The Origins of Scrapple

 

Everything but the Oink: The Origins of Scrapple

If hot dogs are the culinary mystery novels of American cuisine, then scrapple is the Pennsylvania Dutch twist ending. This humble breakfast loaf has been raising eyebrows (and cholesterol levels) for centuries. A blend of pork scraps, cornmeal, and spices cooked into a savory brick, scrapple is proof that the Pennsylvania Dutch wasted nothing and seasoned everything. Slice it, fry it until crispy, and you’ve got a dish that’s as polarizing as pineapple on pizza. Some folks swear by it with apple butter, others drizzle on maple syrup, and plenty keep it simple with ketchup. However you dress it, scrapple is a cut above—literally.

Scrapple has roots in the 17th and 18th centuries, among German settlers who are now known as the Pennsylvania Dutch. They brought with them panhas, a dish made from pork scraps and grains. When they set up shop in Pennsylvania, they swapped in local staples like cornmeal, creating the loaf we fry up today. It was the ultimate thrifty invention. Nothing from the pig went to waste. Head, heart, liver, and trimmings all went into the pot. Add flour and spice, let it set, then slice and fry. The result was a dish that filled bellies without emptying wallets. Talk about living high on the hog—while also eating the low parts.

Scrapple has a reputation similar to that of its cousin, the hot dog. Everyone loves the taste, but not everyone wants the ingredient list. “Everything but the oink” is a phrase often tossed around. Still, scrapple isn’t trying to hide what it is. It’s right there in the name—scraps. The Pennsylvania Dutch weren’t squeamish. They saw opportunity in odds and ends, turning what some might discard into a breakfast tradition that still sizzles in Lancaster diners and Philly kitchens.

Scrapple doesn’t just sit around loafing. To reach its full potential, it must hit the hot pan. The goal is a crispy outside and a tender inside. Too thin and it burns. Too thick and it’s gummy. Get it just right, though, and you’ll understand why it remains a Pennsylvania staple. And then comes the great debate: what goes on top? Apple butter brings a sweet country charm, maple syrup makes it breakfast’s best friend, while ketchup adds a tangy kick. Some adventurous eaters even layer it with eggs in a sandwich. Whatever your topping, scrapple has a way of hogging the spotlight once it’s on the plate.

Scrapple may never win a beauty contest, but it has endured for centuries because it delivers on what truly matters: flavor, thrift, and tradition. From German farm kitchens to Pennsylvania diners, this scrappy little loaf has oinked its way into the cultural identity of the region. Like hot dogs at a ballgame, scrapple is more than just food—it’s a story, a memory, and for some, a taste of home. Love it or leave it, scrapple remains the breakfast food that refuses to be pork-gotten.

September 30, 2025  

unchartedadam

Advertising Jingles

   Funny how some things you haven't thought of for years suddenly pop into your head. They were there all the time but hidden under the clutter of years of thoughts and memories.

   Last weekend my sister-in-law started singing the first line of a jingle from the 1960s for Breyers ice cream. I remembered every word.

Hello, Bryers calling,

We have wonderful ice cream for you,

We have chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry too,

And great combinations of flavor for you.

Hello, Bryers calling,

In winter, summer, or fall,

Quality buyers ask for Bryers,

The greatest ice cream of them all. 

    That reminded me of another jingle from the same era.

For summer sunshine, 

Freshness and flavor,

Home canning like yours 

Deserves the lasting protection

That a Ball dome lid assures.

You put the goodness in, 

Ball dome lids keep it in,

Ball dome lids!

   I remember when my mother started using the two-piece Ball dome lids. She had always used the zinc lids with red rubber seals. She was a little skeptical of the new lids but soon won over. The unreliable zinc lids and rubber rings were stashed away. Years later she used some of the old blue canning jars and zinc lids to make lamps for her children.

  Other old jingles I remember are "Things go better with Coca-Cola, things go better with Coke."

  

Let your fingers do the walking

Through the yellow pages,

See the ads, learn the facts,

Find it fast.

    Music helps cement words in our minds, be it ads or Scripture verses. Marketing companies know that and there is the proof. Jingles I heard in the 60s are still in there more than fifty years later. 

