Not even close. Waffle House makes their food fresh from real ingredients. McDonalds just heats up premade “food” that hasn’t been fresh in months and sometimes hundreds of miles away.
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It for sure is packed with intergenerational groups. Parents taking grandparents and kids out after church or whatever. I had some of the slowest, noisiest worst food experiences of my life at IHOP while doing travel soccer until I eventually refused to set foot in one again.
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In general, don’t go to any of these places right after church gets out on Sunday.
Worst customers ever. Which means the servers will be harried (and frustrated due to the lack of tipping).
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I’m partly aware of that; My comment was more on the consistency of the place rather than the quality of the food served.
Surely after coming out of church people would be full of joy and a spirit of goodwill to others??
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Perhaps, but they’ve already given their tithe that morning, right? 
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I have a feeling people that go to churches that encourage joy and goodwill towards others end up having loads of really good potluck dinners. Not so much the folks that go to see and be seen.
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As a Preacher’s Kid, I can attest that potluck dinners in the church basement were the best. However, there was a Furr’s Grill out by the Wichita airport in the 70s that sold really great family chicken dinners, so we’d go there after church sometimes with friends.
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Ah, Sean Brock, the messiah of southern food here to walk in hamchrist’s footsteps shod in his collard green sandals.
Good dude. Ed Lee and I sumo wrestled him into a dumpster on Broad St in Richmond about ten years ago in a bout of bourbon-fueled hijinx.
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I always fondly enjoyed my time at Waffle Houses (Waffles House?), and am sad that I live in an area where there are none. I’m disheartened to learn working conditions are so poor, though, that’s a job that deserves fair compensation for labor and support from management.
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Wafflehopodes
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My wife’s cousin was having a tough time with women, so he actually decided to order a mail order bride. He got the paperwork, but it was all in a slavic language that he didn’t understand.
I don’t need to point out that he’s not the sharpest crayon in the box, but when he couldn’t read the forms, the only place he could think of was International House of Pancakes to find someone who could help.
The topper to the story is that he did manage to find someone there who could read the forms and help him out.
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Yeah, he ultimately found a Russian bride, and they’ve been happily(?) married for 15 or 20 years, I guess? We lost touch a couple of years back. The last time I saw them, they’d just had a baby.
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