Let me start this post by stating, for the record, that I stay at Marriott hotels all the time. I'm in it for the breakfast and when a hotel doesn't include this, I stay elsewhere. I am a hotel waffle-making pro.
Then again, making your own waffle is easy peasy, right?
Then again, making your own waffle is easy peasy, right?
Behold, the tower of waffle batter goodness. How many gallons does it contain? We would soon find out.
I always look forward to creating a decadent hotel waffle. The fateful Monday morning after the Summit County Parade of Homes was no exception and I was pleased to discover that no one was using the waffle iron, despite the crowd in the hotel breakfast room. It's no secret that I'm a social-anxiety mess, even with something as basic as navigating a shared waffle iron, so this was a relief and a great start to my day.
I picked up my little plastic batter cup. I pressed down on the dispenser nozzle, as I've done 100 times. And then...
I picked up my little plastic batter cup. I pressed down on the dispenser nozzle, as I've done 100 times. And then...
The nozzle broke off.
It just snapped right off in my hand. The batter exploded from the now-gaping hole in the dispenser, running over the countertop and onto the floor within seconds. And, apparently, there weren't many people in the breakfast room who shared my (former) love of hotel waffles, because that darn batter dispenser seemed to be full to the brim. It wouldn't stop! I tried to block the flow with my hands, but that just made things worse, as I was soon coated in sticky globs of batter. Everyone was looking, many with their mouth agape. I didn't know what to do. A hotel employee rushed over, but the mess quickly overwhelmed her stack of paper towels. The batter was out of control!
Sexy Nerd, often oblivious, was getting himself a bowl of oatmeal at the time. He turned to look at me, my panic-stricken face surely worse than he'd ever seen. My sweet husband. My hero.
He laughed and sat down, enjoying his oatmeal with a smile on his face.
It just snapped right off in my hand. The batter exploded from the now-gaping hole in the dispenser, running over the countertop and onto the floor within seconds. And, apparently, there weren't many people in the breakfast room who shared my (former) love of hotel waffles, because that darn batter dispenser seemed to be full to the brim. It wouldn't stop! I tried to block the flow with my hands, but that just made things worse, as I was soon coated in sticky globs of batter. Everyone was looking, many with their mouth agape. I didn't know what to do. A hotel employee rushed over, but the mess quickly overwhelmed her stack of paper towels. The batter was out of control!
Sexy Nerd, often oblivious, was getting himself a bowl of oatmeal at the time. He turned to look at me, my panic-stricken face surely worse than he'd ever seen. My sweet husband. My hero.
He laughed and sat down, enjoying his oatmeal with a smile on his face.