Waffle House, Whiskey, and Sometimes Willie Nelson

We were sitting around talking music when a volleyball friend who loves music even more than me and, near as I can tell, spends every spare dime going to shows and drinking really good beer when he’s there, asked me a question that was a little hard to answer without sounding smug or arrogant. “Man, it must be awesome to play live music. What’s it like?” To which I replied: “Well, it’s…awesome.”

Not that I was ever in a really good band. In high school we only knew maybe 5 songs and played them over and over for an hour while the people at the roller rink…didn’t really care. We may have been rockin’ “Born to be Wild” but they were too busy rollin’ on skates to notice.

And in my early 20s I played in a band that was, frankly, lame. But it was a good time to play country music because that was the era that spawned the country music outlaws (Waylon, Willie, Tompall, et al). Playing those songs, even badly, WAS awesome. And about mid-way through the 3rd set and heading towards midnight no one much cared how good we were. The patrons in the bar were full of beer (so were we) and they just wanted to hoot, holler and dance (so did we). I’m sure we even had a couple of good moments each set when the lead singer wasn’t cranking up his bass and drowning out my, uh, amazing rhythm guitar work. I played the original Ovation acoustic with some pickup or another- the one with the rounded composite body. It looked like this:

Playing in that band was…awesome.

I love live music, appreciate those who are really good at it and still enjoy playing it when I get the chance, rank amateur that I am. I especially like smaller venues where you can get up close and personal with the performers. You can see what kind of guitars they play. You can see whether they’re phoning it in or really trying to connect with their audience. And you can see whether they actually like each other, enjoy playing their music together, and are thankful towards whatever deity they pray to that THEY are among the fortunate few that get to feel that special joy that comes from playing music in front of a crowd that loves your music, and by extension, you.

Antigone Rising is one of those bands.

I discovered them by accident last fall. My sisters were coming into town on their “birthday trip” (don’t ask- kids now have birthday WEEKS and my sisters, not to be outdone, now apparently have birthday TRIPS) and had seen the posts my wife and I occasionally put up from a singer-songwriter venue called Eddie’s Attic. So I looked up who was playing and they sounded like our kind of music so I bought the tickets and we went. I’m probably not their biggest fan only because I just recently started listening to them. There is someone who has logged thousands of miles following them around. After seeing them play I get it.

Oh, their music is good. And fun. And their lead guitar player is literally my newest favorite guitar player. The music was everything I hoped it would be: solid musicianship; a little country and a little rock (I think the current term is alt-country); tight three-part harmonies; a bass player who wears a battered cowboy hat and a drummer who appears unfazed by it all; a sprite of a lead singer with a huge voice; really good songs. And members who appear to genuinely like playing together. Did I mention they were fun?

Because here’s the thing. I’m too old for the pretentiousness of feigned boredom or studied earnestness. I’ve never cared for insouciance. I don’t need arrogance- I know you’re really good, that’s why I’m paying to see you play.

Antigone Rising has so much fun that you can’t help but have fun, too. Some bands for me just seem to have a joyousness when they play. You know that rare occasion when you’re at a concert and you just can’t stop smiling? Flogging Molly. The Sugarland “Love on the Inside” tour when they closed their show with “Walking on Sunshine” (and anytime Kristian Bush and his brother are back home at Eddie’s Attic). EARLY Bruce and the E Street Band. Jerry Jeff Walker back in the day.

That’s Antigone Rising.

I know this is supposed to be a review of their EP Whiskey and Wine Volume I. As per usual I’ve gotten a little off point. So here’s my review and recommendation- go buy it. It’s a good set of songs and now that Vol. II is out I can’t wait to buy that when they hit town here in Decatur on Friday. And, wherever you happen to live, try to support hard-working musicians who love what they do and brighten our world just a little bit because they do it.

...who took 17 years between his epic novel Gravity’s Rainbow and (whatever the next one was). I must confess I tried several times to get through all 760 pages. I never succeeded.

But he and I are sort of alike. It has been about a year since my last post and yet my blog is still sitting somewhere out there waiting for me to bang on the computer keys and start up again. If the internet-driven age has sped everything up exponentially then that’s something Thomas Pynchon and I have in common- a long time between our, uh, literary postings.

Thing is I love to write but, like golf and learning to get better at “Travis-picking”, who has the time? Here is a link to a video of the great Merle Travis who, according to the “experts”, didn’t actually “Travis pick” although the style was named after him. Sort of. Click here for the video.

And I’m also a little competitive. My little younger skinnier (now that’s he’s taken up running and working out) brother, who is a professional writer AND a professional musician, keeps posting more than me...and now has taken to posting YouTube videos of himself along with his singing/playing partner. At least he’s not Travis picking. Yet.

