Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. I am one of those firm believers that dogmatically holds to this fact. Ones breakfast is what sets the tone for the rest of the day. Lackluster breakfasts lead to mundane days. Surprise breakfasts lead to a day chocked full of unpredictability. And, horrible breakfasts lead to days of absolute hell. I forgot to eat breakfast one time, and ended up in the emergency room, dying. The doctors said it had something to do with a foot infection, but I didn’t buy their lies, and neither should you. I say it again: Breakfast is THE MOST important meal of the day.

With the above mentioned fact at the forefront of my mind, I cautiously entred Fairway, a place known for its “famous” pancakes which are named after some chick named Elaine. (Neither of which I had ever heard of.) This intrigued me because my middle name is Elaine so I automatically felt a kinship with the place. I was there for breakfast on Sunday, but it was actually closer to lunch time, so you could say I was there for “brunch”. But that’s a dumb word, so I’ll stick with breakfast.

Upon entering the joint, my senses were blasted with smells of hamburger, syrup and baked potatoes. Despite this overload, my eyes were drawn to an enormous poster of the owner/head chef: Mitchel London. His face was plastered everywhere, his name all about the cafe. There were special advertisments for a night called “Cooking with Mitchel”. He seemed like a stuck-up son of a bitch to me. And, sure enough, there he was directing customers and employees with a loud, bellowing voice. My suspicions were confirmed. I did, however, feel lucky to be in the same room with such a superstar.

Sitting crammed up against a window, I whet my appetitive with a Dt. Coke. Now, normally I am not a fan of Coca-Cola products, but in this case, I make an exception. This Dt. Coke made my day. To my great amusement, the Dt. Coke came in a bottle. A real bottle. Glass. Like how they did it in the “olden days”. I didn’t know that even happened anymore and wish I’d kept the bottle for posterity sake.

My order was simple: waffles. It’s kind of hard to go wrong with waffles, especially when I’m the one eating them. Last summer I lived off of the things. Fairway’s waffles, aesthetically, were nothing to go nuts about. I can only assume Mr. Mitchel London is a minimalist. No unnecessary adornments or frivolous waste is added to his waffles. The breakfast cake sat very lonely and very sad upon a very white plate. A few blueberries were scattered about, and a strange smearing of melted butter covered the top. The syrup was in a small plastic cup. It kind of depressed me.

With low expectations, I grabbed a fork, and dug in. Suddenly, I was hit with a glorious sensation. Soft and crisp, buttery and warm the texture and taste of the waffle was remarkable. Each sensual bite led me to fall more and more in love with this waffle, and at the end, my taste buds were screaming for more. But, the most magical part of this breakfast was that it was just enough. After the meal I was not all “Oh crap, I have to go run 5 miles because I just ate two days worth of calories”. On the contrary, I felt energized, and satisfied.

In conclusion, the waffle was just right. Nothing fancy, nothing crazy, just a good ol’ waffle that hits the spot. Also, I’m still amazed about the Coke bottle. It’s so cool.

Good work Mitchel, you’ve done it again! I think.