The visiting of The Waffle House a day after The Spaghetti House is coincidental and unrelated. Also, The Waffle House is much, much better. Located in I think an old flour mill in St. Albans, this was a childhood favourite that has actually stood the test of time. I finish work early after what was meant to be a nice, quiet week has turned into anything but, and the solution I am grasping for is a waffle. Or two. The Waffle House thrives on the fact that every part of it is better than you can get elsewhere. These are not your bog standard Belgian waffles with sugar crystals dotted throughout with a typically poor mouthfeel. They are perfect. Fluffy, not stodgy, but with the structural integrity to not buckle under the weight of a very hefty portion of whipped chantilly cream and a generour pour of a chocolate sauce which - again - I have never had better elsewhere. I am genuinely upset that nowhere in Bristol does something like this. I nominally have a main before that, a simple waffle with cheese baked through and doused in garlic butter. A malted chocolate milkshake sets it off. It’s pricy, but it’s worth every penny each time I’m back home.