In case you haven’t spent much time recently in the millions of mediocre hotels that dot Eisenhower’s ingenious interstate system, here’s what you’re missing: there are waffle irons across America. Yes, in most of the little hotels we stayed at across the country, we were able to wake up and include in our free breakfast a truly college-like waffle experience. We waited in line, read the instructions, and poured little pre-measured plastic cups of waffle batter into industrial waffle irons all across the Rocky Mountain West. Each time, our Belgian-style buttermobiles have come out gorgeously browned (thanks to dummyproof timers that announce to everyone in the cramped breakfast room that yes, you’re the person making TWO waffles). They’re unilaterally tasteless, especially without the valuable addition of real maple syrup (which we never did see), but it is SUCH a great idea. Heck, I never ate more than three bites, but I made one every time.