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Classic Liège Waffle,
Sweet Iron, $2.99
Although I must have bused past the Sweet Iron waffle shop in downtown Seattle several dozen times since it opened, I've never previously given it more than a longing glance. Because of its skyscraper location and slick branding I jumped to the conclusion that Sweet Iron would be a Starbucks satellite, stamping out standardized but soulless waffles the same improbably golden brown as a Seattlite's winter tan. Turns out that I couldn't have been more wrong. Today when I passed Sweet Iron and saw a banner in the window proclaiming "International Waffle Day" I made a point of interrupting my return trip to investigate. Despite its high-end graphics and decor, Sweet Iron is the lone outpost of a young, locally-owned small business that promotes social responsibility, environmental sustainability, and artisanal--if delightfully irregular--baked-to-order waffles. The waffles are Liège-style; unlike batter-based Belgian waffles, these start out as a blob of buttery brioche dough kneaded fresh each morning. Pearl sugar lurking within the dough turns to pockets and patches of gooey-glassy caramel when pressed in the waffle iron. You can can further gild the lily with powdered sugar, chocolate, or whipped cream and strawberries with balsamic vinegar. Sweet Iron also offers savory versions, like Brie and basil, and seasonal specials; I had a mindblowing springtime sample topped with housemade lemon curd and fresh blueberries.
Liege Wafel Wafels and Dinges, $4When I first heard about a truck that roams New York dispensing fresh Belgian wafels, my stomach began to flutter with both hunger and nerves. The wafels sounded great but I was afraid that I'd have trouble finding such a small moving target during my limited time in the city. It turns out that while the owners of Wafels and Dinges embrace the serendipity that causes some customers to cross their path, they also recognize that other people need a wafel RIGHT NOW. W&D's charming website and blog detail the truck's regular weekly route, and both a hotline and a Twitter feed offer more up-to-the-minute information. In keeping with W&D's role as spokesnack for a country most of us know next to nothing about, the website also spreads the word about Belgian-related happenings and community events. A daily password grants wafel buyers one free dinge (topping) from a long list that includes fruit, nuts, and dulce de leche. Every week one lucky wafel fan (known as wafelettes or wafeloons) is awarded a free WMD ("wafel of massive deliciousness") piled high with the dinges of his or her dreams.
Sadly, the aging wafel truck conked out during my trip and my visions of chasing it into the setting sun were replaced by an anticlimatic visit to Chelsea, where it sits on a side street, tethered to a generator. I decided on a dinge-less Liege wafel. Also known as "the other Belgian wafel", the Liege is not as geometric, crispy, or famous as its cousin; as W&D's menu explains, the Liege is the wafel Belgians kept to themselves.
For a moment I regretted my decision, as the friendly staffer flipped a pale, misshapen, and soggy mass out onto the counter. It turns out that unlike the batter-based Belgian wafel, the Liege is made from dough, liberally seeded with pearl sugar. When an order comes in a par-baked wafel is slapped back onto the griddle where the dough crisps up; the sugar inside melts into tiny pockets of nectar while the surface sugar caramelizes into a crispy, crackly, golden crust. It was hot, chewy, sticky--perfect street food for a bright, crisp, winter day. 
