Oh yes.  And there's one more thing.  Check out the jukebox at any Waffle House.  They always include songs that were written and recorded explicitly for and about Waffle House.  Where else can you eat breakfast to a soundtrack created specifically for the place you're in with songs on the subject of eating breakfast?  I remember the first time I was there in that Waffle House out by the airport.  Keith leans in and says, "Hear that music?  They're singing about Waffle House."

And sure enough, I could just make out the strains of a kind of trucker's anthem: "She pours my coffeeeeee/Like an old friiiennnnd..." 

Now that's good eatin'.