The Waffle Truth - Recap

A woman’s voice calls her children Emily and Sam; it is time to get up. She drops frozen waffles into the toaster as someone knocks on the door. While she answers the door black gloved hands remove the waffles from her toaster and carry them off. Returning, she’s shocked that her waffles have disappeared...

Elsewhere, another man realizes he just has time for some Weggos and the crossword puzzle. He drops the waffles into his toaster and his phone rings. There is no caller, but in the time it takes him to realize this, black gloved hands abscond with his waffles. Returning, he blames his hapless pooch for the theft...

In still another house, someone pours waffle batter into an iron and closes the lid. A radio announcer discusses strange thefts: someone has broken into a number of homes, and has taken... waffles. As this report continues, the black gloved hands first take the “Baking Mix” and then the tub of batter, and finally the iron and half-cooked waffle.

A kitchen door opens and a black garbed, masked figure introduces himself as “The Waffler.” A letter “W” fashioned from pieces of cooked waffles decorates his mask; knee pads and other decorations also make of waffles dot his costume. His belt boasts butter, syrup and a scoop, with a “W” buckle made from more waffle pieces. The Waffler, so he says, is a crusader battling to save folk from “the soul stifling power of mediocre waffles.” As he continues, he feeds purloined examples of substandard waffles into a toothsome gizmo called the “Waffle-8R” that chews them up. The unique shape and characteristics of waffles have encouraged manufacturers to flood the market with attempts that The Waffler believes fall short of the mark: grim store-bought grids sadly flavorless and floppy. Real waffles, he concludes, are... Good Eats!

The waffle, Alton opines, has a curious and curiously effective shape. Its compartments keep butter and syrup contained, and the three dimensional grid contains a strange anomaly: the waffle has more outside than inside! How could such a thing come into being? Alton suggests perversely that it might have happened in a penguin tank. As he says that, the view enlarges to include nutritional anthropologist Deb Duchon, dressed in a nun’s habit. She smacks Alton’s fingers with a ruler to punish him for the penguin joke, then grabs his ear and pulls him to his knees. By the time Alton’s knees hit, he and Deb are in a church, in front of a tall stained glass window. There Deb explains that the words for waffle and wafer come from the same ultimate source – the German wafel (pronounced vafel). This word relates to other words that mean weave and honeycomb, and that could be the forerunner of the grid pattern familiar to modern waffle eaters. Alton asks rather loudly what that has to do with church, earning himself another smack of the ruler for the excessive volume. Deb continues, explaining that wafers were originally for use in communion celebrations. In the Middle Ages, monasteries baked communion wafers. As one of the few foods permitted during fast times, demand was high. Secular bakers saw an opportunity, and made the wafers bigger and thicker, adding fancy patterns to the surface. A few ceremonies, such as Twelfth Night, still use such wafers.

“Sister” Deb grabs Alton’s ear, pulling him off screen... and to France, where they stand in the shadow of L’arc de Triomphe and near a French ice cream vendor. Here, “Sister” Deb tells Alton, the German wafel eventually became the French gaufrette. They purchase a pair of ice cream cones; the cones are waffled. This perplexes Alton, who is certain a Syrian pastry maker invented the ice cream cone in 1904 at the St. Louis World’s Fair. “Sister” Deb can only conclude that however it happened, a symbol of self-denial became through secularism and free enterprise the waffle we enjoy today. Alton asks Deb what she likes on hers and she tells him a puree of wild persimmons and a sprinkling of wild hickory nuts. That amuses Alton, earning him a final smack from “Sister” Deb’s ruler that knocks his frozen treat to the ground.

Back in the kitchen, Alton notes that there could be no waffles without waffle irons. Early models came in two pieces, one heated them (over a fire, for example), added batter to the hot bottom plate and then threaded the hot top plate’s hook into a hinge so the two plates fitted together and cooked the waffle. Alton demonstrates how much dangerous effort this requires with a similar model created for campers. The appearance of the cooktop lead to different kinds of waffle makers that had hinges and pivots: one heated both sides, added batter, cooked, flipped, cooked the other side, and popped out the treat. Safer but no less work. The real waffle renaissance awaited electricity.

