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Topic: The Waffle House Index

THE WAFFLE KING

The Waffle King had it all – a job he loved, a good salary, a nice car, and a house with enough room for a family. One thing he lacked was a better nickname. Albert would have preferred something with a bit more dash; after all, he worked in the exciting Breakfast Unit at Paulson, Paulson & Love, the most successful small brokerage firm on Wall Street.

Ridiculed by jealous competitors as the Waffle House, Albert’s group bought and sold breakfast futures around the world. There was the Toast Exchange in France, the Egg Market in London, the Bacon Auction in Iowa, and the granddaddy of them all, the Waffle Index in Belgium, his true love.

Albert was a natural, but he also worked hard, eating at diners whenever he could, talking with waitresses, seeing what people ate. “I was the first to know that chocolate chip pancakes were passé,” he had proudly told a waitress at Bacon Heaven. “I noticed a kid at a Breakfast Barn order pancakes topped with ice cream, berries and sprinkles instead.” She had just smiled. Waitresses liked Albert, and not only for the big tips.

Albert’s clients had sold their chocolate chip futures and bought sprinkles at the lowest price in years. They had all made a killing.

But the markets had been quiet for weeks and he was getting bored. When he caught himself building forts with his pencils, Albert knew he had to get out of the office. “Time for a field trip,” he thought. “Product research,” he called it. “Playtime,” said his assistant, who booked him a quick trip to the Nebraska State Fair.

It was true, Albert loved the fairs, with their exciting rides, fascinating exhibits, cultural oddities, and interesting people. He preferred them to going out with “the gang” for expensive drinks after work and playing credit card roulette. Somehow, he always lost. But what he truly loved was fair food, the innovative heart of American cooking. Where else could you find deep fried butter, fried pigs’ ears, or fried beer?

Three days later, Albert was back at his desk, feeling rejuvenated and confident about the state of waffles in America. “Forget maple syrup,” he advised his clients, “buy the exotics!” He had seen the future at the Midway. People had been eating double-fried BBQ pulled pork waffle sandwiches and chocolate-dipped, deep-fried waffles on a stick, recipes which would have appalled the purists but were destined for the Waffle Hall of Fame.

As successful as the trip had been, Albert still felt something was missing from his life. “It’s lonely at the top,” he thought. He knew that certain sacrifices had to be made when you were the Waffle King, but a Waffle Queen would have been nice, and not the mail order kind, no matter what Devon said he should try.

Devon was the top broker in the whole firm, and he was always giving Albert friendly advice. “Dress for success,” “buy a hotter car,” and “ditch those glasses for contacts” were some of his suggestions. It was Devon who had first called him the Waffle King.

But his devotion to his job left Albert little time for romance, so he bought a cat and named her “Waffles.” Devon shook his head when Albert told him, then promptly told the others.

The other brokers were always going out to new, expensive restaurants for lunch. He preferred to work through lunch, or if he was hungry, he went to Cindy’s Luncheonette around the corner. It was small with only a few customers, but the food was good. He had discovered it on one of his research safaris, as he called them.

Cindy served breakfast all day. Her French toast was decent, but her waffles had been a little soggy until he suggested that she turn up the heat on the waffle iron and add some corn meal for a little extra crunch and flavor.

“Where did you learn that?” she had asked him.

“From my mother,” he had said. “She taught me a lot about cooking.”

None of the other brokers knew anything about cooking, but Albert thought it was important when selling breakfast commodities. Besides, he liked working in the kitchen when he had the time and he was good at it. He had recipes from as far back as his great-grandmother, and he had made most of them, although he had yet to try possum fritters.

After his improvements, Cindy started calling her waffles “the Albert Special,” and she would always come out of the kitchen when she saw him and talk for a few minutes. Albert liked her smile.

One day, he took Devon to Cindy’s for lunch to try the Albert Special. “Diners aren’t my thing,” he had said, “and who eats meat loaf in Manhattan?” He had spent a lot of time joking with Cindy. “The cook’s hot,” he had said, but Albert hadn’t liked his pun.

The next time he stopped by for lunch, Cindy had asked about “your friend with the sparkling eyes,” and Devon had asked Albert for the luncheonette’s phone number even though it was online. Shortly afterward, while waiting for a cab after work, he had seen Cindy and Devon walking down the street together holding hands. Devon had waved and smiled, but Albert had pretended not to notice.

Albert thought it was past time to go on a safari and find someplace different for lunch. “Variety is the spice of life,” he had told himself, “and that applies to work as well. I need a new friend.”

Albert had worked extra hard after that and he had received a nice bonus. “Don’t burn out,” the partners had said. “Take some time off.” But where would he go and what would he do? Besides, who would take care of Waffles the cat?

One day, Albert was in the file room when he heard Devon’s voice. “I never stick with one babe very long,” he said. “’Use ‘em then lose ‘em,’ that’s what I say. Take that cook I’m seeing -- time to place a new order.” His audience laughed loudly.

Albert got his file and left.

The breakfast markets were starting to settle down after the election. With more time for lunch, he thought it was finally time to try the Albert Special again. Unfortunately, the restaurant was closed with a big “For Rent” sign in the window. “Too bad,” he thought. “I miss her waffles.”

Albert also had more time in the evening. Although Waffles was a great cat, her conversational skills were weak, so he decided to take a cooking class at the Culinary Academy: “Intermediate Breakfast.” If nothing else, he could sharpen his kitchen skills.

There were about eight other people in the class, a nice mix of men and women of various ages. Each week brought a new topic and a new chef. Some things Albert knew, some things he learned for the first time. “Try thick pieces of challah bread soaked in a heavy custard mix,” the French toast chef advised. Albert wondered if he would learn anything in the waffle unit next week.

The surprise was in the chef. “Tonight, I was going to show you how I make the Albert Special,” said Cindy. “But since Albert is actually here, perhaps he could show you himself?”

Albert didn’t like getting up in front of people and he had never cooked with anyone watching before, but one thing he knew was waffles. When Cindy smiled at him, he walked to the front and told them everything he knew, which was a lot. Everyone’s waffles were perfect, and at the end the class applauded, even Cindy, who clapped the longest.

“Thank you,” Cindy said as Albert cleaned his work space.

“I was surprised to see you,” said Albert. “What happened to your restaurant?”

“It never attracted many customers,” said Cindy. “The ones I had were loyal, but it just wasn’t enough. Now I do catering. It’s going OK, but weddings are hell.”

“What about Devon?” asked Albert, still charged with the adrenaline from his demonstration.

“I dumped him after two weeks,” she said. Albert could see her blush. “He was all hands.”

They stood around awkwardly, neither one leaving and both unsure about staying.

“As long as we’re in a kitchen,” said Cindy, “why not have some coffee and just talk?”

Cindy made great coffee, so they sat and had a cup, and then another. The conversation got easier, and they found they had a lot in common. Both loved fair food and a good roller coaster. Their laughter became more natural and frequent.

"I've missed seeing you," Albert said. "And I don't want to let another Devon get in the way again."

“One Devon is more than enough,” Cindy replied with a smile.

Summoning the daring that had made him the Waffle King, Albert asked Cindy the second-most important question of his life. “Would you like to go to Coney Island and ride the Cyclone? We could eat fried pickle dogs and have funnel cake for dessert.”

Cindy gave him her second-most important answer. “Only if we can see the Mermaid Parade!”

Back at work, Albert surprised the partners – he took Saturday off. And then Sunday, too. How long this new behavior would last, no one knew and no one cared. The Waffle King was clearly at the top of his game.

* * * * * *

Thank you once again,