Saturday, May 1, 2005

Saturday morning I got up around 8:00 A.M. and started breakfast. I made pancakes and scrapple. Scrapple is a Pennsylvania Dutch / Philadelphia concoction made by sweeping up the floor after pigs have been slaughtered and cooking that and ground up spare parts with corn meal. The resulting slop is allowed to cool and harden into loafs that are then sliced, fried, and served with maple syrup poured over it. For a great picture and an interesting story about John Kerry and scrapple go to Mocking Word. This is what scrapple looks like before it’s cooked.

*

I know scrapple sounds absolutely hideous. However, I love it, and so does Adam. I have always made my pancakes in advance so that I can eat with my family, or company as the case may be. For one thing, it can be a real treat to watch the expressions on guest’s faces as they discover what they are eating. Adam appeared just before I was ready to call him.

“Smells like heaven in here. You must be making a breakfast feast, Grandpa.”

“Good morning. Little one.”

“Not so little anymore. I’m even getting a pouch.”

“That’s your abdomen. You are over developing it. You do too much abdominal work. Cut back.”

“I like the cut look.”

“If it sticks out over your belt, or shoves the belt down, it’s over-done.”

“But.”

“But me no buts. You have no fat around your middle. From the back you are tapered to a slight 32 inch waist from those broad farm boy shoulders. You do not have handles. You have over worked the abs.

“Okay! I’ll cut back.”

“Good. Now sit down and eat.” I put a dinner sized platter with 5 steaming pancakes and 2 slabs of scrapple before him.”

“Oh my,” he said, and began slapping slabs of butter between the cakes to melt.

While he was pouring the maple syrup (fresh from the tree I might add) over the cakes, I broached the subject that I knew must be covered sooner or latter. “Okay, about your Dad.”

“What?”

“You know what I mean. It’s about the blog.”

“How come you said, 'about your Dad?' ”

“Because he’s really angry with me.”

“He calls it concerned.”

“He called you.”

“To talk some sense into you.”

“No, you’re the threat he has carried out. He is playing his trump card.”

“You mean I’m part of a game you two are playing.”

“I didn’t know that people of your generation understood that old 1970’s talk.”

“Sure, everyone mind games and all that stuff. But, you’re changing the subject.”

“Not really. I’m just uncomfortable.”

“You don’t need to be.”

“Why not? I’ve been thinking about the blog a lot. And, it does sort of read and look like pornography in places.”

“I must admit, it’s a bit titillating.”

“Apparently your mother is half crazed because of it.”

“Mom would be half crazed with or without your blog.”

“So, apparently you’re not too disturbed by it.”


(to be continued)


*image is from Hormel foods website “Our Kitchen.”, © 1999-2004, viewed Sunday, 6:51 P.M., EDT.


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