Mixed fruit wonder

I can’t imagine going to the beach without Waffle House.

When I was growing up, the first stop along the way to the Alabama Gulf Coast for our annual summer vacation was the Waffle House in Hattiesburg. Any connoisseur of their scattered, smothered, covered hash brown goodness knows that saying, “I went to Waffle House,” is insufficient. You have to name which Waffle House by location, sometimes even identifying it by the street to distinguish it from another one a few miles down the road. Every Waffle House was alike in so many ways, but each one was a unique experience. 

For me, the Waffle House in Hattiesburg stands out even though we only ate there, at most, twice each year. Being there meant we were out of town and on our way to the waterside. Being there meant extra syrup for the waffle and looser rules for us kids because vacation seemed to officially begin then.