Before the War of Northern Aggression, the South had its peculiar institution. And while those days may be gone with the wind, the days of peculiar Southern institutions shall not be gone so long as the South perseveres in its final, institutionalized bastion of separation. The North today has plenty of "Southern" Baptists, NASCAR fans and supporters of the Party of Bush - the number of institutions that can honestly be called Southern is dwindling. However, champions of sectional pride need not unsheathe their sabres. For so long as there is a Waffle House, there will be a dividing line in America between warm, hospitable, common-sense Dixie and the cold, industrialized Godless North.
And by God, so long as America's most regionally-exclusive dining chain remains in operation - and resists the temptation to expand its market - that line will hold. Of 1,536 Waffle Houses in the world today, over 90 percent are in the 14 states that had Confederate stars, while only 6 percent are in states where slavery was outlawed before a certain previous War Republican set foot in the White House, according to the Waffle House Web site.
Neither is Waffle House an insignificant institution. If you took all the plates full of hash browns and grits ever served by burnt-out waitresses in America's most Jacksonian diner, why, you could serve every man, woman and child in China and still have enough left over for every man, woman and child in India.
Seven states, the "Waffle House Seven," together account for more than 70 percent of the restaurants in the chain. These states send 13 conservative Republicans to the Senate, and one conservative Democrat - Sen. Bill Nelson of Florida, who was arguably elected only because he was an astronaut.
Those same seven states also account for virtually all of America's major right-wing leaders over the past decade: former Republican Speaker of the House Newt Gingrich, former House Majority Leader Tom DeLay, former Senate Majority Leader Bill Frist, Presidents George H. W. Bush and George W. Bush and Gov. Jeb Bush of Florida. Clearly, just as the institutionalized debasement of an entire class of human beings became a dividing line in 19th-century America, the massive debasement of people's arteries at Waffle House is becoming a 21st-century dividing line.
Sen. John Kerry, D-Mass., the reincarnation of Ichabod Crane who once tried to seize the presidency of our country, has likely never set foot in a Waffle House. In fact, when he set foot in Wendy's as part of his 2004 campaign, this was but an elaborate ruse to deceive the American people. The senator simultaneously preordered a "real meal" from the Newburgh Yacht Club to be served to him and his associates. His opponent, the former Texas governor, had not only probably been to a Waffle House, I wouldn't be surprised if he had spent a night in his wild, youthful days - before age 55 - sleeping underneath one of its benches.
Over Thanksgiving Break, yours truly stopped at a Waffle House, as part of a very enjoyable drive along secondary roads of the Deep South, on my way to Texas after a hog-hunting trip in Georgia. For lunch we had stopped at Ma's Catfish Shack on some highway in Mississippi and by dinnertime we were in Shreveport, La., where we quickly decided that food in the casinos was too expensive. At Waffle House, we knew one could eat a decent meal for under three bucks - though only if you got your grits without cheese.
We were greeted by a sign on the door that featured a gentleman armed to the teeth and said, "hunters welcome." We stepped inside and sat down in a booth in the corner. The moment I had a plateful of gray slop in front of me, served by a waitress who didn't make eye contact, I knew that no one was going to ask me to "deconstruct" anything or question the application of Nietzsche to the situation, and I breathed a deep sigh of relief. That immediately earned me a suspicious glare of one of the other tenants. It felt good to be back home at last, even though I knew that, if cornered by a professor, I would say that Nietzsche did apply.
Waffle House, like much of the South today, straddles the new and the old. Its signature roof is just as comfortable next to an overpass in downtown Atlanta, Houston or Shreveport as on a backwoods road in Rural 'Bama, across from the front poche' of an old lady on a rocking chair who will grace the front pages of newspapers when she finally dies. Just like any other restaurant in America, race is seemingly not an issue at Waffle House, yet individual restaurants in the chain have faced discrimination lawsuits as recently as 2005. In its poignant attempt to embrace modernity while keeping a foot in the deep-fried life of yesteryear, Waffle House embodies many of the great points - and deep flaws - of the American South.
For those of you who are becoming sickened by the amateur philosophy in this column, all I can say is that's the only way I could evoke the way I felt after having eaten an entire burger at Waffle House without squeezing the grease out first. Slightly sick to my stomach, and yet somehow strangely satisfied that I had let it inside me. Another useful metaphor for the South? Perhaps.
