Waffle House

For my "vacation" my roommate and I took a 6am flight down to Alabama only to turn around and drive 20 hours back. The purpose was to help our Alabaman friend make the trip up here after his 6 month long exile from Philadelphia.

This trip involved a lot of uncomfortable car sleeping, driving obviously, and waffle house. Okay, waffle house. My roommate (born and raised in North Philadelphia) was overly excited about the novelty of the waffle house which we have come to view as a true icon of the South. For some reason she is really into the idea of fast food served up on real plates.

Now, I'm not too picky about where I get my food on the road, but after our second waffle house in one day, I was opting for something a little less greasy and ordered a salad. The waitress gave me a blank stare as if salad was not really on the menu for ordering. I pointed to it on the menu, she regained her composure and scribbled it into her pad.

Waitress returns with salad... covered in chunks of ham. Uhm... hm. I'm in the South. I don't think they really get vegetarianism. I stare at the salad blankly. What is one Northeastern vegetarian to do? I try to be as inconspicuous as possible about my alarm at this ham. She drawls is everything alright. I nod.

I suck it up and start shoveling ham off my plate as quick as possible right onto Alabama boy's hash browns (which are already smothered and covered with cheese and enough grease to make anyone vomit.) The whole kitchen staff of about 3 or 4 people start walking by our table staring over and snickering.

Upon leaving the waitress made sure to corner me to ask me how I liked my salad. "It was great, yeah. real good."

My roommate says I wouldn't last a week in the South.