The Lankville Daily News

By Brian Schropp

So a few days ago I was helping my friend Trucker Joe clean his big rig. “A clean truck always gets you to the promise land”, he kept telling me. I have no clue what that means but Joe is a pretty philosophical sort so a lot goes over my head. Anyway, while vacuuming his “sleeping quarters” I found, shall we say, a few “adult materials” which probably help keep his nights warm. Now me being a very “sweet” and “gentle” man, I usually would not look through such things but a few of the titles intrigued me. In the back of one I found an advertisement for “Sylvia’s Waffle House of Shame”, part S&M club (whatever that means) and part waffle house.

“The French Toast is pretty good there!!” said Joe as he snuck up behind me carrying an industrial hand vacuum. “Good both ways if you know what I mean.”
I did not. I asked him If I could just go for breakfast and nothing else.
“Not sure Bri, you should go and see. If not, it won’t do you no harm, might loosen you up a bit, maybe make you calm down about a few things.”
Now, I am a very open-minded man but cheap waffle sex is not my thing. I’m more a “warm hand-holding in the library” type of guy. Nonetheless, the place did peak my interest enough to check it out.

Now, I am a very open-minded man but cheap waffle sex is not my thing. I’m more a “warm hand-holding in the library” type of guy.

The waffle house was located in the red light district of downtown Lankville City. Per usual, my downtown adventures required nimbly passing between hustlers and dealers on every corner plus the homeless always looking for change or wanting my shoelaces. I soon came to my destination. The building looked like a waffle house but it was lit up like the surrounding buildings with garish neon signs. Their sign in particular offered the promise of eggs, waffles, and various adult delights. Inside, I found a rather large woman dressed all in leather standing at a hostess desk. This woman turned out to be Sylvia herself.

Sylvia’s Waffle House of Shame (building before the Laundry).

She greeted me warmly enough and in a thick Eastern Island accent asked me what I wanted. I replied that I understood what this establishment was about and I just wanted to sample the food.

“Oh no,” she shook her head. “You can’t taste the pleasures of our fine breakfast food without feeling some pain.”

I assured her that I was an up-and-coming food critic with a good taste palette and a particular fondness for breakfast food. “I write for The Lankville Daily News, after all,” I added.

She looked at me for a moment then asked if I was that “breakfast sandwich boy”. A certain sinister smile came across her face when I told her I was. My “stranger danger” instincts kicked in and I knew I was getting in over my head. I turned around to leave but another large woman in leather had bolted the door.

“You are going nowhere. I’m going to teach you how to really enjoy a breakfast sandwich. Take him to Room 206. I will be there shortly.”

I was escorted quite forcibly down a dark hallway. As we passed other doors I heard screaming for various breakfast foods followed by the crack of whips. Some sounded like they were having a good time, others quite the opposite. We made it to Room 206 and I was told to wait inside.

The room had a small booth to one side and the wall on the other side was covered by various whips, paddles and assorted devices. I sat down at the booth and awaited my fate– I was hoping there was still a way to reason with Sylvia. She soon came in and sat across from me.

“So, you think you know breakfast sandwiches?”

I told her in fact I was an expert and if she would only let me sample the food–but she shushed me quickly.

“You know nothing. You never had pleasure with pain.” She smiled that sinister smile again “Tell me, have you ever had a breakfast sandwich drenched in maple syrup?”

My mind started to swirl. “I–I–have heard of such things. But never had because–because–”

“You are frightened of them. But they are glorious, the most supple things ever to grace those lips but you will need the pain to go with it—”

I needed a moment to collect myself and think. “I–I need to use the restroom.”

Sylvia rolled her eyes and suddenly lost her Eastern Island accent. “Out the door, up the hall and to the left.” As I went to leave she grabbed my wrist and the accent was back. “But don’t take too long or else there will be severe punishment!”

Once inside the restroom I was able to splash water on my face and come to terms with what was going on. It was all too much, I am a man who prides himself on new experiences but this was out of my league. I needed an escape plan and fast. I noticed a window above the toilet, a little small but my frame might just squeeze through. I stood on the toilet and found the window was bolted, my heart sank. I felt my hopes dashed until I remembered the small pocket knife in my sock that Trucker Joe had given me. Good ol’ Joe, saving me even when he’s not around!! I knew that time was of the essence, Sylvia would not wait long.