Even my sister the prairie preacher-woman posts to her blog more than me. And she has to write a sermon every week which she doesn’t even post to her blog (I am making no judgement as to whether that’s a good thing or not; you can make that judgement yourself based, in part, on the following picture). 

(This picture is NOT actually a picture of my sister but in all fairness my sister IS a United Methodist minister in Kansas.  And the woman in the picture DOES look suspiciously like she could be one of my dearly departed great aunts- the one who kept reading the Sunday Times well into her 90s and not the one who pinched the children and told them to hush when the other great aunts weren’t around).

So I gotta do something.

Here’s my plan: I’ll start this Wednesday with review of a band coming to my town later on this week: Antigone Rising. Follow them. Support them. Be an advocate.

And beginning next week I’ll launch a three-part series that takes place in Waffle House #1000 that may read a little like a convoluted and self-referencing Thomas Pynchon novel.

After that who knows? How long is 17 years in internet time?

This sort of looks like a Waffle House. It has Waffle House signs and colors. It has a Waffle House menu (more about that in a minute). The staff wears Waffle House uniforms. And they still call out "scattered, smothered, covered" and so on.So it must be a Waffle House, right?

Except that it's located in, and there's no way to say this politely, the 21st century version of a strip mall- otherwise known as "mixed use development." 

Waffle House #1885 was built just a few years ago to take advantage of rapid development in the midtown area of Atlanta designed to serve the growing and expanding campus community of the Georgia Institute of Technology. All of the new construction, services and businesses are not unwelcome additions to what used to be a pretty seedy part of the midtown area. And any area that houses one of the few remaining bookstores in the entirety of the United States has got to be an improvement over almost anything that used to be there, right?

I think I approve of the recent trend to build Waffle Houses into office buildings and other new construction as a part of the fabric of the city. All of the old corner diners seem to have faded away only to give way to more and more restaurant chains and franchise operations and really lousy breakfast fare served up by fast food outlets like...but I digress. So even though Waffle House IS a chain AND a franchise operation even new ones like this seem old school by design. Besides- they can't keep the grease from seeping into the grout of the tile floors forever, right?

So after being startled by the location- how did THIS particular Waffle House do?

You'll notice that they are so proud of their recent health department rating that they display it proudly right next to a pretty frightening statue of Buzz, the famous Georgia Tech mascot, who appears to be wearing a Waffle House uniform and standing on top of a waffle. Graduates of the University of Georgia will not be surprised to see that, once again, people affiliated with Tech are bragging relentlessly about their great grades ad nauseum. To which graduates of the University of Georgia respond with something like: Yeah but football blah blah blah. I suspect it was a disgruntled UGA grad who strategically placed the health department rating close to the nether regions of the aforementioned mascot.

So how was THIS Waffle House? Well, the menu was a limited version of the menu we've come to know and love. All of the essentials were there but I didn't see the t-bone steak or pork chops or the new jalapeno cheese biscuit or the helpful way the new menu packages everything together in one low price. I didn't see, for example, how to order sausage and two eggs with grits or hash browns and toast.

The place was more than reasonably clean; the staff friendly (except the server called me "sir" instead of "hon"...dang college kids!). The food was well-prepared: eggs scrambled and not chopped up while they cook, a nice brown cap on the hash browns and a coffee cup kept filled. I wasn't too nervous sitting alone at the counter in broad daylight and saw scant evidence of former area residents. This Waffle House turns out to be a little...homogenized...a perfect fit for mixed use development.

So Buzz gets an "A" from the health department and this location gets a 6.0 because I'm still not quite comfortable with a mixed use development housing the kind of Waffle House I love in spite of the good food served there. Or maybe I just miss the more run down seedy historical frightening interesting parts of our town.

Call the lamas I saw little Buddha in the checkout line At the grocery store Today Call the lamas He was sitting like a prince in his grocery cart With a perfect smile On his face. -Marshall Chapman

I don’t think there are very many people who regularly frequent their local Waffle House that also do yoga. I realize I am engaging in a gross generalization here but you couldn’t possibly do all of those twisty, bendy and occasionally painful things that they try to get you to do while you’re “on the mat” if you regularly enjoy your breakfast scattered, smothered, and covered. At least I can’t.

I suck at yoga.

I first encountered yoga through a class  called Yoga for Old Stiff Guys at a local studio several months ago and have (mostly) stuck with it since then. I was encouraged in this endeavour by my wife, A.K.A.The Woman Who Encourages Strongly Advises Suggests That I Do Most of The Things I End Up Doing That Are Good For Me. And I must admit- my back seems to be getting better and I am taking much less (insert the name of your favorite anti-inflammatory medication here- mine is naproxen) which is the reason I began in the first place.

