The Call of the Waffle

I met my Waffle Guy  last winter, completely unaware that he would introduce me to the snack that would forever alter the way I look at food. I didn't know then that he was my Waffle Guy. I knew only that he was the sweet man who was a friend of friends, that his eyes sparkled, that I liked the places he suggested when he asked me to dinner. 

Flash forward three whirlwind months, and I found myself on a plane bound for Munich, where I was to meet up with him for a few days of European magic. Our itinerary was packed--we'd hang out with friends and family in Germany before exploring the Rhine and Mosul river valleys. Since my Guy had a friend living near Brussels, we figured we'd seize the opportunity to explore a new and unfamiliar country for a couple of days, too. I planned to write about it all. He planned to take lots of photos. And we planned to eat. A lot.

German food was as I expected it to be--hearty, simple and accessible; comfortable without being cumbersome; easy to love. I was thrilled to be surrounded by an abundance of flavors not readily available stateside, accentuated by perfect scenery and friendly people. 

When we visited Belgium, I was full of anticipation for chocolate, and I wasn't disappointed. We braved the world's most terrifying traffic in Brussels to find a Neuhaus Chocolate outlet, from which we proudly departed with three large tote bags filled to the brim with some of the tastiest treats on the planet. We transported our cache to our hotel in Bruges with the utmost care, shielding our insulated bags from the sun and refusing unnecessary stops along the way. It was heaven, and I was convinced I'd never have such a profound love for a snack for the rest of my days. 

I was wrong.

I'd always had a penchant for street vendor foods--there are few joys greater than a bagel in Manhattan or a hot dog in Chicago. My career has afforded me a lovely and broad array of culinary experiences: I've enjoyed the finest dining that my home-base metropolis has to offer, eaten chocolate-covered crickets and literally nibbled almost everything at the Minnesota State Fair, and so I was perhaps a bit cocky when I approached the waffle stand in Bruges. Sure, I expected a yummy treat. But how could I have known that my world was about to change?

The sugar waffles, or Liege waffles, sold in northern Belgium are unlike anything else on the planet. Filled with tiny pearls of sugar that carmelize on the outside and turn to sweet goo on the inside, these incredible confections literally left me speechless.

Not my Guy, though. "Did you see that?" he asked, his mouth full of heaven. "That wasn't batter! They cut big pieces of dough to make those! Like little waffley hockey pucks!" Two-thousand waffle calories later, he was finally able to stop rhapsodizing, rendered silent by the sugar coma that only such a waffle could produce.

Thus began our obsession with The Perfect Waffle. We've discovered that Liege waffle makers are not readily available for sale in the United States, that sugar waffle recipes are widely available and even more widely variable in their ingredients and technique. We've found there are no experts here, no one to simply tell us how to replicate those moments of bliss. And so we're on a quest to find the answers ourselves. Through trial and error, through good recipes and bad, we're committed to discovering how to bring the sugar waffle to the streets of America, or at least to our own kitchens. 

Join us on our journey...