This morning I offered to make breakfast for my weekend company. First off, I’m not the domestic sort- in any sense of the word. I’m not really the greatest cook, but I do give it my best effort. Generally, it’s either dead on, or dead wrong. Secondly, it wasn’t really the breakfast time of day- probably closer to a timely lunch, but whatever, technically I was breaking my fast, so it’s all the same in the end.
I had some real, honest-to-goodness homemade scrapple in my freezer that was yearning to be cooked. (If you are not from SouthEastern/South Central PA and have no idea what the heck scrapple is, I suggest you click here. I also suggest you try it before you knock it.) I threw on some jeans and a sweatshirt, and headed to the local Acme to pick up the rest of what we would need for our breakfast.
Upon return to my apartment, I told my company that I had never cooked scrapple before, but I thought to myself it couldn’t be all that hard. You just slice it and put it in the skillet, right? I told my company to sit tight in the living room and relax, while I whipped up the food.
About ten minutes in, amidst various other culinary mishaps, the scrapple began to become disfigured and form a gelatinous blob in the skillet. I continued to cook it, figuring that it would all work itself out in the end. Again, how hard could it be? Admittedly, I was a little concerned. It just wasn’t looking right, and I was getting that old familiar feeling in my gut I was doing something wrong.
My company came into the kitchen to check on the status, and upon seeing the ruination exclaimed, “What are you doing??” I reminded him that I had aforementioned I didn’t know how to cook scrapple, and at this point I was willing to accept assistance- which is huge. I affectionately call myself the Kitchen Nazi; I either need total control, or none at all. It was at this point I handed over the spatula, and with it all control of the meal.
After the pork roll, egg and cheese sandwiches were assembled and the scrapple was finished, we dined right there standing in the table-less kitchen. It was quite good, I must admit. Better than I would have ever managed, to say the least.
So thank you, my dear friend. Thank you for saving breakfast. I’ll take care of the dishes.
“I knew that’s what it’s supposed to look like,
I just didn’t know how to get it to look like that.”-Me