To many, today is Mardi Gras – the riotous end of the Carnivale season, presaging the solemnity of Lent. To some, it’s Shrove Tuesday, which is unofficially “Pancake Day.” I grew up with church pancake suppers on Shrove Tuesday, which at that time, were less about using up the sugar and butter in a house and more about sharing a communal meal. And – let’s be honest – sometimes “breakfast for supper” is just a great idea.
I wound up having a busy, busy day at work and decided to get my feet back under me by celebrating Shrove Tuesday at the local Waffle House. Keep your snorts of derision to yourself, please. I love Waffle House. Good food, cooked to order, and no one’s going to bat an eye whether you come in wearing pearls and tailored slacks or butterfly wings and a party dress. Red-eyed insomniacs sit one booth away from the ones who just shut down the bar at 2 am and are taking seriously the bouncer’s admonition of “you don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.” Anthony Bourdain highly praised a Charleston Waffle House, declaring it to be “an irony-free zone where everything is beautiful and nothing hurts.” (OK, that last part actually comes from Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse-Five, but Bourdain had clearly read the book.)
I skipped the coffee, since I really do need to get some sleep tonight. But I didn’t skip anything else – pecan waffle loaded with “whipped spread” and maple syrup, bacone, orange juice, and scattered and smothered hash browns (really, the Waffle House array of hash brown options is enough to make a strong man weep – and the way they check orders is downright bonkers – position yourself just right and you get dinner and a show!). The entire meal was perfect and “Angel” (my server) kept checking on me with genuine sincerity and called me “hon” often enough to make me miss Bawlmer.
Sometimes Good Things are simple, right in your backyard, and plumb perfect.
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