A Culinary Treat?

Scrapple. I’ve never noticed it in the supermarkets here in New England, and I am greatly relieved that it doesn’t seem to get “exported” to my chosen area of the country. Only a few words in the English language can make me shudder. Cribbage is one, and Scrapple is another.

In a nightmare, I walked into a fancy cafeteria where the theme of the day was regional specialty foods. There were numerous regional specialties, and I, of course, chose a steaming bowl of one of my favorites—fish chowder with pilot biscuits. Along comes a server who insists that I try something different. The server whisks away my chowder and places a steaming plate of Scrapple before me. I woke up screaming.

So, what is it with Scrapple? There is a story behind this aversion.

I subsisted on Scrapple, hot dogs, peanut butter, and jelly for most of my first year at grad school. I was very poor, and I never turned down an opportunity to eat at friends’ houses. They were rescuing me from a savory meal of Scrapple or hot dogs. My large gray cat, Clancy, warned me off his bowl of food. He’d eat almost anything but turned up his cultured nose at Scrapple.

So what was this Ambrosia of very low-life gods? It’s a dish made from bits of pig not suitable for anything else. The stuff that would normally get dropped on the sawdust covering the slaughterhouse floor. Treyf ( not kosher) in capital bold italic letters. This material is mixed with cornmeal and other ingredients, fried, and served up to the unsuspecting.

OK, I understand that Scrapple is a regional favorite in places like Pennsylvania and approaching gourmet status in certain culinary circles. But to me, it’s a poverty food and associated with limited food choices.

A few years ago, someone decided to have a little fun with me while we were eating at a seafood restaurant. They knew of my aversion to Scrapple, and thinking to be funny, they derided my dislike of Scrapple. In blunt revenge, I delighted in describing the culinary habits of the lobster they were devouring. I specifically outlined the dis-epitomable selection of trash, tripe, and dead bits it relished for dinner. Also mentioned were how more than a few lobstermen of my acquaintance referred to lobster as “seagoing lice,” bugs, and other terms – and wouldn’t eat one on a bet. Then I went into detail about how, in the 19th century, lobster had been a poverty food in Maine, not a luxury item.

It’s true that person is no longer a friend, but I’d counter that no true friend would ruin a glorious repast of Finnan Haddie by discussing Srapple.

I eat my hot dogs on a Saturday evening with old-fashioned New England Baked Beans. I also relish crunchy peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. But ground pig bits and corn meal I’ll pass on.