The WH

On the other side of healthy blood pressure: The Waffle House. (If you are my husband's doctor, please don't read this.) After going to a book sale Saturday, I said to Dear Husband: "Here's what I'm thinking: Two eggs over medium, wheat, hold the grits." So we went and it was de-lish. The Waffle House and I have enjoyed a long relationship. I don't go that frequently anymore (like in college for late-night study/coffee sessions; and my college choral director was in a band called Scattered Smothered and Covered. Briliant.) but it's some sort of comfort that you can walk into a Waffle House pretty much anywhere and the cooks and waitresses will yell out: HELLO! Sort of like "Cheers" without the charm. The simple menu. The simple decor. Photos of menu items framed on the walls. Watching the cooks manage multiple orders at one time.
Granted, the Waffle House did its part to contribute to the untimely death of one Lewis Grizzard--so I don't recommend becoming an addict like he was. Just an every-now-and then trip for good, cheap comfort food.
To read a column by Grizzard about his favorite fast-food haunt, click here. Ironically, it's about the need for Americans to walk more.