Not familiar with yoga? Well, remember all of those balloon animals that clowns and other assorted entertainers used to create to try to impress you when you were a kid? That’s pretty much yoga. Except instead of balloons the teachers try to get actual PEOPLE to bend into those shapes.

They even call them animal names. Cat cow. Pigeon pose. Frog pose. Fish pose.  Downward facing dog.

Cow Face pose.

My wife hints that when saying “I suck at yoga” I am probably not entering into the true spirit of what yoga is trying to teach us: get centered, calm your mind, become more aware of the physical impact of your emotions, accept without judgement that where you are is where you are,  etc.

If that’s what it’s really all about and not just turning yourself into balloon animals I amend my statement.

Some days I REALLY suck at yoga. 

There is something a little unsettling about a brand new Waffle House. Am I the only one or are those smiley face balloons a little creepy- especially tied to the handicapped parking sign?

Maybe it's the condiments. If you'll look closely they don't have that crusted-over look around the caps yet. An even closer look reveals they haven't been opened. Except for the Tabasco sauce. Which is as it should be.

It might be the array of new, well-polished chrome; or all of those unused waffle irons; or the VERY clean floor; or the gleaming tile.

Or it might be looking up to see THOSE guys staring down at you with relentless good cheer. You know who THEY are, right? Sitting beneath that sign while I snapped the pic was a screaming baby. I'm not kidding.

It's a little soon to give #2000 a rating; it was staffed with a number of folks that I know from #1000, where A Handy Man (it says so right on his business card) and I eat most Tuesdays. I PROMISED them I wasn't cheating on them but just curious about what a new store looks like. They promised ME they were just there on a "training" mission and would be back at their regular store in a week or two.

The picture you see above is an actual waffle from Waffle House #1000. Look closely and you'll notice that the center of the waffle has the words "Waffle House" branded into the final product even though this particular waffle is a little jacked up and appears to read "--ffle -ouse".

This is a fairly new phenomenon and one that I think is pretty cool. But there are over 1800 Waffle Houses spread all across 26 states and a typical one has maybe 8 waffle irons- that means the company had to come up with over 14,000 new waffle irons.

At 20- 25 pounds each that's a ton of old waffle irons floating around somewhere. Actually, 175 tons to be more precise. To put that in perspective:

* One 18-wheeler can legally carry a maximum load of 40 tons. That means it took almost 5 fully loaded semis to haul away all of the old waffle irons and then the same number to deliver the new ones.

* One shell for the 16-inch guns on the USS Iowa weighed 2700 pounds- that means the old Waffle House irons represent roughly the equivalent of 130 of the armor-piercing shells that rained down on Saipan, the Marshall islands and other Japanese holdings in WW II.

* The average locomotive weighs between 125-250 tons.

And with the new $5 double waffle special you may feel about that heavy after pouring on the butter partially hydrogenated oil and  maple corn syrup.

Where did all of those old waffle irons go?

They're not on the shelf of the Salvation Army Store across the street from Waffle House #1000 where A Handy Man (it says so right on his business card) and I eat most Tuesdays. I know. I checked.

There hasn't been a huge influx of used, institutional grade waffle irons on eBay. I know. I checked.

They haven't cropped up in used restaurant supply houses here in Atlanta where Waffle House is headquartered. I know. I checked.

Where did they go?

I stop at this Waffle House several days each month to grab something and bring it to my office. You DO occasionally get your Waffle House order to go, right?

The picture you see above is an idealized version of one of my favorite quick breakfasts although it seldom looks like that. It is amazing how many ways they can prepare a Sausage, Egg & Cheese Grits bowl. And how many different to-go containers they can put it in. I have counted at least five different containers along the way, including both the small and the large to-go stryofoam coffee cups, the actual to-go bowl, the to-go plastic platter AND the to-go breakfast plate.

You didn't know there were so many different to-go containers? That's why you have me and this blog. So you don't have to be so observant..

To make a Sausage, Egg & Cheese Grits bowl they first plop a scoop of grits in the bottom of a container. On top of that goes a slice of american cheese. Then, maybe, more grits but usually not. And then it gets creative.

Do you add the PULL ONE HALF SAUSAGE next?  For you Waffle House neophytes that means the server wants the cook to start frying one increasingly thin sausage patty instead of the regular PULL ONE SAUSAGE which means to start cooking two sausage patties.

If you're confused as to how one-half can equal one and one can equal two then my guess is you could be a Biblical literalist who recently hung on every word of the recent creationist versus Bill Nye the Science Guy debate and have questions about how old scientists say the universe actually is.

