The Waffler

The first time I was in Brussels Central Station, I stopped by the lockers to stow my luggage before heading out to the Grand Place.
And there was this smell.
An smell of something cooking...something sweet...something straight from the Food Gods.
I followed it like a hound on the trail of The Fugitive and it led me to a small window. I wish I had a picture. There was a small, elderly woman in there.
The window opened and she spoke in French. I don't speak french. So I pointed to a Waffle I saw on the counter.
She put one on the griddle and warmed it up to Volcano.
She handed it to me through the opening and I could barely hold it for the heat, but the smell...OMG.
And that first bite!
Yes, it scorched the flesh on the roof of my mouth, but it was worth it.
I decided then and there I would learn to make these.
And I have.
From fresh, organic ingredients, it takes me two days to make the dough, but it's worth it.
My Gaufre de Liege are better than what you can get in most places in Brussels, because mine aren't manufactured...mine are crafted.