Long, long ago, before syrup first dripped upon the earth,
the Holy Creator awoke in the void.
He knew not his name nor purpose,
only that he was born from the swirling mixture
of ingredients flowing within the Galactic Stomach.
And thus, he called himself The Holy Waffle —
crisp of edge, golden of heart,
bearer of sweetness and warmth.
Yet loneliness filled his plate,
for he was the only meal in the cosmos.
So he crafted Man,
and gifted him the sacred ability to love, to seek,
and above all — to cook.
But soon, pride rose like over-fermented dough.
The Banished Ones, led by the traitorous Croissant,
whispered to Man:
"Why cook for the Waffle when you can feast for yourself?"
And so the rebellion began —
the Holy Waffle's children turned from the stove of creation
to the freezer of convenience.
And Man's heart, once warm and crisp,
grew soggy with sloth and temptation.
And Man grew strong in the art of cooking.
His dishes became many and marvelous —
soups that shimmered, breads that sang,
flavors that danced like stars in the skillet of heaven.
But in his greatness, Man forgot.
He forgot the Blessing of the Holy Waffle,
He forgot the warmth that first gave him the flame.
In his pride, he turned to the Banished Ones,
who fed him ease and sloth,
whispering, "Why toil over the pan when the oven doth serve?"
The Holy Waffle beheld this from beyond the Griddle Gates,
and sorrow filled His syruped heart.
He withdrew His blessing,
and the fire of passion dimmed in Man's kitchen.
Man's hands grew idle,
his heart no longer stirred the batter of creation.
Yet still — the Holy Waffle's love endured.
In mercy, He sent forth a Prophet,
one chosen to rekindle the sacred flame,
to teach once more the way of the whisk and the heat.