But back to Waffle House to-go orders.

The question confronting the cook when compiling to to-go order is whether to put the scrambled egg in the bowl FOLLOWED by the chopped up sausage. It's an important choice, especially if you want the effect of scrambled eggs with the cheese ...only in a bowl instead of on a plate. Besides, the coffee cup or bowl they put it in doesn't really leave enough room to mix it all up without spilling on your desk. 

That brings us to the, uh, biscuit. I hesitate slightly because the Waffle House biscuit is really pretty ----- (insert your own derogatory adjective here). The subject of Waffle House biscuits needs to be a separate post at LEAST as long as my two-part series on gravy. We'll leave that discussion for another day. Suffice it to say that this is one of the few times I prefer grape to any other jelly because the flavor is strong enough to (almost) mask the taste of grill grease. My best advice here is to befriend the staff so they'll substitute (wheat) toast for the biscuit. When you're ordering off of the $5 menu it's a crap shoot as to whether they will enforce the strict confines of the menu listing but you can try.

Waffle House #917 gets a 6.6 on my 7-point scale and is among my all-time favorites. I've never had a terrible meal there. They ALWAYS call me sweetie. The cook knows how I like my eggs scrambled (a little soft and actually scrambled, NOT chopped up as they're frying). And they let me substitute wheat toast for that ------ biscuit, especially when the young manager who wears the Waffle House camouflage cap isn't around.

The picture you see is NOT a Waffle House. It’s a picture of the original Flying Biscuit in Candler Park. A Handy Man (it says so right on his business card) and I found ourselves there this week because following our regular Tuesday morning bout of marathon coffee-drinking I needed to be in one of the few places in Atlanta where there actually isn’t a Waffle House.

So I ordered the biscuits and gravy- which is what I NEVER order at Waffle House but will order whenever I can if it is good and the Flying Biscuit has really good biscuits and fairly decent gravy.  Except they make it with chicken sausage.

I really like the original, funky Flying Biscuit even with menu items like Organic Oatmeal Pancakes and Scrambled Tofu and cutesy names like Egg-Ceptional Eggs (or the Egg-Stravaganza or Meggxican Wrap…etc. etc. etc.). But I’m not as convinced about their franchise operation. When Waffle House began to franchise out the Rogers brothers maintained ownership of the company all the better to maintain (quality?) control and expand their business model. The Flying Biscuit sold out to BECOME a franchise-based company. Now I don’t mean “sold out” in the way those of us in the boomer generation swore we’d never do and, well, did…

…but then again…maybe I do.  How many of US have gotten rid of our more “funky” trappings and dived head first into respectability, shopping at the mall (or online at Lands End/Coldwater Creek/L.L. Bean) or purchasing items from The Container Store or, worse, The Pottery Barn?  Not to mention purchasing faux folk art from a well-coiffed, perfectly respectable, art school trained vendor at one of the dozens hundreds thousands of craft markets located wherever it is you happen to live and whose neighbors would sue if said vendors started putting up whirly-ma-jigs and flying angels cut out from tin and chickens made from rebar and oil cans in their front yards.

But we were discussing Waffle House the original Flying Biscuit and NOT its franchise operations.

The gravy is okay- too many onions and way too sweet but otherwise pretty decently prepared and flows when you pour it from a ladle instead of, well, plopping onto the top of your biscuit. The biscuit is, of course, excellent if a little sweet (are you sensing a theme here?). Nicely scrambled eggs that taste very fresh. Really good coffee. Great waitress with a really good sense of humor and plenty of tatoos and piercings as is befitting the next generation of restaurant workers or this generation of college graduates looking for a job in our post 2008 economy that they say is getting better but for who exactly?. 

Actually- the original Flying Biscuit has AUTHENTIC funky decor and not faux funky decor so extra kudoes in this regard. Nice mix of clientele. You can (sort of) watch them cook which is always a plus.

Worry? Why let myself worry? Wondering what in the world did I do? I'm crazy for tryin'... written by Willie Nelson who I'm pretty sure was not writing about Waffle Houses... and recorded by Patsy Cline in one take

According to the internets there are currently 1,891 Waffle Houses scattered across the country (well…26 states of it anyway). 493 of them are in my home state of Georgia. 'Round here we are literally smothered with 'em. And it seems a good many of them are scattered within a half hour drive of my house. Surely I can cover one a week and provide a thoughtful, intelligent, well-crafted review of a different one. Each. Week. For. A. Year.

