Restaurant Review: The Waffle House near my Grandparent’s place.

The date is April 8th, 2023. The sun is bright, the tarmac is warm. The air is humid, and there’ll be a storm in a few days, but for now, there’s only blue sky. I am in Port Orange, Florida. If you have not been to Port Orange, imagine a row of one-story houses, opposite another row of one-story houses and keep imagining this forever. Then imagine a few multi-lane roads, strip malls and some swamp. 

 In Florida you drive. You drive a lot. You drive three minutes to the grocery store. You drive past... wait? We drive past a reminder that Florida, of course, is below the Mason-Dixon line. Whilst Port Orange may appear to be a territory of middle-class suburbia populated by ageing Democrats (who politically are really just Republicans) it is still unavoidably, geographically, in the south. And that means... you drive past a Waffle House baby! Yeehaw & Howdy-Do!

 Ok, that’s the exposition out of the way. Let’s get into it. I’d never been to a Waffle House before (I only knew it from that vine) but a Kentucky friend of mine had let me know of its sacred status. In a strange moment of synchronicity only the day before the Jonas Brothers had released the track ‘Waffle House’. I didn’t listen to it, but it still feels relevant – the stars were aligned, and I was knock-knock-knockin’ at the door to a good breakfast.

How do you review a Waffle House? Like this. Waffle house answers a few questions. Here are the questions it answers.

What is the best colour of Food? Brown.

Why does Europe suck? No diners. 

What should coffee taste like? To paraphrase Douglas Adams, a brown liquid that was almost, but not quite, entirely unlike coffee (as we know it) that tastes brown and is served with creamer which does not taste like milk.

Free refills? Of course.

Do I want one? Absolutely.

What can I order? Everything. 

What do you mean – don’t I have to make a choice out of a list of options? No.

Explain? This isn’t the Calvinist hell of the lowlands. Get bacon and sausage. Grits and Hashbrowns. Biscuits and waffles. It’s called a combo. We don’t make you choose here.

What are grits? Boiled cornmeal porridge that tastes like baby food. 

Do I want them? Yes. 

Side meats? I should live here. 

I get coffee waffles, syrup, sausage, grits, toast, and the best fried eggs I’ve ever had. It’s a symphony. And not just because there’s a lot of it. I’m like a Floridian Ratatouille of carbs visualizing shit as I combine sweet and savory. And here’s the thing: like all the greatest food, in a photographic picture, it looks weird and bad. I’m done with the Dutch trying to be French and charging 25 Euro for a pretty vegetable with a standard white sauce that I have to look at, eat,  and then be sad. Waffle House should come conquer this country – it’s cheap, brown, unpretentious, and quality. A Waffle House for each neighborhood. America is weird, but for every Meatball Ron, there’s a Waffle House sausage. 5 Stars.