Not our WEDDING anniversary---we just celebrated our 29th---but our WAFFLE HOUSE Anniversary of the Christmas Day that we moved from Alabama to Indiana. I’ve told you about our ongoing love affair with Waffle House HERE, from Christmas Day, 1990, when we were on the road to our new life here. We’ve had countless breakfasts there since, sometimes at midnight, if the whim strikes.
So,
this past Saturday, the day-after-Christmas, we braved the sleety day to go and
celebrate our TWENTY-FIVE years in this wonderful, adopted place.
We
walked in onto the slippery, slidey tile floors---wet with countless footsteps,
and were embraced by that unmistakable aura of good coffee, sizzling bacon, and
the welcoming bright waitresses and cooks.
We
were seated beneath the only PINK-painted lamp in the house, with fanciful
snowflakes giving our table an unaccustomed rosy glow.
The
windows had all been painted from the inside with festive scenes---wreaths and
drums and ornaments, reminding me so fondly of a nice boy from my childhood,
whose great talent for chalk-drawing was amazing---he’d come into our classrooms
after school, painting blackboard after blackboard with scenes of elves and
Santa, or Easter bunnies on bright green hills, or hay-shocks and
pumpkins. It seemed so magical to walk
in one morning to such happy pictures, like strolling into one of those Easter
eggs with the tiny dioramas inside.
Waffle Houses are always filled with a cheerful energy, with scurryings and
lively banter and rushing to get that good hot food out HOT.
Our
own server, Brittney (hoping that’s spelled correctly, for she confided that
her name tag had broken, and she’d caulked it twice, and was waiting for a new
one---a thought that I found absolutely charming and sweet) was swift and
cheery and quite interested when we told her it was our “anniversary of Waffle
House.”
As
she sped and skidded on those continuously-mopped floors, we told her of our
tradition, and then, as she went back into the cooking area, we could hear the
words “anniversary” several times, including once from the booth just ahead of
me, where sat a nice couple having their own breakfast.
Chris
ordered his usual waffle, pouring the warm syrup into all the little “hotels”---old
family joke---and easy eggs with grits and bacon and that fabulous dark raisin
toast, fire-blasted and buttered between and triangled onto a saucer with apple
butter.
I veered from my always Western, and had just the hash-browns, choosing four of the toppings, and having to consult the menu for the proper titles: scattered (shoved around the griddle til delightfully crisp and separate) covered (cheese), smothered (sautéed onions) and topped (lovely rich red chili).
We
ate and talked and made a few pictures, just for here, and as the couple next
to us left, they congratulated us on our years together, saying that they’d
been together thirty years “I used to do his homework,” she confided, “and we’re
getting married next year.” So
congratulations all round and many smiles and good feelings.
On
one of Brittney’s return trips with that ever-filled pot, she handed us our
ticket. “I told my manager Nate about
your anniversary, and he’s paid your bill,” she said.
What
a lovely thing! We were simply
overflowing with thanks, and as we prepared to leave, we asked to meet Nate and
thank him. He came out and stood behind
the register as we repeated the story, with all the staff gathered round. I don’t talk very loud, but I could hear “AWWWW,” from several places around the room, and as
we headed for the door, I waved and said Bye, and it seemed that the whole room
chimed in, waving and calling out.
And
that’s our Anniversary visit to the Golden Torches--familiar beacons along every highway. Stop in sometime, and be sure to have the scattered, smothered, covered and topped.
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