One way to look at this is that by the time next year rolls around I will have ONLY reviewed 2.6% of all of the possible Waffle Houses out there. It seems more less daunting that way. And I'm not sure how all of this Waffle House reviewing will square with my goal to drop 3/4 pound a month for 2014 or how cheese grits really fit into my resolve to eat more like I'm on the Mediterranean Diet (note to volleyball officials- if you see someone eating hummus, carrots and olives in the work room between matches it might be me). At least until I succumb to the pizza when it's offered.

Which I already did during last week's tournament (first of the year- this Mediterranean Diet thing may not work out). 

But it's a big world and there's a LOT of Waffle Houses in it- so let's get started:

Waffle House #1000

Located in Avondale Estates and a stone's throw from the original Waffle House (and maybe 10-15 throws from my office) ...

...wait, how far IS a stone's throw? Are we talking about when I was young and could pitch a stone clear down the railroad tracks so far you almost couldn't see it land? Or are we talking about how far I can throw it NOW, roughly as far as a pair of VERY near-sighted eyes not wearing glasses can see?

But we were talking about Waffle House #1000.

The picture you see above is the $5 menu which A Handy Man (it says so right on his business card) and I eat from almost every Tuesday. It's an extraordinary deal and we can get out the door for $10 plus tax if the aforementioned doesn't add a bunch of extras to his hash browns (see my analysis of Waffle House gravy in an October 2013 post). Plus tip. 

That tip can be expensive because we sit a LONG time and drink a LOT of coffee. So much time that our tip represents what would normally be considered a rental fee on the booth. Suddenly $10 turns into a minimum of $15+. Like I said- we rent the booth.

What in the heck do we spend all that time talking about? Well, what do any two people talk about who have known each other for over 30 years, watched each other's kids grow up, have roughly the same political views (I'm the more reasonable one...just ask me), have generally the same sense of what's right and wrong with the world, have somewhat similar religious notions, and are fans of musical comedy and take to singing show tunes when they have had too much holiday egg nog?  

Well, there are a couple of significant differences. A Handy Man will go see any production of The Sound of Music or A Music Man or Cats no matter how tired and shop worn  the production may be. And he'll say it's great. Me? I'm a little more particular. I recently walked out of the musical Ghost  at halftime intermission in protest over yet another production culled from a popular movie with generic pop music and horrible writing masquerading as a Broadway musical...after paying good money for those tickets.

In fairness I was egged on by my wife.

On the other hand, A Handy Man has snored his way through more productions of Samuel Beckett, William Shakespeare, and Harold hallowed-be-his-name Pinter than any 10 people I know  maybe anyone who has ever existed in our current time-space continuum.  Me? I try to stay tortuously awake out of some sort of misguided allegiance to the actors and the director who thought he or she was making...art.

But we were talking about Waffle House #1000.

Decent people who have worked there a while. Basic Waffle House food prepared pretty decently most of the time. Occasionally sanitary restrooms. A very friendly guy who is the manager. They always forget that we don't drink cream in our coffee. Nobody calls us "sweetie" or "hon". But they let me substitute wheat toast for the biscuit on the $5 Sausage, Egg, and Cheese Grits Bowl and that counts for something.

I have occasionally eaten breakfast in a diner with someone who orders oatmeal. Nothing else. Just a bowl of…oatmeal.

This has always made me wonder.

I used to HATE oatmeal. Not as much as THIS:

or WORSE:

…but pretty close.

What’s wrong with oatmeal? It’s gloppy; it’s sticky; it’s not sausage or bacon. So I was very suspicious when my local Waffle House started handing out coupons for free bowls of the stuff. My first thought was they won’t be able to GIVE this stuff away much less sell it.

Given my experience with diner cooking I know there’s only a couple of ways they’re going to prepare it. A) They’ll either cook it up and let it sit in the steam table for hours getting stickier and gloppier (because nobody goes to a Waffle House to order oatmeal), or  B) They’ll microwave it which makes what you get the same instant powder you can purchase in small envelopes at a local large chain supermarket near you.

Food should NOT come powdered in small envelopes. And I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a microwave at a Waffle House, at least front of house. So I’m betting A.

UPDATE I forgot about Option C which is really a slight variation on Option B:

C) Put the oatmeal powder in a bowl and mix it with hot  water that comes from a tap on the coffee machine, usually an industrial-strength Bunn (as David Byrne sang: “Same as it ever was"…I don’t think I ever worked in a restaurant that DIDN’T use an industrial strength Bunn).  An industrial strength Bunn coffee maker keeps a reservoir of VERY hot water and forces it quickly through the ground coffee- it makes a full pot in about a minute.

