It has come to my attention that I need to explain the Waffle House to my non-southern friends. You see, the Waffle House is an institution. Hmmm, more than that, it’s a temple…of sorts. It might be more accurate to call it a greasy beacon, or a beating heart.
The Waffle House must be taken seriously—cross-culturally even—or you risk alienating and overlooking a great many working class and economically poor Americans. Before I dig the hole any deeper, perhaps I should explain something known as the Waffle House Index in order to shed some light on the importance the Waffle House plays in the neighborhoods and communities within which it lives. According to the ever reliable wikipedia:
The Waffle House Index is an informal metric named after the ubiquitous Southern US restaurant chain Waffle House known for its 24-hour, 365-day service. This restaurant's drive to always remain open has given rise to an informal but useful metric to determine the severity of a storm and the likely scale of assistance required for disaster recovery. It was coined by former administrator Craig Fugate of the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA). The metric is unofficially used by FEMA to inform disaster response.
After a catastrophic event has struck, the local Waffle House uses a three tier index to gage the event’s severity. Green means a full menu is offered. The restaurant remains mostly intact and fully staffed. Yellow indicates a limited menu and that power is either absent or delivered via generator. Some food supplies may be running low. Red indicates the restaurant is closed. Locals know a closed Waffle House means you have little left to do but fall on your knees and cry out the famous words of Homer Simpson, “Jesus, Allah, Buddha, I love you all!”
At this point, I have to be clear. The Waffle House index rarely escalates to red. Their preparedness is sacrosaint and includes what they refer to as “jump teams” consisting of out-of-area staff ready to barrel into the teeth of a disaster so that impacted staff can remain with family and/or help with rescue efforts. These chain-smoking, smock- wearing heroes are made of the stuff of legends. I kid you not. Many a late night I spent cramming for Algebra and Calculus exams at the local Waffle House. I can promise you, their grill masters understand how to use the Pythagorean Theorem to achieve the maximum amount of hash browns on the griddle without losing track of the grits.
You also have to understand the neighborhoods within which these sticky beacons of hardy, affordable, greasy food exist. You ain’t gonna find a Waffle House in a trendy, upscale, outdoor shopping mall. Not even in a reputable suburban strip mall. Waffle Houses exist where the people exist. Often times, in many of these poor neighborhoods the Waffle House is the only place open. Late nights, holidays, weekends, bad weather events, etc. The Waffle House is there for its people. Unhealthy food is better than no food at all.
Having said this, if you aren’t one of the Waffle House’s people, I recommend you approach with caution. The wife continues to harrass me on this matter everytime I take the family back home and we happen to drive past a flickering Waffle House sign. I’m not saying the staff won’t welcome you. They will. They typically don’t discriminate. I’m saying the Waffle House is also a unique biome. The fact these restaurants never close means the organisms contained within them never cease to evolve. If you’re not a local, it’s likely your gut isn’t up for a hash brown bowl or the chicken and eggs breakfast on your first occasion. If, as an outsider, you simply must experience a Waffle House, I suggest you start with a pecan waffle or cheese grits. Work your way up to the smothered and covered hash browns from there.
Oh, and make sure you wear a smile and slow down. Enjoy yourself. Enjoy the simple pleasures—chocolate chips with bacon. That’s Waffle House.
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