Christmas at the Waffle House
This year, we aren’t having our family Christmas celebration until Dec. 28, so on Christmas Day my husband and I enjoyed a blissfully quiet day. We slept in, went for a hike and went to Waffle House for breakfast. OK, that last one wasn’t exactly quiet.
Waffle House was packed on Christmas Day. At the first location we tried, the line was out the door. At the second one, there were only two seats available at the counter. We took them.
In a booth to the left of us was a family with five kids in matching red-and-black plaid flannel shirts.
In a booth to the right was a family with three kids in matching Christmas pajamas.
From our seats at the counter, we enjoyed a front row view of the intricate ballet of the Waffle House kitchen running at full capacity.
There were four cooks on the line, most of them wearing funny Christmas T-shirts. Behind them, a supervisor called out orders.
“PULL ONE BACON!”
Cook No. 1 was on the griddle, cooking eggs, bacon, sausage and chicken. (I didn’t even know Waffle House served chicken.)
“PULL TWO SAUSAGE!”
Cook No. 2 was cooking hash browns. He seemed to be using some kind of code to signal the next chef in line what to add to the hashbrowns. A tiny cube of ham on the plate meant “hashbrowns chunked.” A piece of onion meant “hashbrowns smothered.”
“DROP ONE COVERED!”
The cooks also seemed to be using ketchup packets, butter packets, even pickle slices as part of this secret code. (Turns out this is the Waffle House “Magic Marker System,” in which strategically placed condiments signal what goes on each plate.)
“DROP TWO IN THE RING!”
Cook No. 3 seemed to be the final assembly guy, putting together sandwiches and topping hashbrowns.
“PULL HALF BACON!”
Line chef No. 4 was waffles. Just waffles.
“ONE WAFFLE DARK!”
They are rock stars, I tell you. A machine. I could never do this. I would be throwing hashbrowns at my co-workers within 15 minutes.
After we had finished eating, we stood in line at the cash register behind a young couple wearing matching Grinch pajama pants. They had come in to cancel their take-out order, even though it had just come out of the kitchen. So the pajama pants were appropriate.
As we walked to the exit, we passed a woman holding a tiny baby, swaddled in a tiny Christmas outfit, fast asleep in the midst of the chaos.
Peace on earth, good will to y’all.