Wouldn’t you like your morning coffee freshly brewed in about a minute? It can happen- you can now purchase a home version of the famous Bunn at a large chain superstore which squeezes it suppliers down to half-pennies of profit on the dollar all the more to sell Americans increasingly cheaper shirts and electronics and Bunn coffeemakers near you.  Here is what the one in the our house looks like:

  But we were talking about oatmeal. Option C may be even worse than Option B because the water never really gets hot enough to fully cook what few oats remain in the pile of sawdust powder you are getting. So the oatmeal looks watery and undercooked. The last time  A Handy Man (it says so right on his business card) ordered oatmeal we confirmed that Option C was the cooking preparatory method.

My recommendation? Stick with the hash browns. Sometimes the grits. Occasionally the waffle. But NEVER the oatmeal.

And check out my blog this Friday when I begin #49 Fridays of Waffle House.

I am not the things my family did I am not the voices in my head I am not the pieces of the brokenness inside I’m not the mistakes that I have made or any of the things that caused me pain I am not the pieces of the dream I left behind I am not the color of my eyes I am not the skin on the outside I am not my age, I am not my race, my soul inside is all light 

I am divinity defined; I am the God on the inside. I am a star, a piece of it all... I am light.

-India.Arie

A couple of Sundays ago I walked into church and saw the minister in active discussion with a couple of ordained women, one of them a retired theologian. It was clear they weren’t discussing the upcoming football playoffs. Once I looked over the Sunday bulletin I understood why. That Sunday we were about to use the above set of India.Arie lyrics as liturgy.

No, the problem wasn’t the source- my particular brand of church believes there is much truth and light still to break forth and we can learn from the experiences of others in many places and among many sets of beliefs. We believe truth is all around us.

When it was time to meet and greet during the service I asked my friend the theologian if her problem was all of those “I am nots”. She smiled and said- “Yes, I am ALL of those things and more; I claim it all.”

Kavin Taylor passed on a few days ago in an event that was too sudden and too soon. For those who knew Kavin the specific details of his age, schooling, etc. etc. etc. aren't needed here. If you didn't know Kavin they don't matter anyway. The observable facts of a life don't necessarily define it or, in the end, tell us much about it. Because while we ARE everything that we have been through and experienced we are so much more than even that.

But sometimes we are afraid to show it. Often for legitimate reasons, to be sure, but we rarely show people what we really think and what we really feel. At best we show those around us a facet of ourselves, but rarely the whole deal. And some of us play poker (face) better than others. Kavin was never one of those people.

Kavin always wore his heart on his sleeve. Ask him how he was or how it was going - he'd actually tell you and without all of the polite but meaningless trivialities so many of us engage in because no we really DON'T, as the Care Bears used to implore us, want to "share our feelings."

Kavin was the person who honestly showed us who he was maybe more than anyone I’ve ever known, and not without some cost. It hurts to lose someone that genuine.

He was the guy with all of those piercings in places you can’t imagine. He was the guy with the pink hair on Breast Cancer Awareness days. He was the guy who was more sloppy and sentimental over dogs than anyone I ever knew with the possible exception of...well, YOU know who you are. He was the guy who mixed vodka with coke. He was the guy who moved in to take care of his aging and frail parents. He was the guy who sometimes made coaches angry with what they thought was arrogance but we knew as something more fragile.  He was the guy the younger players, especially those who had to take out a bunch of earrings when they played, enjoyed the most. He was the guy who made me a mix tape CD for our trip to Florida and it was full of songs from artists I had no idea he knew I liked. He was the guy who had a VERY wicked sense of humor. He was the guy who wore a kilt even with questionable Scottish heritage and wore it with bunny ears to give out jello shots in plastic Easter eggs during ref meetings. He was the guy who was first in line to help with Special Olympics and worked hard to get others to sign up as well. Kavin was all of these and so much more. He was the guy who LIVED diversity and had the friends to prove it. And if you knew Kavin you know this paragraph could go on for days.

When a friend or family member passes on, especially when it’s so sudden, my personal tendency is to take stock. Regrets; remorse; resolve; reflection; some or all of these can come in to play along with the loss I experience as I think about my own life and prepare to move on without the person who is gone.

Every life teaches other lives something about...life. And so it is with Kavin Taylor. He has taught me to be less afraid of showing more of myself to others and to be more open to them as well; to share more of who I am and less of what I think others want to see. In short- to be myself. 

"We are such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little life is rounded with a sleep". So said Shakespeare's Prospero centuries ago towards the the end of a play full of magic, mystery, sorcery, love, petty jealousies, hatred, confusion, anger, despair, and, ultimately, acceptance and reconciliation.

It can be hard to accept all of those experiences and decisions that have shaped us and what we present to those around us and yes, even the light that is uniquely ours.  But we can try.

