Waffles

Since Christmas I have been salivating down the frozen food aisle every time we go grocery shopping. I try to avoid even looking in the direction of the Eggos. I have had a hankering for a waffle that won't cease and desist. It's like a monkey on my back.

Hubby said, "Just buy a pack; look these have blueberries."

"No, I'll just eat them."

He shakes his head and walks away, confused by women and their logic.

Years ago when I was young and in my prime, I used to eat waffles all the time. My mom would take my brother and me downtown on a bus and we would go to Woolworth's or maybe it was Kresge's Five and Dime. The countertops were sectioned with glass partitions displaying cosmetics, bobby pins, tubes of lipstick, loose powder with a big fat powder puff. Those variety stores had a selection of everything you could imagine. An escalator ride downstairs was this kid's dream, toys of every size and description called to me.

I loved the sights, sounds, and particularly the aromas of fresh popcorn, hot shelled peanuts in red skins, cashews, and the candy counter near the entrance which sold candy by the scoop. You were enticed inside by the smells. Before we headed for the bus stop, Mom bought us an ice cream sandwich, which was a fresh-baked waffle with a slice of neopolatin ice cream served in between. The perfect crunch, warm/cold blend, and three falvors of ice cream, chocolate, strawberry and vanilla.

When Bill and I met, I made my own waffle ice-cream sandwiches with cherry cordial ice cream. Made us what we are today!

We grew older, and delighted in the occassional restaurant breakfast of Belgian waffle, served hot off the waffle maker, half of it drizzled with butter and syrup and the other half piled high with strawberries and whipped cream.

Today I am waffling about what to eat for breakfast, will it be oatmeal, an egg white omelet, or ...?

Talk me off the ledge, I am about to give in to temptation.