scrapple

Speaking of Philadelphia, we had breakfast at Bob's Diner on the Ridge with its scenic view of the cemetery next door. My dad had scrapple, a Philadelphia specialty. The name is descriptive in a literal sort of way.

And like any dish named for scraps, it contains offal. Indeed, the ingredients in my supermarket's leading brand of scrapple read as follows: "Pork stock, pork livers, pork fat, pork snouts, corn meal, pork hearts, wheat flour, salt and spices". I found a recipe for scrapple in a cookbook published in 1869 that begins, "Take eight pounds of scraps of pork, that will not do for sausage." Once your meat has descended in size and quality beyond sausage utility, you are at the bottom of the proverbial barrel. Sometimes I worry that there will come a day when I cut a thick slice for Sunday breakfast and find an angry embedded eyeball staring back at me from the frying pan.

I think I ate it when I was a kid until I found out how repulsive it is. But some folks, like my Pa, think it's scrapalicious. Interestingly, the author makes the case for eating scrapple on ethical grounds. Makes sense but I don't know that I'll be eating any scrapple.