waffle interlude…

i found the waffle place — waffle on — right by the subway entrance on degraves street. it was a little nook and cranny, cosy red and warm. i ordered a waffle, plain, and a hot chocolate. “chocolat chaud?” confirmed the proprietor, while indicating that i pull up a stool to the high counter in the corner.

not too long after, he whisked this suger-dusted beauty down before me. there were wispy strands hanging off it, that i took — with a lurch — to be hair, but it turned out to be threads of caramelised sugar. i broke off a corner and nibbled at it, and was immediately won over: satisfying crunch gave way to chewy inside. this wasn’t some common variety of flluffy waffle that you could just shove into your mouth and swallow. i tackled it slowly, all its burnt sugary bits, stopping every now and then to answer a question — “c’est bon?”, or to learn a bit more about the man and his waffles:

lived in sydney — left sydney — doesn’t miss it — ran a cafe in darlighurst — le petit creme — ran with the victoire crowd — doesn’t think much of fluffy americain waffles — imports his beet sugar from belgium

and then monsieur waff, he brought me my hot chocolate. ah, merci!