When I enter the Waffle House on a Sunday morning, I see chaos yet peacefulness at the same time. The fry cooks are trying their very best to please every family, and every family is enjoying their meal. I smell cigarette smoke, waffles, and crispy bacon all in one whiff as I walk to an open table. As I sit next to the window, I hear the many lifted diesel trucks’ roaring engines and families piling in or out of them. I sit down and I feel at home. Dopamine fills my body as I throw away the menu because I don’t need to see it, I already know what I want.

Ms. V, my server, greets me with her usual, “Hey honey, what’ll you have this morning?” I feel the warm welcome touch my heart as I recite the order that I always get: chocolate milk and an All-Star that comes with bacon, hash browns that I get “covered and smothered,” cheesy eggs, raisin toast, and, of course, a waffle. Ms. V knows my order by heart at this point because of how much I go in there. She writes everything down on the golden ticket. She smiles and says, “Coming right up.” 

My meal comes out and it is the most wonderful, beautiful, scrumptious looking meal ever thought of in the eyes of God. It seems like Jesus personally kissed this meal and blessed it because of how beautiful it is. I ask for a bottle of hot sauce and at the speed of light, my server grabs it for me. I splatter the hot sauce onto my cheese eggs and go to town. 

After demolishing my cheese eggs, I take a sip of the chocolate milk and look at the hash browns. Since I asked for “covered and smothered,” they’re topped with cheese and sauteed onions. I snatch the ketchup bottle and squirt some out onto my next victim. I fold the hash browns over and over again to spread out the ketchup, onions, and cheese to create the perfect proportionate meal. It may not look that appetizing to the normal, boring eye, but to me, it is a slice of heaven. I gobble down the hash browns like an apex predator and take another sip of that chocolatey goodness.

Up next is my waffle. I cut the waffle up into eight pieces, like a pizza, and then pour the syrup in a perfect circle around the entire waffle. Next, I spread the butter. After completing this ritual, I consume the waffle. After about the sixth waffle slice, the infamous “Waffle House food baby” forms. I feel sick to my stomach. My body is telling me to stop eating, but my mind is telling me to keep going. I eat the last two waffle slices, and I am down for the count. I am KO’d by the All-Star. I finish my chocolate milk and realize I still have the raisin toast and the bacon, which I put in a plastic to-go box.

I walk up to the cash register and pay approximately 12 bucks for an emotional rollercoaster of a meal. Ms. V and I catch up with each other and talk about life. She always writes a Bible verse on my ticket before I depart. After I look up the verse and read it to her, I thank her and tell her, “See you soon.” It feels good to be served by genuinely excellent people. Waffle House is an 11/10 experience.