Electric appliance makers, having flooded homes with toasters, turned their design eye on the waffle maker and soon sold these in large quantities as well. By the 1940s most homes had one. Made of metal, when they got hot they weren’t safe, but they have become extremely collectable, especially varieties with fancy decorations. Alton’s display collection includes a model with an inlaid porcelain panel painted with flowers.

Alton’s in the market for a new waffle maker (okay, really he’s going to show viewers what to look for). He enlists the usually ascerbic “W” to help, but today she is short on witty banter and repartee. She just hands him the waffle iron he should have. It seems her doctor has told her she must avoid stress so she intends to avoid arguments with Alton. Alton spies a nice waffle maker with a texture control. “No!” says W. He needs a doneness indicator light with an audible alarm, and a temperature adjustment and that’s all. Next, Alton spies a big iron that can “flip” to do two waffles at once. Gritting her teeth, W explains that such a device could not cook them properly without drawing enough current to flip the breakers in most homes. The iron doesn’t flip breakers, so it can’t possibly cook the waffles properly. A slick plastic job catches Alton’s wandering eye next. It’s light! W explains, patiently, that light isn’t good – it means less metal in the grid and fewer elements to heat it. Finally, Alton returns to the iron she first recommended. She gives him a magnifying glass so he can see that the grid has nice sharp angles. Quality waffle irons have sharp angles, not smooth or rounded angles. She also draws Alton’s attention to the large runoff moat. Alton’s happy to note that it even has pegs for wrapping the cord. As he leaves, he asks W why she couldn’t have just given him that one in the beginning. He leaves, as W murmurs to herself about her “happy place” and struggles to control her temper.

The biggest lie of waffle making is that one can make decent waffles from pancake batter. Sure, both contain eggs, flour and leavening and both are round. But pancakes are soft and spongy, and inside are more like a cake (Alton even displays a cake he has made from pancake layers). Waffles, on the other hand, are crisp outside and light inside. They’re more like tasty fried foods: French fries, beignets, funnel cakes, hush puppies, and doughnuts. They are not fried in oil, but they are cooked between hot, oil coated metal. To cook properly, they require more sugar and fat.

Preliminaries out of the way, Alton reveals his basic waffle recipe. All purpose flour and whole wheat flour form the basis (the wheat flour, Alton opines, adds an earthiness that counterbalances the extra sugar). These two flours, sugar, kosher salt, baking powder and baking soda all go into a bowl where Alton whisks them together. The second part of that double acting baking powder, which kicks in when the batter reaches 120º, will make the interior light and fluffy.

The wet team starts with eggs and a little melted butter. Alton whisks these together; the lipoproteins in the eggs will help form an emulsion. Room-temperature Buttermilk goes in next, it to will form a nice smooth emulsion as its fats grab those egg lipoproteins. Alton beats the wet team together until it’s smooth.

Then it’s time to introduce the wet team to the dry team. Alton pours the wet team (slowly) onto the dry team so that flour won’t fly everywhere. This is also the right time to turn on the waffle iron. Alton loses the whisk, which would become a club, in favor of a spatula, the right tool for folding. Alton cautions against over mixing, as this promotes agglutination, and tough, chewy waffles more suited for use as sneaker treads. After a few quick folds, Alton puts down his spatula and walks away. Yes, the batter has bubbles and lumps, but after a five minute rest it will be fine.

Before he cooks, Alton gives his iron a spritz of non-stick cooking spray, even if the iron also has a non-stick coating. The spray ensures even browning and a proper release. Why not regular oil? For that answer, Alton goes into the field. Specifically, to a nearby grocery store’s display of non-stick sprays. These sprays debuted in the 1950s but they are the lube of choice for a lot of applications and health pundits extol them as an alternative to shortening and butter. Gourmets despise them, rejecting the magical mist in favor of a spritz of extra virgin olive oil. Alton prefers the sprays.

