Farewell, Waffle House

Waffle House is a Southern staple. In college, it's where I went at 3am to scarf down smothered hash browns in a drunken binge state. As an adult, well, it's purpose hasn't changed much but add to that the occasional weekend breakfast--best damn cheese eggs you will ever eat, promise. It's cheap, usually close because you can't drive a mile without seeing one, and good for what it costs. 

All that said, the decor and cleanliness leaves much to be desired. You get used to the toothless waitresses and larger than life, sweating like pigs-on-a-spit grill cooks, but I could never accept the food on the floor (dropped in transit, by kids, whatever), waffle batter all over the kitchen and spotted silverware. Or the finger prints on the windows. Anyone who knows me understands that I am just, oh, insanely OCD in regard to cleanliness. Use your imagination to figure out how I get through these breakfasts. I'll give you a hint: there's a happy place involved. 

I know, you must be thinking, why the hell would you ever eat there in the first place? But if you're from the South you understand, and if you're not, well don't judge.  I've been in much worse pizza/sub shops in NYC, unlicensed Asian kitchens in the West, and eaten at several ramshackle BBQ pits that add cockroach for crunch in the central states. 

Before yesterday, if you would have suggested stopping for breakfast at the Huddle House I would have said absolutely not. It's a second-tier Waffle House...you have got to be kidding me.  Seems I was very wrong. 

Turns out, Huddle House is like Waffle House. Only red. And clean. Yes, my friends, clean. And the food just as good and just as cheap. The staff is even a tad more attractive. Fortunately, the cheese eggs are also up to par. Where did this place come from? And why am I just learning about it? 

Hello, Huddle House. Your name sucks, but you get my business over the Waffle House any day.

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