Total Scrapple Melt Down

Scrapple is a food that instantly turns some people off.... they don't like the idea of "leftovers" pressed together into a cake-like meat block. Then again, there are million of people who will eat a hotdog without thinking about it, so.... I happen to be of the opinion that if you're going to bother killing a pig at all, you might as well got in "whole hog" and eat the entire thing. That means I like scrapple.

As much as I like scrapple, I must say that just weeks ago, I had meltdown over it. Yes, it's true... I had a meltdown... over scrapple.

Scrapple, as simple as it may sound, is not simple at all to cook. It's a testy concoction. I suppose I had forgotten that because I hadn't eaten it so long, so when I suggested breakfast for dinner, I thought that I was essentially off the hook for the evening. Wrong. SO wrong!

It started out innocently enough. I know that to really make the scrapple scrap, you have to turn it as little as once, at the most. So I decided on 10 minutes, each side. I buttered my skillet, and I was ready to go on medium high heat. I had this in the bag.

I waited and it seemed like everything was going well. I was ready to turn my scrapple, and I was only going to turn it the once. And then it happened: I went to turn it and I completely lost my nerve and the scrapple, piece by piece, began to crumble and fall into disrepair.

And as the scrapple fell apart, so did I. Maybe it was the fact that I hadn't gotten that job... maybe it was that I was suffering from breakfast for dinner syndrome. Maybe it was just the scrapple itself, but I felt like a failure; a complete and utter failure. And I cried as I cursed the scrapple, and simultaneously yelled at my husband that the scrapple itself was "stupid."

In the heat of the moment, I walked away from the kitchen, and the breakfast for dinner, and especially that stupid scrapple. I was astounded that I couldn't even flip scrapple. I could truss a chicken. I could make my own pasta, gnocchi, and spaghetti sauce. I can make soups that have layers of flavor... but I could not turn the fucking scrapple.

It was a melt down of epic proportions--a meltdown like I haven't had in months. But there it was, over the leftover of a pig. Thankfully, my husband came to the rescue and he was cool, calm, and collected. HE could flip the scrapple, and he did. He finished the dinner, and we ate it. It was satisfying as Sunday morning.

And that's life. Sometimes, someone else has to take over to get the leftovers of something and make them into a meal. Strangely, it's the little things that push us over the edge when we least expect it. Luckily, we have people like great friends or loving husbands to help us flip the scrapple and wipe our tears. And thank god that we also have insight, to allow us to look back and realize it wasn't really the scrapple that got us in the end at all... it was the pressure we've put on ourselves to achieve things greater than breakfast for dinner...

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