Looking incredulously at the chicken and waffles placed in front of my gaping maw, I wonder how I got here.
By here, I mean this prototypical breakfast spot in a prototypical coastal California burg. Incredulous? It’s because my chicken and waffles have been made with drumsticks. I am an unabashed waffle whore, and the perfect marriage of a briny, breaded, crispy slab of boneless chicken to a toasty waffle with maple syrup laced across the assembly is a perfect salty/sweet dreamboat when cut in unison, and consumed in unison.
I vent my rage in the most millennial way I know.
Words: Nate King
Image: Embry Rucker
Tour Info: Above Category