The hotel did not have free breakfast, so we went to the Waffle House around the corner. I had the best seat in the place where I could watch the staff working. What a beehive of activity! The wait staff almost ran, rushing from table to a point where they shouted orders at the cooks. At least three cooks stood at their stations, slinging food about efficiently. Their feet hardly moved. The man I could see best was the one who continuously cooked waffles, made toast, and buttered it. The next man cooked eggs and bacon, lifting a heavy bacon press from time to time to remove cooked slices. I have no idea how they remembered what to put on the plates. Grits were added last by the waitress. She used a dipper to plop a pool of grits on the side. I was amused, too, by the menu listing city ham. City ham? What was that? Then it came to me. We were in the South where country ham is often a salty choice. This made you think about the specific kind of ham you were going to get. At the edge of the dining area, the waitresses scraped the scraps into a garbage can. There was no room or time for a bus boy to operate.
John saw another quiet drama at the door. A couple came in, spoke to a waitress, and went back out. She handed them mugs of coffee outside the door, where they smoked cigarettes and sipped coffee until a table was ready. He didn’t think that would happen in the North.
I love eating slowly, savoring every bite. That was hard to do with the wait staff whizzing by and shouting orders, the cooks slinging food, and the line at the door growing longer by the minute. Our seats had no chance to cool before a foursome was sitting down to order. I couldn’t think of digesting my food until we were out of sight of that whirl wind.
How would you peg this establishment? The food was fast in a sit-down environment. Would its genre be fast down food?