Scrapple

I read Lucinda Fleeson's interesting article of Dec. 11 on scrapple - and would like to take issue with her. Scrapple is not a byproduct with us at Habbersett. We do not use pig snouts. Scrapple is a strange name to many, but we have never come up with a better one. Jim Daltry Media.

Pig snouts and pork tongues, as everyone knows, are ingredients of that most famous of Philadelphia edibles, scrapple. And that's just the trouble, according to Philadelphia historian Kenneth Finkel. Exhorting Philadelphians to free scrapple from the meat packers, Finkel yesterday evening delivered a lighthearted monograph on the history and lore of Philadelphia's oldest and most historic foodstuff. His lecture and a subsequent food tasting, held at the Historical Society of Pennsylvania, 1300 Locust St., was one of a series being held in connection with "The Larder Invaded: Reflections on Three Centuries of Philadelphia Food and Drink," an exhibition presented jointly by the Library Company and the Historical Society.

Scrapple, euphemistically known in some quarters as "Philadelphia Pate," has taken a pasting for years. True, you don't drink champagne with this scrappy little pate, and it's only finger food if you eat it in a sandwich. Ken Finkle of the Library Company of Philadelphia and Glen Bergman of the Commissary are going to put all the scraps on Philadelphia scrapple into historical perspective with a program at 5:30 p.m. explaining its history and lore. This workshop on a local staple is part of an ongoing series presented by the Library Company and the Historical Society in conjunction with its new exhibit, "The Larder Invaded: Three Centuries of Philadelphia Food and Drink.

I'll never forget the time, about 10 years ago, that I heard vibist Milt Jackson at a nightclub in West Philadelphia. Though burdened with an incompatible local rhythm section, he was masterful on a series of flavorsome ballads and sauntering blues. But that wasn't good enough for one of the patrons, a drunk at the bar who pleaded, "Play 'Scrapple From the Apple,' Milt," after every number. Jackson finally decided that he could take no more of it. Glaring at the man, he ripped off a version of the requested Charlie Parker line at a furious tempo that blurred its contours into something more abstract.