There’s comfort in knowing that whenever a new Melanesian Waffle shop opens its doors, no matter where in the world, it will soon be populated by ZDG and myself. We’re staff writers for the Harvard Lampoon. We’re also the Waffle Kids, a select crew of half-human half-hungry twenty-year olds who have a hankering for the fluffy and the crispy, and we’ll travel anywhere in the world to wet our large, dry tongues. When Papa Butters’ opened up on the south coast of Papua New Guinea we knew we finally had to check out what we just learned was a country, and more importantly: a source of waffles.
ZDG and I touched down waffleside at 6 AM, sharp, and headed straight for Papa Butters’. We drove straight past the two most famous tourist attractions Papua New Guinea has to offer: Mike’s Independent Syrup Distillery, an independent syrup distillery, and Tavurvur, an active volcano people go and visit after breakfast. ZDG wanted to park outside of the shop, but I thought we’d give Papa Butters’ a nice warm Papua New Guinean welcome, and drove our rent-a-cycle through his store window.
It turns out Papa Butters’ isn’t a real person, just a character played by the store owner, Rami, but we weren’t too upset. There’s nothing like laying back on my cycle, watching ZDG clean a stranger’s plate with his tongue, and ordering “one-of-everything” from the seven page menu Papa Butters’ has to offer. If me shorting ZDGs’ parent’s mortgage was bad for our friendship, ordering him seven seedless Cream Puff Waffle Supremes with his dad’s expired credit card was much, much worse.
The Waffle Kids will cover every inch of God’s Green Earth in our wet, sticky batter, and if that doesn’t make us world travellers, or better yet, demigods, I don’t know what will. If you ever find yourself in this beautiful country, take it from us: Papa Butters’ Waffle House had great waffles before a store window/rent-a-cycle accident caused it to close its doors permanently. Three stars up.