Alright, I know. People put their entire life story in blog posts before they’ll tell you how to cook something. We get it — you lead a rich, textured life full of wonder, excitement, and anecdotes about food you ate in a small town in Portugal. We’re all happy for you.
I’ll try to cut to the chase, with a bit of context in case this sounds familiar to you. For years, I operated under the firm belief that vegan waffles simply could not exist. Not shouldn’t exist. Could not. Some immutable law of physics involving eggs and airiness and crispiness that I had absolutely no clue about. A few years ago, a thought occurred to me: “wait, that’s stupid.” So I bought a used waffle iron for $10 from someone in our apartment complex — confirming that yes, someone will always buy your old waffle iron. There is a market. Maybe even a waffle iron black market. I didn’t get that deep into the waffle iron game, so I don’t know.
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