If you watch enough old compilation clips of Anthony Bourdain on YouTube, you might just stumble across a video of him experiencing transcendency at a Waffle House.
Bourdain traveled around the world looking for the best food; while I don’t see myself ever doing this, I do believe we’re forever linked by our shared reaction to a Waffle House hash brown bowl. I digress, but if you do decide to watch this video, you’ll hear Bourdain chalking up the Waffle House experience as a representation of everything that makes eating and living in America special. I’ve found that to be true in my own way.
It’s not just a matter of the food itself — not to discount it — but the circumstances that lead me to a Waffle House. Unlike Bourdain in the video, I’m relatively familiar with Waffle House as a place of refuge. In fact, I’d venture to say that I’ve never gone to Waffle House under average circumstances; it’s always after a journey.Â
During a road trip when there’s nowhere else to eat and a long stretch of road ahead, the Waffle House welcomes me. Almost every time I go to Orlando I end up in a Waffle House. Any time I’m out of state in the south it’s bound to happen, and most importantly, any good celebration is made better when punctuated with a hash brown bowl.Â
How I end up at a Waffle House has very little to do with my will and everything to do with the all-consuming desiderium I feel when I see a road sign with the logo on it; a Waffle House hash brown bowl always makes me feel welcomed and calmed, no matter how tired or elated I am. My theory is that I shouldn’t keep going back to the well, I have to preserve the sacred space for special times.
Most recently, I went to our local Waffle House this weekend for my birthday with friends —they protested this restaurant choice for the record — but it tasted like the best food I had ever had.
So aptly said by journalist Helen Rosner when talking about Olive Gardens across America, it’s like there’s only one location, but there are a thousand doors to it. I can only preserve the power of the emotional retrieval that meal gives me by limiting my visits; I feel like I can go back at any time because of its accessibility, but I know I shouldn’t. It’s sort of a Hotel California dilemma.Â
So, why is that bowl the universal solvent to all of my not-so-intense, but still present apathy, tiredness, or overexertion? While I’m not completely sure, I do think that Bourdain and I both felt the salutary neglect from staff, flavors, and caloric density of Waffle House cared for us in a way we didn’t know we needed. I anxiously (precariously trying to follow my own overindulgence rule) await my next visit.
The next time you’re in a new town, or even in your same old town, look to the light; more specifically, the light of a giant eleven-letter highway sign. If you go inside and sit down, you’ll notice the menu colors are supersaturated. Maybe you want to chalk it up to some marketing scheme or the fluorescent lights, but I really think the brightness might just be the Kodachrome effect that Waffle House has. Just a little extra vividity and sheen.
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