Scrapple for breakfast, the batch I made Christmas morning, about as tasty a batch as I've ever made. However, it's a tad too moist, apparently not cooked down enough before cooling.
Brings memories of Mom's Cafe, the last commercial place I ordered scrapple (last I saw it on the menu), so long ago my dad was still alive. A fine little place, Mom's Cafe in Milford, NJ. Why in hell doesn't someone in Portland open such a place, with scrapple, grits and such on the menu? The trend, of course, is the other way, with Designer Gourmet Concoctions that are called breakfast.
Another thing that popped into my head this morning was the word "thoob." I think because if I ever found a local restaurant with scrapple on the menu, I'd shout, THOOB!
Thoob originated in the Army, the creation of a very bright, very eccentric classmate of mine at the Army Language School in 1959. Besides having the most amazing large collection of scatological literature, he drew hilarious obscene cartoons about the Army. Thoob first appeared in such a cartoon, an exclamation of "wow!" or "far out!" or, today, "awesome!" But thoob had a specific definition, revealed in a later cartoon. THOOB is the sound of an ejaculation bouncing off a wall. Unless it's an old man, in which case it's THEEB.
Needless to say, thoob was quickly adopted, adapted and used incessantly. In Germany, someone even created an amazing, hilarious FALSE secret classification for our company of Russian linguists/spies, TOP SECRET THOOB. The first time I saw a document with such a designation, I almost lost it. Hilarious! The hapless sergeants in charge of us (Russian linguists, all), who in typical military logic didn't speak Russian (therefore, letting us stage a successful strike at one point), thought TOP SECRET THOOB was a legitimate codeword. