The waffle house with a story behind in Branson, MO

Marie and Albric (nicknamed Bric) came over to this country from Ghent, Belgium at the turn of the century and. Homesteaded in lowa where Bric and Marie started farming and raising their family, Albert, Margaret, Maurice and John. ln one of the dearest memories of my childhood, I am walking home from school on an early winter's eve with the air chill and damp. Lights are coming on in all of the houses, their reflections shimmering in the dark water of the canal. I want so badly to get home, because I saw Mama polishing her waffle iron the night before.

When at last I'm home and I push open the heavy door, my senses are assaulted by such thrilling smells - the warm, golden aroma of baking waffles and freshly brewed coffee. I am in heaven. My mother baked the waffles right at the table in her electric iron and the family would wait impatiently, bickering about who would get the next golden pair to come off the iron. We ate them with scads of fresh, sweet butter and confectioners sugar or jam, honey or whipped cream and sometimes fresh fruit. The ritual- part meal, part entertainment- would go on for hours of feasting and talking and boasting about who could eat the most. I always did very well, eating perhaps ten or more waffles over the course of the whole evening – but I always lost the contest to my father.