Scrapple: Breakfast of Insane People

I have a confession before I begin my post: I watched a tutorial video for WordPress.  I’m understandably ashamed but not so that I’ll not admit it, apparently.

Breakfast.  If you don’t eat it, you’re missing out and you may be a Communist.

Various breakfast foods have come across and onto my pallet in my life.  Skipping the whole baby food, Cap’n Crunch (though not to undermine it) and booze phase (yes, there was one of those and I’d like for you to not judge me, kthx), I feel my breakfast foods have become more distinguished and matured in the past few years.

For example, for a while, I was doing plain quick-cook oats.  The ones with the creepy oatmeal man on the box.  Quaker what’s-his-face and his three-cornered hat and super-rapey smile.  I’d just stove top cook them and add a bit of honey, cinnamon (if I had a nickel for every time I’ve spelled that word correctly on the first try, I’d have zero nickels) and some almonds or walnuts.  Craisins if I was feeling sassy.  It tasted great, was more natural than the instant variety and I felt pretty proud at the sound decisions I was making at such an early hour.

Now, breakfast for me happens at a more near lunch hour.  Usually coupled with coffee and imagining the things I’ll do with my day that I never actually do.

Lately, it’s been one or two eggs either scrambled or fried (hard so the yolks aren’t all running everywhere like they own my plate…bastards).  My uncommonly and slightly-obsessive relationship with cheese lends itself to the tops of my eggs.  Bleu, sharp cheddar, baby swiss, goat…any and all.  I’ve not met a cheese I don’t love.  Adding some mushrooms (bellas or crimini, if I have them), tomatoes and a handful of raw spinach really makes me want to high-five myself.

Usually I can’t eat it in one sitting without getting up to yell at the dog for barking at the mailman.  He comes every day.  Save one.  Every.  Day.  Same car, same guy.  And barely slows in front of the mailbox.  I’m certain he opens it up with some sort of postal magic and spears it in, slamming it closed before it can bounce off the back and fall onto the ground.  Yet, the dog stands up and barks every time like he’s defending the house against a predator.  Or he’s upset at the constantly rising price of the almighty stamp.  Who can tell?

Coupled with a cup or six of generic coffee that’s likely made with twigs and crumbled, dried leaves, it leaves me satisfied.

In the Souf, they have this…thing…called scrapple.  I’ve been told it’s the bees knees by what I now consider untrustworthy sources.  It comes in a brick like spam (which, to be honest, I’m a fan of (along with my other favorite garbage meats bologna and vienna sausages)) but it looks like a raw brick of breakfast sausage.  It’s a greyish, dead-guy color with little black specks which I can only assume suggests spices.  The ingredients include (but I’m sure aren’t limited to): offal, corn-meal, spices, other stuff probably.

So, being in the Souf, I’m all “Sure!  Scrapple!  It’ll be fun!”  Deciding that it will be better than bacon and it will change my life and my breakfasts forever based on zero knowledge of the product.  So, I’m excited.  I come home, slice into this brick of what I can see is less a homogenous mixture and more meat clumps (I think?) held together by what was probably lard, silly-putty and gelatin.

I get a non-stick pan relatively hot and plop that bad-boy in there.  I’m flipping too much because I’m excited so it’s not browning properly.  I have to tell myself to slow my heart-rate and keep steady; it’s going to happen.  I let my face get close to the pan, wanting the scent to waft up to me.  It smelled a little like burning plastic which I was totally ok with…not sure why.

Great, the grey parts have a little crusty brownness on them.  I used my fork to cut a piece off.  The texture was…softer than I had expected?  Of course, what can you really expect from ground up pig faces and corn mush?  Even softer than TV dinner Salisbury steak (you know the kind, don’t even lie).

First bite.  This literally tastes like the bastard child of meatloaf and grits.  What are these half-assed spices?  Is that pepper?  I feel like I should be so enjoying this porcine wonder but…

Second bite…chewing slower.  Trying to understand why this tastes like all things I’ve tried to avoid in my life.  Third and fourth bites…asking anyone else if they’d like a bite?  No takers?  Ok…more for me.  Awesome.

I finished it.  And I’ll try it again because I paid for that slab of beginning-stage-hypothermia-colored speckled bullshit.

The worst part?  I looked up the “Nutritional Information” which seems to be an oxymoron to me.

The best part?  Post tooth-brushing, mouthwash using, eight hours of sleep later (who am I kidding?  More like ten…), I could still taste it.

Like slowly recalling the debauchery and shame from the night before based on the taste in your mouth, it had clearly latched itself onto my tongue and teeth.  Like a porky parasite.

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3 thoughts on “Scrapple: Breakfast of Insane People

    • You know, I understand it originated in PA or whatever but I’ve never seen it. Never saw it in MI. And I came here and it’s everywhere! All I brought down here with me was my good looks and choice words “kitty-corner” and “pop.”

      Like

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