I promise I was planning on ordering something healthy. Then I saw the Waffle Grand Slam on the room service menu and I just couldn’t say no. It’s exactly the kind of decadent “that can’t be real” type of dish that draws you in like a tractor beam. If you fall prey to its siren song, you better watch out because that indulgence is going to effectively cancel lunch for you.
Such was the case with the mountain of food that arrived at my door. The Waffle Grand Slam is not a breakfast. It’s a caloric jolt best suited for treating malnutrition in Third World countries. If we could get the Gates Foundation to deliver one of these per village throughout Africa, Southeast Asia, and Central America, the world’s hunger would be vanquished. More specifically: it’s enormous.
Two huge Belgian waffles anchor the whole thing. They’re topped with fried eggs and bacon (it comes with English bacon, but I swapped that out for applewood smoked American-style bacon instead. U-S-A! U-S-A!). The layer in between the waffles is stacked with pork sausage, roasted potatoes and tomatoes. There’s a little carafe of syrup on the side and if the little voice in your head starts chirping at you to go easy with the sweet stuff, muzzle it. This is no time for restraint.
Throwing caution and common sense to the wind, I covered Mt. Waffle in syrup and then sliced open the over easy eggs to reveal their yolky goodness. Now drowning in a bath of golden yellow and amber, it was time to dig in to my bounty. With so many ingredients, it was difficult to get everything into one bite but I managed to do it. The results? A yum so deep that my soul moaned. My inner lumberjack shouted encouraging words and implored me to plow through the breakfast bonanza. I made it roughly three bites before I was defeated. My inner lumberjack shed a tear for me. My cardiologist sent me an unprompted text that said “I just shivered. Are you okay?” The Waffle Grand Slam had won, but I was truly proud of myself for even playing its demonic game.
The next day I ordered a wheatgrass smoothie and yogurt from the hotel’s carefully calibrated iHealth menu. It was an offering to the Cholesterol Gods. May they have mercy on my soul.
The InterContinental Hong Kong is hosting my stay. In no way does this affect my views on the hotel or its facilities.