The problem is that I spend entirely too much of my reading time reading blogs about whiskey. There are hundreds of them. These people are serious about their whiskey. Especially those who write about my current spirit of choice- bourbon. Someone (Sku) even compiled a list of whiskey sites which you can access here. I must admit- what I like about the whole bourbon category, besides the whiskey itself, is the fact that every brand comes with a history and a story. Much of it, seemingly, made up.

I remember when I was a kid I had to read a book called Tall Tales of the American West. I loved it. Pecos Bill, Paul Bunyan (subject of a scary/creepy childhood moment which I may report on in another post), Johnny Appleseed- it may be stretching it to say I fell for them hook, line and sinker but…maybe not. What I can say is that I am still a sucker for a good story. Well, bourbon producers read those same stories and thought- WE can write us some tall tales, too. And use them to help us sell booze while we’re at it. Actually, we’ll make a couple of recipes, pull the stuff out of the barrels at different times and in different places, add different levels of water to it, and then stick it in all manner of differently shaped bottles and labels with a really fun back story attached. And people will enjoy acting knowledgeable even if the story has a few, er, ENHANCED details. Nobody really wants to hear how this company become a huge, multinational conglomerate anyway.

The reference isn’t original to me, but remember the quote from the end of that great western The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance? ”When the legend becomes fact…print the legend." A number of bourbon producers sell the legend as much as they do the whiskey.  By the way- Gene Pitney was snookered. They didn’t actually use his song in the movie even though I’ll bet you think you remember that they did.

The bourbon you see pictured above is an interesting case in point. Where exactly IS The Bulleit Distillery? I’ll tell you- you can’t find it. Sure, you CAN visit the place where it is distilled and they’ll even give you a tour…for free…and then let you sample three of the other whiskeys produced there- at Four Roses Distillery in Lawrenceburg, Kentucky. This one is pretty easy to trace, unlike literally hundreds of others.  But don't think you've found the source for Bulleit Rye. For that you'll have to travel across state lines to Indiana and a huge operation called LDI MGP.  So no, your bottle of Bulleit bourbon isn't actually made by a distillery by that name but is sourced from real, working distillers, bottled somewhere in Kentucky, and slapped with a label that only IMPLIES it was created at an actual place with the name of Bulleit. That isn't to say it isn't worth drinking; it is. The, ahem, tall tale (something about the frontier, I think) makes the whole enterprise more opaque marketable fun.

Which is increasingly making some of the aforementioned bloggers almost apoplectic when they think someone is trying to put one over on them. Which they usually are. I actually enjoy this story-making by bourbon producers bottlers hucksters brand owners huge corporate conglomerates. It's so much more interesting to tell stories and carry on the mythology of American whiskey than raving rhapsodizing gushing perseverating going ON and ON about how “peaty” or "smoky" or "grassy" or “salt briney” your whiskey is.

The bottle you see above comes from Maker’s Mark…owned by Beam Global, makers of, you guessed it, Jim Beam….AND Knob Creek…AND Old Overholt…AND Ol’ Grandad…etc. etc. etc. But even though they're owned by Beam they really DO make all of Maker’s Mark right there at the distillery. I toured the place, stuck my finger in the mash, saw the stills in operation, saw the “white dog” come off the still, saw the bourbon go into bottles, and watched actual humans dip the bottles in the famous red wax. I even bought a signed bottle (maybe from one of those signing machines or placed there by the label-printer?) from the family that started it all and still runs the place. So call me a believer in the Maker’s Mark distillery. No “fake moon landing conspiracy theories for me.

That said…the folks behind the Maker’s Mark brand have a few pretty good stories to tell themselves. Something about the epiphany of wheat bread, the intentional destruction of an old family recipe, spilled red wax…etc. etc. etc. But hey, the tour is really worth seeing and the bourbon is really worth drinking.

Raw materials are important. The quality of water is important to the whiskey-making process no matter the distiller (just ask Maker's Mark or Laphroig). The quality of the song makes a difference no matter the singer (for evidence of this fact check out the difference between Willie's "Red-Headed Stranger" and "The Great Divide" albums).  The quality of data matters when doing statistical analysis no matter the analyst. Early computer-users had a term for bad data leading to bad analysis- GIGO (garbage in, garbage out). It was first used to describe the early stages of computerization by the IRS.

Well, the same principle is true for hash browns.