Maple syrup comes from trees.

I had two of the four bolts out before the pounding started on the restroom door. Soon it was the jiggling of keys. I became too nervous, the pressure was too much. The army knife fell from my hands when I heard the door open and I blacked out. I woke up in darkness. It took me a second to realize I was blindfolded. I was strapped to something with my arms and legs stretched. And there was something in my mouth, it tasted good. Maple syrup with bacon, egg, on a tender biscuit—

SMACK!!
First there was only pain, my backside was on fire!! Tears flowed from my eyes. Then there was the sweetness of the syrup coming through–
SMACK!!
The pain was greater but so was the sweetness, the way it brought out all the flavors in the egg and bacon. I never tasted anything like this before!!
SMACK-SMACK-SMACK!!!!
The eyes rolled in the back of my head, I felt myself lift out of my body and onto another plane of existence (was this really happening?!!!). I heard music coming from somewhere, faint at first then growing until it filled my ears. It was like the greatest symphony ever composed and possibly a choir singing (sounded like bumpkins?). Then from the darkness a light. Faint at first like the music and then growing until it swallowed me whole. I blacked out again.

I awoke laying on a pile of trash bags a few blocks from my house. Not sure how I got there or how the folks at the waffle house knew where I lived. A few super squirrels were eyeing me in the distance. It was a good thing I awoke when I did. For a moment I wondered if maybe it was all a dream but then the pain in my backside told me it was all too real.

Reflecting back in my “bedroom apartment” (with a pillow on my seat) there is a part of me that feels humiliated, taken advantage of, a part of my innocence gone forever. But then there’s a small part of me, a part which experienced the sweetest taste I ever had. It opened my mind a little to something more and for that Sylvia I thank you!! Maybe I can work up the nerve one day and go back to try the “ham and egg special” I saw listed on the wall. Well until next time, keep your mind and mouth open to new ideas!!

Happy Eating,
BRI

By Brian Schropp

I’ll start out with a good tip I learned the hard way (and hopefully save you some headaches). If you’re cooking chicken make sure you cook it ALL the way through. You can’t just make up a temperature and cooking time and then expect it to be done. Even though the outside may look cooked you need to check the inside. After all, “raw is raw!!!” (thank you for that rhyming tidbit Mom). I know this from experience–in my attempts to make a “Breakfast Sandwich Pot Pie” for dinner, I sent my family to a long night at the Emergency Room (for some reason I am fine). After everyone got the all clear and the anger and the cussing died down all was forgiven. But I would like to apologize again in print to my wonderful family who bare the brunt of my “wacky” and “cutting edge” culinary ideas.

Cuisine

And a quick bonus follow-up tip- if you’re cooking with frozen and room temperature foods make sure you make the frozen food the same temperature. “You can’t just pile everything in together and expect it to cook” (thanks again Mom, my cooking guru).

In other news, turns out Mort Freidberg of “Mort’s Pump and Food Depot” has changed the recipe for his nacho cheese and not for the better. “Well Bri, I didn’t change too much,” Mort said to me as he mopped up someone’s vomit in the discount sandwich aisle. “I just brought the machine out, cleaned it up a bit and put in new cheese.”

I get it. The publicity I brought to the delicious nacho cheese was too much. Maybe Mort and his wife couldn’t keep up with the demand? A lesson learned in the food writing trade, you gotta keep the real gems to yourself. Next time I might offer Mort some money for the original recipe. Then, I could see one of my childhood dreams of owning a restaurant that serves only nacho cheese come true!!!

And finally, my attempts to inquire about the bumpkins are going nowhere. Both Lloyd Byas-Kirk and Detective Gee-Temple have gone very hush hush on the subject. Is their new information? When is the memorial going to happen? Maybe a little update before my column will help?

As always readers, remember to keep your mind and mouth open to new ideas.

Happy eating!
BRI