First and Last

[Patrick Varin]

My first Belgian waffle:

I can still remember the aroma. The sweet scent wafting through the narrow streets of Brussels filled every breath with a faint sugary taste. My father led me by the hand towards street vendor that was responsible for the delectable odor. The man was short and unshaven, in an intimidating manner and although I could not understand the words he spoke they were pronounced with a greasy slur. My father pulled two bills from his pocket as the vendor produced two waffles dripping with a thick syrupy substance.

My hands looked small as they held tenuously to the dessert, and I struggled to fit my mouth over the corner of the waffle. The taste was distinct as it is today, a heavy, crisp shell encapsulated the airy interior. This is where the flavor was.

[Sarah Seko]

You set the scene very well. When I read this, I felt as though I was with you on that street in Brussels. The line about struggling to fit your mouth over the corner of a waffle really evokes the image of a child and brings back familiar memories from my own childhood. Now I want a waffle…

[LEit]

I think you captured the scene very well. But I have trouble distinguishing between a Belgian waffle and a really really good waffle that you could get in America. Or is that the point entirely, the fact that a Belgian waffle is a really really good American waffle. The way you describe it, it seems like a big, syrupy, crispy waffle. Is that what it is?

[MrX]

Great job!!! I love the vivid description you give about the waffles and how they were dripping with thick, heavy sauce. It was cool how you showed that you were very young by adding details about how your dad had to hold your hand and how you had to fit the giant waffle in your tiny mouth. This paints an image of a small child trying to down a lot of food. Awesome!

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