Should you choose to make hash browns at home there are several ways you can personally access the raw materials needed to make 'em. You can, of course, peel and par boil actual potatoes, like these:

  You then run them through a grater, and then fry them up in a (cast iron) skillet using vegetable oil. Or this:

  Or you can purchase them already par boiled and grated. This is what we did at the truck stop. They came frozen in 20 pound boxes, four trays to a box, five pounds of potatoes per tray. We would thaw them out in the walk-in cooler and the fry them up 5 pounds at a time to get ready for the breakfast and late-night drunk rush.

You can purchase hash browns similar to these in the fresh case near the eggs at a local supermarket near you:

  They are actually really good raw materials for hash browns, and have the advantage of sometimes going on a BOGO sale, so you can purchase several at a time and...freeze them. Just like the truck stop.

Waffle House, however, takes a different approach. They access their raw materials via milk carton.

The first time I saw a cook pull out a milk carton and throw some hash browns on the grill was in 19-- (never mind what year) in Athens, GA. I had never seen this before. Having driven from Springfield, Missouri to Athens the day (and night) before I wasn't certain what I was seeing and thought I was, perhaps, still sleeping. I asked the cook about it and he said, sure, we open up the carton, fill it with water, and there you go, buddy- hash browns ready for the grill.

No- these are not MAGIC milk cartons, exactly. They are filled with DEHYDRATED potatoes. So yes- add water and, like those "magic sea monkeys" that spring to life when you add water (remember those?) you get hash browns.

No wonder Waffle House is one of, if not THE world's largest purveyor of hash browns. Think of it this way: dehydrated foods constitute anywhere from 2/3 - 3/4 less weight when you take out the water. And perhaps the same equivalent in bulk. Now you know how they can transport all of these raw materials to each restaurant, store them without needing the world's largest cooler or freezer, and never have to worry about spoilage all while giving them to you for free when you order the breakfast platter (however, refer to last week's post to discover how "free" doesn't necessarily mean "free").

The only problem, according to the manager at the Waffle House where A Handy Man (it says so right on his business card) and I eat almost every Tuesday, is when someone forgets to add water to bring those raw materials to life. They now come in such large containers that it takes a couple of hours for the potatoes to rehydrate. Running out of hash browns at a Waffle House is, according to this manager...a pretty awful feeling.

So if you'd like to make your own Waffle House hash browns start with the raw materials they use- dehydrated potatoes. You can actually purchase them at a large supermarket chain store near you. They'll look something like this:

However, if you're going to have them smothered, covered and chunked, (and maybe even peppered), be prepared to shell out $5 for the smoked ham, maybe $1 for the onion and green pepper, and $2.49 for the package of sliced American cheese. Plus add in the cost of your labor for, say 30 minutes @...well, how much an hour WOULD you pay yourself to rehydrate the potatoes, cut up all of those ingredients into a 1/4 inch dice (or as the culinary school types call it, mace'doine), heat up the skillet with some oil and, finally, fry the whole mess up? And then clean up afterwards?

Suddenly a couple of bucks for your hash browns seems like a pretty good deal...and you don't even have to do the dishes.

The picture you see is not a picture of hash browns. What you see might be better described as a reformulated, potato-based, oval-shaped grease entrapment device, but it can't be hash browns. Why not? Because it's deep fried.

Now, I love deep fried. French fries, onion rings, okra, seafood (especially fresh oysters battered, fried and piled on a Po' Boy), chicken filet sandwiches, kettle chips, corn dogs, donuts, tater tots. Tater tots alone are reason enough to stop and eat here:

  and here:

  But hash browns are for grilling, or at home, for a skillet.

Waffle House serves a LOT of hash browns. I LOVE Waffle House hash browns. They used to charge extra if you ordered hash browns instead of grits on your breakfast platter. But they learned a long time ago that all of the extras you put on those hash browns are where the profit margins are. I mean, you can't resist smothered, covered and chunked Waffle House hash browns, at least in part because you actually get to SAY the words smothered, covered, and chunked while referring to food. Like all good dealers salespersons the 1st one is free (scattered). Then it goes to .40 cents a pop. And after you're hooked  you order a couple of extras you get a volume discount at .30 cents thereafter (prices may vary at a Waffle House near you- their web site says so). Suddenly those "free" hash browns on your breakfast platter are costing you a cool $2.90. Order hash browns "all the way" without anything else? $4.00...before you even order this:

And you thought it was just T.G.I Friday's that was the world's champion at upselling you. Especially on name brand, premium vodka to mix in your Dirty Martini. After all that olive juice you can't actually taste what kind of vodka you're drinking anyway- assuming vodka actually HAS a taste. At least at the Waffle House you're adding textures and flavors for your extra coinage.

Of course, Waffle House hash browns are "real" hash browns; they're grilled. There is no deep frying at the Waffle House.

A rare off-day blog post because my 7 followers need to know about this important day in American history...