However, there was one benefit of being on a road trip without Pam. I could eat anywhere I wanted to eat. This morning, I was awakened around 5 am by a thunderstorm. When I looked at the radar I realized that if I didn’t get on the road in a hurry I would be driving all the way home in the rain. So, I threw everything in the back of the car and got on the road around 5:30. So by the time 9:00 rolled around I needed gas and I was starving. When, lo and behold, right there beside the Shell station was this American Classic:
When I was a much younger man and given to yearly golf trips to Myrtle Beach with the boys, this was our road trip breakfast joint of choice. I don’t remember ever partaking of this guilty pleasure with Pam. For starters, I know better. Frankly, she would have been appalled by this particular franchise, which might have been the greasiest I’ve ever encountered, and that’s saying something. Although WH has many benefits which I will detail shortly, it isn’t exactly what anyone would consider…clean. You’ve heard of the greasy spoon? Well, WH is the greasy spoon, knife, fork, table, floor, walls, ceiling and waitress. While this condition would be a non-starter for most women I know, guys can and do overlook it for many reasons…
Number One…the one page menu. Sure, I might have had to pick it up with a napkin, but what it lacked in cleanliness it made up for in simplicity. There are only six basic options plus a la cart items at the bottom. There’s none of this 16 page gothic novels for you to wade through like at the Silver Diner or even worse, The Cheesecake Factory. Besides, any man worth the title knows what he’s going to get before he even pulls the keys out of the ignition in the parking lot…the All-Star Special. My waitress, Yolanda, expertly barked out the crucial options.
Yolanda: You want sausage, bacon, city ham or country ham, baby?
Me: Country ham.
Yolanda: How you want them eggs cooked, darlin’ ?
Me: Over hard.
Yolanda: Plain grits, cheese grits, jalapeño grits, home fries or hash browns, baby?
Me: Hash browns
Yolanda: Want them plain, or smothered, covered, chunked, diced, peppered, capped, or topped?
Me: Plain
Yolanda: Praise the Lawd! That right there is a man who know what he want!
That entire exchange took no more than thirty seconds. Then Yolanda disappeared behind the famously unclean counter …
I can say with very high confidence that my table was only slightly cleaner than that charmingly lid-less trashcan. Notice the high gloss shine of the ceiling above those famous ball lights. I’m pretty sure that acoustic ceiling tiles aren’t suppose to shine, but I put all of that out of mind five minutes later when Yolanda turned up at my table with this…
Number Two. Everything you see in this photograph was freaking delicious. While you can argue that perhaps Yolanda shouldn’t have placed the butter packet on top of the waffle, and maybe she could have been more fastidious with the creamer containers and the grape jelly packet, the actual food was a masterful piece of cooking. That country ham steak might have been the most delicious I have ever tasted and was big enough for three people. This American bounty of Breakfast That Kills cost me a mere $13.00. Heck, I paid $14 for an appetizer last night at dinner!! How can there possibly be food insecurity in this country when this much artery-clogging fare can be consumed for just thirteen bucks?? When Yolanda brought me the bill I gave her a twenty dollar bill and told her to keep the change to which she replied, “Bless your heart, baby.”
No, Yolanda. Bless you!
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