Waffle House

 3135 N. Glenstone Ave.
Springfield, MO

Saturday morning. My adult-sized daughter was moving out of her apartment of several years to a less dark and less (hopefully) maintenance-needy apartment a couple of miles away in Springfield. Since I am not in peak physical condition, nor have I ever been, I offered to rent her a U-Haul truck and take her tween daughter out of the way for the day. I had an agenda, the Ozarks Model Railroad Association was having a convention/show at the fairgrounds that day.  I thought my granddaughter might actually appreciate the level of detail on some of the layouts and the mechanics of moving tiny machines around a fixed path. She's an artsy type, pretty good and at ease drawing things, and has a delightful fascination with nature. She's also really, really hard to impress or entertain.
So that morning I picked her up and took her to the fairgrounds. She was, almost immediately, less than impressed. Yawning, in fact. I had been looking forward to this event for at least a couple of months, so I took my dear sweet time, despite the audible sighing. 
After we left the show I noticed it was nearing lunchtime. I asked my young date what she wanted and she answered 'Subway?'. 
The last time she suggested this I complied. The Subway store we went to was all but empty, the line prep line worker was idle. I decided to let her order her own, to encourage confidence and stop "treating her like a baby."
To her credit, she boldly stepped up to the counter and ordered "a regular sandwich".
The young worker looked up at me, confused, bewildered. . . .so was I. 
So the patient young man walked her through the individual steps. "What type of bread" followed by a list of the bread types on hand. Plain white bread was the choice. Then came the proteins,  beef, chicken, ham, turkey meatball. . . ."Ham!" she exclaimed. The young man then listed off the 7 or 8 cheeses options. "American!" she whispered. "What else?" the young man  did a Vanna White style motion with his hands over the produce area. She shook her head. He reached for the squeeze bottles of dressings and sauces.  "Just mayonnaise" she uttered.
Ham, American cheese, Mayo on white bread, not even toasted. THAT's what constitutes a "regular sandwich".  I could have made her one of those at the house. . . .
Anyway, on THIS Saturday morning I was in no mood, nor did a mere sandwich appeal to me. So I did a very grandfatherly thing, I overruled her. When she mentioned Subway, I offered to take her to Waffle House instead.  A somewhat defiant "Fine" was her only response.
The Place:

Just down Norton Road at the intersection with Glenstone.  It looks, remarkably, like EVERY other Waffle House. With over 2000 locations, mostly in the midwest and south, the company tries to position its stores near interstate ramps. This one is no exception, just north of an I-44 exit. Waffle House is unique among fast-food retailers. The Wikipedia entry for the franchise states:
"According to the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA), Waffle House is one of the top four corporations, along with Walmart, The Home Depot, and Lowe's, for disaster response. Waffle House has an extensive disaster management plan with on-site and portable generators, and positions food and ice ahead of severe weather events such as a hurricane."
(Factoid: During her junior or senior year at Springfield Central High school or after graduation from same, my own daughter worked at a Waffle House for a year or so, just west of this location at the Kansas Expressway I-44 exit. The Kansas Expressway location has been converted to a vape and vape accessory shop recently.) She took her wages and generous tips and bought her first car. I don't recall if this was before or after her most notable job of that era, one of the original, Springfield Hooters waitresses. Yeah, My daughter was a well qualified Hooters girl. I weep with pride to this day. 
The Food:
 I go to Waffle House fairly often, I know the menu well. Not that I ever need a menu. I

ALWAYS  order the same thing. 2 eggs, over medium (runny yolk), hash browns, smothered (with diced onions) Two sausage patties, 3 bacon strips and wheat toast. The drink may vary, coffee or orange juice. I usually tell the server "Surprise me." when they ask for my jelly preference. Most servers appreciate that bit of freedom to choose.
We sat at the lower counter, on stools, rather than the few booth seats that hug the outer walls. It was pretty busy, being lunch time and all. The grandkid studied the menu like she had never seen it before, turning over the colorful, laminated page several times. "Just order anything you want." I said lovingly. I had no fear, This was Waffle House, no lobster, no foie gras, no wine list, no caviar. 
To my surprise, she still managed to pick the most expensive plate of

food, The Delmonico, with a thin steak, hash browns, covered (with a cheese slice) and toast. "Delmonico", so the experts at the internet tell me, is a thin ribeye steak cooked in the fashion of 'sous vide' which is French for 'under vacuum'. That's right, it never sees a pan. (though it may be seared on a griddle for a few seconds for color. For a more detailed explanation of this, please refer to my tedious essay on Maillard reactions) 
The sous vide method involves dropping the slab of meat into a plastic bag, sucking all of the air out of it, then immersing the bag in really hot water. This 'secret' method of cooking thin cuts has  been around for a while.   Since the slab is so thin it is very hard to keep it from overcooking (past medium). this method allows even temperatures around the entire steak, while keeping it tender. There, you learned something. 
She asked for steak sauce. She then proceeded to pour roughly half the bottle directly on top of the steak. So much that it was more of an icing than a saucing. The A1 covered the entire top side and formed a pool on her plate. She ate her cheese topped hash browns very much like her cat, her face almost touching the shredded potatoes on the plate and sort of shoveling/lapping in one shred at a time. It was an utterly fascinating thing to watch. 
Summary:
It was very good. How could it NOT be, This is all that they do 24/7/365. My granddaughter finished well before I did, her plate was clean. I sopped up the thick yolk with my toast and finished off the other half of my toast as a strawberry jelly sandwich in place of a dessert.
I had a plan B in case my young date didn't get quite the thrill as I did at the train show. Hobby Town. There she lit up and got sing-songy as she squeezed all the squeezable toys, and eventually picked out twenty dollars worth of things I can only describe as 'assemble it yourself glitter putty." Her day was made. I dearly love my granddaughter, but am not the least bit uncomfortable describing her as "a bit weird."