DAY THREE
SATURDAY, JULY 25, 2009
This morning, in our quest for a Sam-friendly breakfast, we opted for
another national restaurant chain: The International House of Pancakes,
aka IHOP.
As with Denny’s, American citizenship is contingent upon eating at IHOP
at least once. Our family’s pretty familiar with the establishment,
which first attracted our attention when they said the word “pancakes”
out loud. But I never really noticed an “international” aspect to IHOP.
The menu doesn’t feature pancakes from around the world… the breakfasts,
while good, are the traditional hearty fried
eggs-bacon-sausage-biscuits-gravy-flapjacks dishes that have been
putting the American farmer in cardiac clinics for decades. So I assumed
that the “international’ part of IHOP had to do with the scope of their
locations.
But I did some research, consulting the authoritative IHOP history
printed on the back of their paper placemats. If you don’t count Canada
(and no one does) and Mexico (whose northern border is currently
featured on the back of milk cartons), IHOP is strictly an American
concern. When it was founded back in 1958 in Toluca Lake, California, it
was a small local chain that decided on the “international” appellation
because it served a variety of crepe-style pancakes, along with French
toast and Belgian waffles. It seems like a questionable approach to
establishing a theme… just because it serves English muffins, should a
diner call itself “Ye Olde Mom’s Place”?
But the issue became irrelevant a year later when serendipitously (look
it up), the local chain was purchased by International Industries, and
the name became indicative of the ownership. In 1975, International
Industries pretty much bit the dust, and IHOP went through a rough patch
of buyouts, but eventually emerged as its own company. Everybody calls
the chain IHOP now, so even thought the “international” tag might not be
as applicable as it once was, the issue isn’t really discussed except by
crackpot writers operating on the far fringes of the internet.
Ben and I were still full from the eight meals we’d had for dinner the
night before at Hometown Buffet, so we ordered modestly at IHOP. You
don’t have to order pancakes; IHOP conveniently places four little
pitchers of different-flavored syrups at every table, so you can have
put syrup on anything you want, or try some straight from the pitcher.
Sam had a waffle with no butter, so he had to compensate with extra
syrup commandeered from nearby tables.
We went back to the same parking area. Reflecting the increased demand
for parking, you now gained access by sliding your pink slip through a
slot in the fee collection box.
All material copyright 2009 Chuck Thornton