Eddie Pensier writes:
(with apologies to Neil Finn)
Three waffles in three days
So indulgent, breakfast, dinner, either works well
Sweet above and crisp below
Syrup dribbles in the pockets sitting on my plate,
Even if it’s getting cold
Gorgeous in so many ways
Like three waffles in three days.
This happened purely by coincidence. On our last day in New York, we had what we thought would be our final lunch out, and then by chance happened upon the Wafels & Dinges truck, an eatery fine enough to have made it to #83 on Yelp’s Top 100 Places To Eat list.
Well, a waffle truck cannot be passed without decisive waffle action being taken, so a waffle was purchased. The “Liege” variant, the chewier of the options, doused liberally with spekuloos spread. Spekuloos can be described as ginger biscuits mashed into a peanut-butter-textured spread, or more simply, as spreadable orgasms. Ahem.
The next day we flew out to Los Angeles, where we were entertained by (among others) Raymond Padilla, the gentleman proprietor of RPAD.TV, and Our Very Own Blowhard, Esq., who took us to that SoCal landmark known as Roscoe’s Chicken and Waffles. There he was gracious enough to treat us to (duh) chicken and waffles.
Waffles here were thinner and less sweet than the Belgian sort. They were crispy rather than chewy, and syrup had to be applied judiciously to avoid total waffle disintegration. (Which isn’t a bad thing, mind you: I can think of far worse things to go with conversation and gossip than a plate of maple-scented sludge.) The chicken was crisp, juicy and faintly spicy, and on Blowhard’s recommendation we got some biscuits and gravy to accompany our meal. Score: perfectly fluffy biscuits and superbly savory gravy, halfway between sausage and cream gravy and plate-lickingly good.
The morning of our departure, we fueled up at the Best Western Suites breakfast bar, which featured a self-operated, timer-enabled waffle iron. One dispenses batter into a Dixie cup and pours it onto the iron, rotates the iron to start the timer, and waits. Two minutes later, to my surprise, what should emerge from the iron but a crunchy and fluffy waffle that needed hardly any syrup or butter to be delightful. I was so enraptured, in fact, that I forgot to photograph it.
In related news, I don’t foresee myself eating waffles again for a long, long time.
- Blowhard, Esq. dines at some other food trucks.