When the sun arose above the tidewater region of Virginia during my youth, there is something about this particular food that makes me wake up immediately on Saturdays. Knowing Mother's cooking habits, she'd make pancakes and throw in the Scrapple as well.
The smell of Scrapple waffled throughout the Taylor household was simply overwhelming that Mom did not have to wake us up. The burnt smell of Scrapple did the trick, really.
Mom made it clear that each sibling gets 2 or 3 slices. But I often took 3 or 4 because I knew Hedy abhorred it. The taste of it is intoxicating. It kinda melts in your mouth, really. But very fatty and greasy, I guess. Maybe that is why I'm like this today.
Few weeks ago, wandering throughout the supermarket with Jason, who seemed to in tune with food shopping -- I dread food shopping. Hell, I dread shopping about anything else. I preferred to find a gay guy who will do it for me. I'll be content with what one has to offer, really! I saw the box of Scrapple sitting on some shelf, it also mentioned that it is one of the Finest in Pennsylvania. Apparently, Scrapple first originated in Philadelphia region -- I asked Jason if he ever had tried that.
He gave me a dirty look and said, "No."
He was not the first one to think like that. Many gave me the dirty look when I said I liked Scrapple. Anyway, I snatched it -- it is been years since I munched that shit -- and later in the week, I sliced it carefully up as many as 15 thin slices and baked it in the oven.
I was hoping that I could munch few before I head out for an appointment with something that you do not need to know. But that was not to be so I instructed Jason to pull it out of the oven.
When I returned from the appointment, there were only 6 left. I smirked and asked Jason if he liked it, he smiled and said, "Yeah, it tasted good."
It may look hideous but it is so fatty and delicious!