Confessions Over Brunch

One of my shameful secrets is about food. Specifically, waffles. I am a waffle snob. I have said it, it’s in the open. I will publish this, I am tired of hiding.

Belgian waffles are obscene. I cannot eat them. They are too tall. The squares in which to put your fruit, your syrup, are too deep. I don’t want Belgian waffles. Abominations.

I want real waffles. The ones that look like Aunt Jemima’s. Short and businesslike, compact little squares, not deep enough to swim in, shallow for overflow. Not taller than my fork, turned on it’s side.

I cannot find a waffle maker for good waffles. I find Belgians, Belgian fusion, even, and this is a sin, waffle makers making no mention of Belgian in their designation or description, but are Belgian, nonetheless, unannounced and deviously so.

There is NOT a donate button on here. I just want to know where to find this waffle maker. A waffle maker that has never been to Belgium, and has no plans to go, and could care less about Belgian culture.

Thank you. I am at your mercy. I have been without waffles for 13 months. Sanity is now at risk.

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