Every brand contains either soy or canola oil. These are both excellent lubricants that add little flavor. All contain propellants, either isobutene or propane. A few contain flour for recipes that require oil and flour in combination. A few contain alcohol, which keeps the mixture clear and discourages foaming. All contain what Alton considers the miracle ingredient: lecithin. Lecithin is a natural emulsifier found in eggs and soybeans, as well as a surfactant that helps the fat spread evenly and thinly over the cooking surface, preventing the oil and the moisture in the food from getting in each other’s way.

About the only thing Alton disapproves of are claims that these sprays are a gateway to zero fat cooking. Since the contents are nearly a hundred percent fat, how can manufacturers make this claim? It turns out that whenever the fat portion of a standard serving is a half gram or less, the government permits rounding down to zero. The trouble is, a “standard serving” is a tiny spritz, hardly enough to contribute meaningful anti-stick property. So, these sprays do contribute a small amount of fat – but their non-stick properties are fine tradeoff for it.

Alton returns to his kitchen, where he spritzes waffle iron and measuring scoop – in his case, a 1½ oz scoop. Two such scoops nicely fill a seven inch waffle iron, and the back of the scoop serves to spread the batter to within an inch of the edges. Because Alton likes his waffles crisp, he sets the heat control to the maximum. Then Alton closes the lid and waits. Patience is vital, here. No matter what the cook sees or hears, he must leave the lid closed until the iron signals that the waffle is ready.

Alton’s waffle disappears quickly, highlighting a problem: the iron makes just one waffle at a time. One solution is to place cooked waffles on the rack in a warm oven, and cover them with aluminum foil. Another is to run two waffle irons in tandem – but since quality irons commonly draw over eight amps, in most homes the irons must run on separate circuits to avoid that sudden plunge into quiet darkness that heralds the need for trip the circuit box to reset the breaker.

Butter and maple syrup (amber, Grade B) are fine toppings and well-loved by many. But Alton prefers... fried chicken. His secret is to roll the chicken in hot sauce, set it atop the waffle and then cover both with the maple syrup. This, he freely admits, is a southern thing – in Pennsylvania Dutch country brown gravy might substitute for the syrup.

And here’s a fact the big frozen waffle vendors don’t want widely known, Alton says from inside his freezer: your waffles freeze, too. Cook them on medium so they’re not quite so crispy and then cool them on a rack or towel. Bag ‘em, label ‘em and freeze ‘em for as long as six months. To restore them, just pop them in the toaster like the store bought frozen waffles.

Alton concludes with a recipe for chocolate waffles. The dry team is flour, sugar, cocoa powder, salt, baking powder and baking soda whisked together. The wet team is eggs and melted butter (slightly cooled), whisked together and then whisked with buttermilk and some vanilla extract. Then Alton adds the wet team to the dry team and folds them together, at the last minute adding chocolate chips. He loads and cooks them the same way, noting that higher settings work better. They go well with butter and syrup and even better with vanilla ice cream.

The police knock. Alton cooks bright blue liquid rubber on a waffle iron as he tells how, in 1971, a track coach named Bill Bowerman experimented with curing liquid rubber on his wife’s waffle iron. Bowerman then glued the resulting grid onto running shoes. He hoped to create a light-weight shoe with good traction and he had a hunch the high surface area to mass of the waffle pattern might be the answer. As Alton glues the grids to his shoes, the police knock louder. They call out, saying they know he has waffles inside. Alton affixes his new grids to his shoes, explaining that Bowerman’s shoes worked so well the company named them after the fleet-footed Greek goddess of victory – Nike! The police are coming in, Alton bends down... and The Waffler straightens up! With a maniacal laugh, he darts off camera, one step ahead of the police...

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