Waffle House

Spring breaks when I was a teen meant loading five sisters into a car and an uncomfortable but hilarious 24-hour drive to Florida. My oldest sister was always at the helm, both in the car and in the planning of the event. She's always been a traveler and wanted to inspire in each of her younger sisters that same love of the road and adventure.

How my four older adult sisters tolerated me, a sassy loud awkward unkempt weird teen, for those beach vacations I will never know. (Then, how they have tolerated me, a sassy loud awkward unkempt weird adult, for these decades of sisterhood I will never know. Some of us are lucky to be born to benevolent people.)

What always fascinated me during our spring tours were the Waffle Houses that seemed to multiply the further south we drove. Window signs declared each shop the home of chicken and waffles, and that unfamiliar combination fascinated me. We traveled on a budget and a tight schedule, and never stopped at a Waffle House no matter how much I begged. Once we stopped at a roadside diner that served us cold runny grits and rubber pancakes, but that was as close to chicken and waffles as we got.

Chicken and waffles have finally made themselves known across the Twin Cities in restaurants both hip and homey. But I still haven't made it to a Waffle House. As Våffeldag (Waffle Day) approaches I am thinking a lot about waffles AND chicken. March 25 is only a few days away and I contemplate seltzer versus yeast, buttermilk versus yogurt versus ricotta. Waffles are like pizza; there are very few I've met that I don't like. Today over at Called to the Table is a recipe inspired by my Great Aunt Millie's seltzer waffles.