I'm a little lazy and unadventurous when it comes to breakfast. I eat the same thing almost every morning, a typical East Coast Elitist meal consisting of the following:
- Hard boiled American Bald Eagle eggs wrapped in gold leaf.
- Hermès Birkin, over easy.
- Ore-Ida Terror Tots.
- Connecticut (NOT Florida) orange juice.
Today, however, I decided to see how the other half lives, and tried something indigenous to the region, something which fills many people with horror: scrapple!
Why have I never tried this populist, folksy Pennsylvania Dutch treat? Well, for one thing, the descriptions of it don't exactly inspire confidence. Furthermore, I grew up in Arizona, a state where scrapple is known only to the most esoteric Wacky Packages collectors. And, finally, it looks like a foam accoustic tiling product.
So I gathered up my courage and boldly announced to Rose, my favorite NGA cafeteria lady, "I'll have some scrapple today!" By this time she was already flipping the Birkin on the grill, so she was surprised. "I figure it can't be much different from the sausage patties," I ventured. "Oh yes it is," she grimaced, making it crystal clear which side of the fence she occupied in the great scrapple controversy.
So anyway, OK, scrapple! I got back to my desk and decided to try it before drenching it in Tabasco. Cleaving the grey/brown rectangle with my fork, I was surprised by its mushiness/fall-apartiness. Filled with trepidation, I chewed, and found that it pretty much tastes/feels like what you'd expect: fried cornbread infused with low-grade pork sausage. In other words, not bad! Not bad at all!
And then my coworkers came in, saw what I was eating, and laughed and threw all their Fabergé eggs at me, resulting in painful yet fabulous welts. And then we all burned an American flag and compared notes about registering illegal Pakistani aliens for ACORN. The end!