You squirt batter out of a retasked plastic syrup bottle into the bottom of the waffle iron, close it, rotate it, and it starts counting down the two and a half minutes it needs to cook. Then it squeaks, you open it, and you pry the fresh, hot waffle onto your plate.
Then you realize you're still at a Super 8, because they have neither real butter nor real maple syrup with which to top your waffle. But it's still a fresh, hot waffle, and it's really tasty.
Even better, this morning's continental breakfast was accompanied not only by PJ, with whom I walked downstairs (gregtrotter had gotten up before us, and had something to eat), but also by kitchenqueen and Joan (today's bride) and Liz (Soley) Ellingwood! I don't think I've seen Liz in four years. She brought pictures of Abby, who's almost three.
Couple of hours to kill before it's time to head to the planetarium for the wedding. I like the idea of a wedding in a planetarium.