Counting the Seasons

    Fall officially arrived this week. I remember reading in a book years ago that "they didn't count the months, only the seasons." I thought that was strange but now I understand. The older I get the faster time flies and the seasons seem much shorter than they used to be.

    This is the season to clean up the debris of summer and begin to withdraw to the indoors. Crops are being harvested and a few leaves in a hurry to color dot the woods. The mums are blooming and pumpkins adorn every roadside produce market. Summer is the peak of the year but the heat and humidity drains the energy out of a body. Cooler fall temperatures are invigorating and nature puts on a colorful show before it goes to sleep for the winter.

   As usual, in the fall I start thinking about the projects I want to complete this winter. There is a quilt top ready to quilt, a historical article I started and shoved to the back burner, other ideas for short stories also simmer in the background, puzzles waiting to be put together, and another set of 40 baby caps to crochet for the layette bundles at sewing circle. I'm sure other things will pop up as we go along and there are all the usual housekeeping and volunteer jobs to do.

  I often get calls from people asking genealogy or history questions that distract me. Someone stopped in this week with a question I could quickly answer. The one that came up last week took some work. There were two Henry Mussers in Lancaster County that were the same age and being confused. The children of the Henry buried in Brecknock Township in 1805 were assigned to the Henry in Leacock Township who also died in 1805. It took some sleuthing to untangle them and get the children with the correct father. That's more fun than housekeeping and my favorite type of puzzle.

   I am ready for a change of seasons and activities. Fall will flash by so fast there will not be time to count the months.

   

The Golden Hour

 Remember your Creator

   in the days of your youth,

before the days of trouble come

    and the years approach when you will say,

    “I find no pleasure in them”—

 

before the sun and the light

    and the moon and the stars grow dark,

and the clouds return after the rain;

when the keepers of the house tremble,

    and the strong men stoop,

when the grinders cease because they are few,

    and those looking through the windows grow dim; 

 

when the doors to the street are closed

    and the sound of grinding fades;

when people rise up at the sound of birds,

    but all their songs grow faint;

 

when people are afraid of heights

    and of dangers in the streets;

when the almond tree blossoms

    and the grasshopper drags itself along

    and desire no longer is stirred.

Then people go to their eternal home

    and mourners go about the streets.

Ecclesiastes 12:1-5 NIV

   This passage from Ecclesiastes is addressed to young people but the description of old age sure fits us today. I wouldn't say we have no pleasure in life, but there are times that old age isn't fun. For example, spending the night in the ER because you did something that scared your children and they called 911.

   Just when you think you are finished with all your doctor appointments, something else pops up. (The clouds return after the rain.)  Hands get shaky (keepers of the house tremble), backs become stooped, teeth need to be pulled (grinders are few), vision grows dim, hearing fades, sleep patterns are disturbed, it isn't safe to go up a roof or ladder (afraid of heights) or drive far at night (dangers in the streets), and hormones no longer stir desire. All these are signs the body is wearing out and life on earth is drawing to a close.

   We have had a lot of good years but in the last year the slide downhill has picked up speed. The list of imperfections in our bodies has grown longer. Between us, we've got all of them listed above. But that has not stopped us from enjoying the days we have left. We like to sit on the patio in the evening and watch the sun go down. We enjoy walks down our country road, talking to our children and grandchildren, reading the Bible through every year, and many other pleasures.

   Old age has its benefits and limits. The key to enjoying old age is to focus on the benefits and accept the limitations without dwelling on them or rehearsing them at every opportunity.  The hectic days of driving children to school, canning hundreds of quarts of fruit, and being on call day and night seven days a week are over. There is time to volunteer with organizations that help the poor and lost, give a helping hand to a young mother, weep with those who weep, and move at a slower pace doing what needs to be done instead of just what is most urgent at the moment. 

    Old age is the golden hour. We can look back on a long list of answered prayers and years of spiritual growth. We no longer care if we aren't up-to-date with the fads or trends. We are satisfied with what we have and don't need any more stuff. There is a contented glow at the end of life as we anticipate the glory of our eternal Home beyond the sunset.