I woke up with Kathy Matea and this song on my mind this morning, fixed Bret his "to go sandwich" and then turned on the computer. Now how my little mind made the leap to an old dish called "scrapple" I do not know. What I do know is I used to do quilting for an older lady and she had put together a cookbook of old recipes. Now if there is one thing I like, it is food. And I dearly love to try to replicate the old dishes the older folks used to make. My mother could make as a four course meal out of a spider web, an apple and 3 pounds of imagination. Times were sure rough back then, but like my husband told my mother one time, "You can never tell by looking at her today that she EVER missed a meal."
I can recall back in my Nickerson days, that dad always had a pig or two in the pen. When the time was right the old iron 3 legged pot would be filled with water and a fire built under it. The pig would be caught, trussed and tied to the tripod which stood over the 3 legged pot and it's throat would be slit. When it had "bled out" it would be lowered into to the boiling water and then taken back out and gutted. It was then moved to a very big table and everyone had a job. Sometimes us kids were "allowed" to scrape the outer skin to remove the hair.
I think the meat was taken into town to the locker plant when it was wrapped. We had only a small icebox back then so there was no storage at the house. The skin, feet, and head remained behind. The black kettle was cleaned and the fat cut into small pieces and thrown into the pot. The fire was stoked back up and the fat was rendered giving us lard. When the fat was rendered there were crisp skin pieces left that were called "cracklings". To my way of thinking that was the very best part. The best ones were the ones that bubbled from the heat. Those were especially crispy. Cracklings were used to flavor beans, cornbread, and of course for eating. The ears and the tail were pickled as were the feet. The jowls were salted and put in the cellar to age into bacon.
But the head! The head was put back into the 3 legged kettle, which was now scoured clean. It was covered with water and a fire built under it. The lid was in place and it was left to simmer all night.
The next day it was allowed to cool until it could be removed from the kettle. The skin was discarded (that means the dogs got it) and the eyeballs, brain, and everything else except the meat was fed to the dogs. This left mother with the water it was cooked in and the few bits of meat that had escaped .
With all the stock now clean she now stoked up the fire and threw in sage, salt, onion, a bay leaf or 2 and corn meal equal to the stock. This required a lot of stirring so it did not stick. In due time it was pronounced "done" and the "scrapple" was now dipped into loaf pans and moved to the lower part of the root cellar and allowed to cool. When it was cool it was wrapped and taken to the "ice box". That stuff would keep forever. Mother would slice it in one inch slices and brown it in very hot lard. It was served with maple syrup and it was the best food in the whole world.
Mother went to the Salt City Business College in Hutchinson and got an office job in Hutchinson. Of course, we moved to Hutchinson down on A Avenue. When we left Nickerson, mother took one look at the 3-legged iron cook kettle and never looked back. She now had running water, gas heat, indoor plumbing and electricity that was in every room of the house. The old coal oil lamp was left on the table. The door was closed, but not locked because we had years ago lost the skeleton key. We were city folk now.
Today I miss my mother, but there is not a day goes by that I do not.
I can recall back in my Nickerson days, that dad always had a pig or two in the pen. When the time was right the old iron 3 legged pot would be filled with water and a fire built under it. The pig would be caught, trussed and tied to the tripod which stood over the 3 legged pot and it's throat would be slit. When it had "bled out" it would be lowered into to the boiling water and then taken back out and gutted. It was then moved to a very big table and everyone had a job. Sometimes us kids were "allowed" to scrape the outer skin to remove the hair.
I think the meat was taken into town to the locker plant when it was wrapped. We had only a small icebox back then so there was no storage at the house. The skin, feet, and head remained behind. The black kettle was cleaned and the fat cut into small pieces and thrown into the pot. The fire was stoked back up and the fat was rendered giving us lard. When the fat was rendered there were crisp skin pieces left that were called "cracklings". To my way of thinking that was the very best part. The best ones were the ones that bubbled from the heat. Those were especially crispy. Cracklings were used to flavor beans, cornbread, and of course for eating. The ears and the tail were pickled as were the feet. The jowls were salted and put in the cellar to age into bacon.
But the head! The head was put back into the 3 legged kettle, which was now scoured clean. It was covered with water and a fire built under it. The lid was in place and it was left to simmer all night.
The next day it was allowed to cool until it could be removed from the kettle. The skin was discarded (that means the dogs got it) and the eyeballs, brain, and everything else except the meat was fed to the dogs. This left mother with the water it was cooked in and the few bits of meat that had escaped .
With all the stock now clean she now stoked up the fire and threw in sage, salt, onion, a bay leaf or 2 and corn meal equal to the stock. This required a lot of stirring so it did not stick. In due time it was pronounced "done" and the "scrapple" was now dipped into loaf pans and moved to the lower part of the root cellar and allowed to cool. When it was cool it was wrapped and taken to the "ice box". That stuff would keep forever. Mother would slice it in one inch slices and brown it in very hot lard. It was served with maple syrup and it was the best food in the whole world.
Mother went to the Salt City Business College in Hutchinson and got an office job in Hutchinson. Of course, we moved to Hutchinson down on A Avenue. When we left Nickerson, mother took one look at the 3-legged iron cook kettle and never looked back. She now had running water, gas heat, indoor plumbing and electricity that was in every room of the house. The old coal oil lamp was left on the table. The door was closed, but not locked because we had years ago lost the skeleton key. We were city folk now.
Today I miss my mother, but there is not a day goes by that I do not.
