solegraphy :: like calligraphy, only better

When I was young, I cultivated a slightly strange addicting habit that I am not even sure my mother knows that I nourished in the dark corners of our kitchen. Today I stumbled across the addiction with all its former glory and realized that today just might be the day that I returned to the fond allure of former addictions. After all, Carpe Diem. Seize the fish, or something like that.

What is this mysterious addiction, you ask?

I eat frozen waffles.

Well, I finally said it.

I don’t think I would be able to completely explain what is so incredible about the frozen waffle. In fact, I don’t even think that I know. It may be the frozen texture. It may be the bisquicky goodness. But alas, such mysteries are unknown to me. To my chagrin, I almost forgot them.

I cannot recall when I was first introduced to the beauty of the frozen waffle, but it was love at first gnaw. I did not voluntarily surrender my crystallized carbohydrate delight, but it was ripped unceremoniously from my clutching pre-adolecent grasp. I suppose that my mother figured that since there were never any frozen waffles to toast for breakfast, then we were used to never tasting them and wouldn’t know what we were missing. In fact, I am not sure that she even remembers ever buying them. Nevertheless, they were crossed off the shopping list. I think I cried under the kitchen table. Or maybe that had something to do with the frozen chicken that slammed me in the face as I desperately dug through the freezer to feed my cocaine-like addiction.

Eventually, I recovered, and quickly forgot that frozen waffles ever existed and that I ever had an affectionate relationship with one. Until today. After I returned from my eight hour work day, I rampaged about the kitchen to find something to stave off the gnawing hunger consuming my internal organs until dinner. Frustrated, I turned to the freezer. Inside, I found my childhood again. Yes. I found the waffles. It was a holy grail moment. After years of weaning myself from my starchy friend, here is my conclusion:

It tastes like cardboard. Frozen cardboard.

Yet I ate four of them. Four. I do not completely understand why, but I think it has something to do with nostalgia. Either that or the black hole vortex that is my stomach.