As a Yankee, there are plenty of things that I love about the South, namely the decent weather, Dr. Pepper, and all the nice cars. However, I often forget that Great State of Texas is, indeed, in the ‘South,’ even if it’s not really ‘the South’. (Nor is the Great State of Texas the West, nor the Midwest. Being as large as it is, it touches on so many regions of our fine country.) Being of a more southerly position than so many states, let’s just agree that Texas is South, if not ‘The South.’
The distinction of the one is more important than the clarification between the two. Forgetting that we are way down on the latitude, I neglected one all-important facet of living below the Mason-Dixon: Waffle House.
God, I love Waffle House.
Manna
Really, just about anyone who has 1) been to a WH and 2) isn’t inclined to have a distinct amount of scorn for plastic picture menus and bolted-down seating loves Waffle House (NB: most people’s moms do not fit into either category).
Be an All-Star
What’s not to love? The coffee is pretty decent, the waffles really are good, and the price is always right. I bring this up since I recently had my older brother to stay for the weekend. Being my brother, he was eager to do things like eat BBQ, go to a hockey game, watch football, drink beer, and eat unhealthy breakfast foods. We did all of these.
However, our first brunch was not at Waffle House, but at Dallas’ own Pancake House. Apparently, it’s actually Oregon’s own Pancake House, but that’s not the point. The point is I’d never heard of Pancake House before. I’m from New York City where brunch consists of rolled up hundred dollar bills, topped with hollandaise and sprinkled with gold leaf. And by that, of course I mean a bagel with cream cheese. Or, depending on the line and the depth of the hangover, bacon, egg, and cheese on a kaiser roll.
Pancake house does make some mean pancakes; I had the buckwheat. And an omelet. And most of a waffle. And about 47 cups of good coffee. Really, the key to brunch for me is not hair-of-the-dog mimosas or bloodies – in fact, I seldom drink at brunch. Drinking, for me, is really a lunchtime thing. The key is cups of good coffee and cold water, both kept full. Service should be swift, but not too sloppy. I’m not looking for white aprons, but I don’t want white toast if I ask for wheat, damn it. Pancake House succeeded on all fronts, and the cost was low. Honestly, I don’t know how all the servers were in such good moods. Oh wait, yes I do: because they weren’t as hungover as we were. Seriously, Texas is now out of Shiner Bock.
Anyway, as I was driving my brother to airport, we decided to stop off at Waffle House on the way. There are several in Big D, but we stopped at the one just off 183 en route to DFW. It is a small, truck-stop version of WH. There are only booths and a counter – no tables and chairs like the many Waffle Houses I’ve sampled along 95. Service was, as always, prompt. It was also friendly. I could have done without the excessively hirsute arm of the server, but she was still very friendly.
So what’s the point? Is there really a contest between Chez Waffle and Chez Pancake? Most Southerners might say no. Certainly, most Easterners would say no, and have been telling me so all week. According to PH’s map, there are locations all up and down the Eastern seaboard, from New York to Florida. Meanwhile, none of the states bordering the Great State of Texas have a Pancake House. Once again, this place is a bastion of wisdom and culinary delights.
