Saturday, July 13, 2019

Will Travel America For Waffles

Photo courtesy of LaToya King Hedgspeth

Prologue: Grandpa Eddie exposed me to a lot of truck stop dining experiences along I-95. One place that still remains a part of my travel history is the Waffle House. I've been eating the sweet, buttery waffles since I was six years old. My order, as a child, was always a waffle accompanied by crispy bacon, and cheese eggs. I would chase it all down with a glass of orange juice--with pulp. In spite of what many critics suggest about the Waffle House's service, cleanliness, or even the quality of food, I remain faithful to my past. I will travel America for a waffle. 
Waffle House team member, Lexi,
shares a smile with Brother B. in Dumfries, VA.

The summer of 2019 promised to bring me many adventures. I had eight weeks to decide when to take a trip to the Waffle House. It is a sacred place that I sometimes enter alone. No matter the location, the Waffle House holds many memories for me--family memories in North Carolina, dates in Georgia, quick stops in Virginia, a seek and find trip in Maryland with my intern, a post birthday gathering with sister-friends, and random trips with newbies. It wasn't until 2018 I found the one I call home.



My family supports Alex (c) during 
her first Waffle House experience
in Roanoke Rapids, NC in 2016.
Dumfries, Virginia is 38.5 miles and approximately 43 minutes from my house. VA-234 North is where the cherubs escort me to a place that sells the best kept secret in the entire universe--the recipe to waffles from the Waffle House has to be in a vault. I know, there is a Top Secret Recipe website and book that has a similar recipe. I made several attempts to mimic the Waffle House waffle. The suggested recipe is good, but it does not have the same taste that has become a part of my DNA. There's something about the combination of the Waffle House waffle, the Waffle House butter, and the Waffle House syrup that does the trick. I've asked two servers in two different locations in two different states for the recipe. The training manual has to read, "If a customer asks for the recipe tell them the trick is adding half and half to the batter." If you've been reading up to this point, you already know I went to the grocery store and tried the recipe with half and half. Nope.com. Nope.org. NOPE.edu. The taste is not there. Therefore, I have standing dates with the location in Dumfries, and I don't take just anyone with me unless I know their appreciation for the greasy spoon mirrors my own.

As comedian Kevonstage notes, there are certain things you just don't expect from the Waffle House. If you're used to fine dining, keep walking. I measure my experience by the disposition of the short order cooks and servers. Also, at least one of the workers has to have a tattoo. There has to be workers who remind me of at least two cast members from Alice--a sitcom that first aired in 1976. There must be someone shouting "Waffles on two, eggs on three, and hash smothered and covered." In the words of my sister-friend MsLeona Jay, "Like no, for real..." I need to see all characters in play and hear the script. Every visit to Dumfries has given me reasons to return. 

On one particular visit, I noticed a sign on the door that read, "Service with a smile." I planned to occupy the booth I once shared with my soror, K. Wilson. Just as I was about to make myself comfortable, a family of five entered. I didn't want to be selfish; I was dining alone and decided to take one of the counter seats instead. A worker was at the register; she doubled as both a server and cashier. She smiled at me. Everything about this visit was going to be intentional; it was becoming the setting of a new blog--hence the reason you're reading about the Waffle House (smile).

"I'll be right with you," she said smiling with her eyes through her glasses.

I was starving and anxious, so I whispered, "My order is easy--the All Star with eggs and raisin toast...and orange juice."

I placed my paper and pen on the counter and then hurried to the restroom to wash my hands.
When I returned to my seat, the server and I exchanged smiles again. This time I noticed she wore braces, but she was not shy about it. I loved her confidence.

"All I heard was All Star. I didn't get how you wanted your eggs or whether you wanted grits or hash browns."

"Oh my gosh, you're so right! Scrambled with cheese...and grits, please," I chuckled with some embarrassment.

"We're going to make sure you get your orange juice," she noted and then nodded to an elderly lady near her.

Bree Bree. Her name tag read Bree Bree. I took inventory of everyone who took care of me.
Ms. Tammy filled my styrofoam cup with orange juice (not environmentally friendly, but again remember where I am). Anne was the person who wiped down my table before sitting. I was too far away from the cooks, but they hustled to get my food to me (I had three plates. If you have ever been to the Waffle House you already know...).

If I had a complaint about the day it was about my grits; they were a bit watery. Bree Bree apologized several times for it--with a glowing smile. All I could think about was my purpose for being there: THE WAFFLE.

Every time I took a bite, I took a look around. Two men were sitting comfortably in a booth catching up on their lives. One had his leg propped up on the empty side of the faux leather seat. They were not going anywhere anytime soon. A couple sat on the other side of the L-shaped counter. I had to ask the gentleman to pass me the pepper; he smiled while sliding it to me like a ball traveling down a bowling alley. Ms. Anne was in the corner dancing and cleaning off another table and pranced her way toward the man who passed me the pepper. They shared a joke while she was dancing. The woman he was with paid the bill at the cash register next to me. The family I gave the booth to was still in fellowship as they filled their bellies. The best part about all of this, in spite of the watery grits, everyone was smiling.

The family of five was Latino. The men who shared a booth were African American. The man who passed me the pepper was a white American. The Waffle House staff was a mix of both African-American and white--young and seasoned. It was in this moment that I had a revelation: Politics divide, but a good waffle will bring us all together with a smile. It was worth the 38.5 miles with traffic. I got more than a waffle. I got to see humanity brought together by a greasy spoon. I will continue to travel America for waffles. That's my story and I'm sticking with it.

I give this experience four out of five cups of coffee.

Sips with love,

Ms. Coffeedreamz #coffeedreamz38 FOLLOW ME: Instagram @coffeedreamz38 Twitter @Coffeedreamz Facebook @coffeedreamz38 This post is sponsored by Felicia Watkins-White, real estate agent. (301) 535-7639 Instagram @felicia.white.1675 Facebook @felicia.white.1675 www.feliciasellshomes.com


DID YOU KNOW:

1. Waffle House has a food truck?
2. Waffle House delivers and caters--mostly in the South.
3. Once upon a time, employees could buy a bag of batter for $20. The server in Roanoke Rapids, North Carolina told me that the summer 2016. I ALMOST applied for a job in Dumfries just to get this perk back in rotation.

No comments:

Post a Comment