Waffle House Good Morning
Last Sunday on my long journey home to Edenton from Peachtree City, I stopped at an exit off I-20 and had brunch at Waffle House. “Be right with ya’” someone yelled at me when I walked in the door. “Sit here!” the older woman commanded me; so I did. When someone yells at you with that kind of authority, you should pay attention. I sat close to the action since one stool at the bar was the only seat available and groups were waiting for booths. Here I paid attention. Directly in front of me, practically touching me, a young woman rinsed dishes, tossed them into the dishwasher and unloaded the second dishwasher in the time it took another woman to yell out a complicated order to the short-order cook. In the background the jukebox played on. The galley in front of me is the entire kitchen: storage, prep stage, cooking, serving, cleanup, waiting, checking out. It’s wide enough for two workers to pass if they each turn sideways, holding dishes above their heads, mumbling the entire while, and stepping around the cook. Somehow, in this chaos the short-order cooks listen, hear, remember, prep, cook, and slop food on an assembly line of plates calling unintelligible words to wait staff who charge forward, snatch up a plate and pitch it onto a table, “Here ya’ go, Hon. Waffles in a minute.” And it’s all correct. I never heard anyone say, “This isn’t my order,” or complain that it was taking too long. Look around and see that most diners have three or more plates, and most have at least two glasses and a coffee cup. Waffle House doesn’t scrimp on dishes!
My two-egg-over-easy-grits-toast-hold-the-meat arrived in less time it would have taken me to prepare it in my own kitchen. My juice appeared earlier. As I scraped the plate clean my server hustled over with my check while balancing a stack as long as her arm of clean coffee cups to put on the shelf. I got up to pay and someone slid into my seat. Before I got to the cash register that person was handed a menu and utensils with a quick “Be right with you!”
I’m envious of the concentration skills these kitchen workers have. I couldn’t do their work with all the hurrying and yelling and jukebox, clanging of the dishes, and all the while remembering who ordered what and where in the process that food order is, and who just walked in the door. The crews at Waffle Houses I’ve visited on my trips all have this unique skill, or talent, to do this job. I think there should be a national short-order cook day or a National Waffle House Day.
Did you know Waffle House has their own song? It’s in their jukeboxes.