This last week, I dared endure what no stomach has endured: a quest for the ever-elusive perfect waffle. Because my eight-meals-a-week plan does not allow more than one meal a day, I was left to eat nothing but waffles for the entirety of my five-day plan.
Weight gain aside, these are my waffle diaries.
Day One — Waffle of Disappointment
I walked into the dining facility thinking that I could succeed on my first try. As a kid, I had seen my grandpa make waffles every Sunday. With that kind of experience, it couldn’t be hard, right?
I was so naïve.
That afternoon, I watched my pride slowly devolve as I poured too much batter into my cup, forgot to spray the iron with PAM, poured the same obscene amount of batter onto the iron (In retrospect, I really should have guessed that an overflowing cup would probably lead to an overflowing waffle), closed the iron as its sides sputtered with overflow and forgot to claim my crusty waffle the moment it could have been redeemed.
Instead of the angelic waffle I had imagined for myself, I was left with nothing but a crappy hunk of burnt buttermilk. In my last stroke of hope, I still attempted to salvage what had been destroyed by dressing it with an excess of butter and syrup, but all I was left with was a crappy hunk of burnt buttermilk with too much butter and syrup.
In the midst of my existential crisis, I turned to my roommate who had joined me on my waffle escapade in hopes that she and I could bond over our failures, but, of course, her waffle was crispy on the outside, fluffy on the inside and overall gorgeous.
For the sake of my Eggo (ba-dum-tish), she wasn’t allowed to make waffles with me for the rest of the week.
Day Two — Waffle To-Go
The next day, I thought I could handle writing a massive essay in one night, only to realize that I couldn’t. Despite this obvious lapse in time management, I still had to make my waffle.
On a good day, I’d approximate that making a waffle takes about six minutes. If you’re planning on a proper application of condiments, spreading butter and syrup so that you pack flavor in every bite takes time. Of course, I was not granted this courtesy that day.
Instead, I resorted to merely pouring the waffle into the iron, waiting a minute and a half for it to cook (they recommend at least two minutes, but my impatience got the best of me), throwing some syrup on it and running back to my room. In doing so, I ended up with a soggy waffle taco.
You know that mnemonic phrase that you learn in elementary school: Never Eat Soggy Waffles? Yeah, they were right. Don’t.
Day Three — Waffle a la Vegetariana
This day is probably the pinnacle of my waffle-making stupidity. Before I recount this story to you, I want you to remember that I had eaten nothing but waffles and the cheap granola bars in my room for 48 hours. I was desperate.
Unlike a lot of my peers, I enjoy most of the food ASU serves in the cafeteria. I mean, sure, it’s nothing in comparison to my mom’s cooking, but who could say no to a good meatball?
That day, we were offered some sort of flatbread pizza from the gods. It had pesto, cheese, pepperoni –– the works. I, on the other hand, was stuck with eating a waffle. Again. And it’s not like my track record suggested that I’d get to eat a good waffle either.
I stared longingly toward the what-seemed-gourmet-in-comparison pizza while the batter sizzled inside the iron and descended into a pit of wishful thinking: Crusts and waffles can’t be all that different. They’re essentially grains, so it can’t be too weird to interchange them.
Once my timer went off, I hastily walked over to the salad bar and spread some sort of red sauce that wasn’t labeled onto what I had hoped would be my crust. I then topped it off with tomatoes, mushrooms, carrots and peas. It honestly didn’t look half bad.
But then the smell got to me. That red sauce wasn’t anything close to marinara; it was Sriracha. A heavy dose of reluctance took ahold of me as I remembered my past experiences with hot sauce. This wouldn’t end well.
I couldn’t stomach anything past one bite before giving up and getting two slices of pizza. Luckily, a friend was able to capture my reaction, because I honestly could never put the flavor of that waffle to words.
Day Four — Paparazzi Waffle
By my fourth day of eating terrible waffles, I was sick of eating the same dreadful thing over and over again, even considering variations such as hot sauce. I wanted nothing more than to eat something different, so I did.
Before I made that decision, however, I fell into my routine of entering the cafeteria and walking toward the waffle-making area. It was only until half of my time was up on the timer that I decided to abandon my meal and grab some of that day’s pasta.
I was so set in avoiding my fourth waffle that I completely forgot to go back and get it. Luckily, I spotted another student rocking back and forth on his heels near the waffle area, clearly wondering if “anyone was going to eat that.” After an appropriate 10 minutes of pacing around the dining facility, he put the waffle on his plate, sat down and ate a portion of it.
I eventually went up to him to explain the situation and, though he was embarrassed, he laughed. I then asked how it tasted, and he said it was “really, really bad.” Go figure.
Day Five — Redemption Waffle
I don’t know what it was about this day, but something just felt right. I had been in a great mood that afternoon and even the prospect of having a terrible waffle didn’t seem to phase me; however, even considering my good mood, I wanted something with a little more flavor than an ordinary waffle.
Rather than pouring the batter into the iron by itself, I decided to pour half of it into the iron, drizzle some of the chocolate syrup I found in the ice cream section of the cafeteria and add the rest of the batter to the top. Once the timer set off, I saw what had to be the prettiest waffle I’d ever made (though, to be honest, that wouldn't have been hard). Not only was it not burned, soggy or just plain ugly, it was a gorgeously marbled piece of breakfast-themed art.
I almost didn’t want to add anything on top of my last waffle with the worry that I might ruin some of its aesthetic, but ended up spreading some partially melted butter anyway. Instead of actual syrup, I opted for honey.
The flavor was incredible. Not only was the waffle itself crispy on the outside and fluffy on the inside, but the texture of the chocolate syrup gave it the perfect amount of chewiness to complement the herbal taste of the honey. I was so impressed with myself that I brought my roommate back into the cafeteria to experience it with me.
She didn’t like it as much as I did, but I suppose that’s not what matters. After all, waffle appreciation is pretty subjective.
Reach the reporter at aplante@asu.edu or follow her on Twitter @aimeeplante
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