Americans are forever playing around with the ostentation of our foods. Dishes that began as peasant fare in the Old Country are elevated to haute cuisine (along with their prices), while others that were once reserved for royalty are now served in every home. Scrapple certainly had humble beginnings; once the farmers had slaughtered and carved away the best parts of their pigs to sell, they took the leftover parts and cooked them with grain. This mixture was then solidified in a loaf pan, sliced, and cooked again.
Not very fancy, is it? Despite its origins as a simple, cost-cutting way of feeding the farmstead family, though, scrapple has held on as a popular dish in households, diners, and has even made its way to fine restaurants. I've had it in all three of these forms, which has given me ample opportunity to experience all it has to offer.
And what it mostly has to offer is a feeling that your arteries are about to explode. I'm sorry to say that it won't be replacing the more widespread breakfast meats in my heart, which is thankfully still functional, since I don't regularly eat scrapple. Imagine concentrating the fat from eight sausage patties or strips of bacon into one serving, then sweeten it up by pouring maple syrup on it, and you have the sensation of scrapple.
Scrapple is very regionally popular in the northeast, so my reaction may be rooted in not being raised there, and I could see myself ordering it again someday if I need a calorie bomb for whatever reason, but otherwise, this side can stay in the realm of Laura Ingalls Wilder.
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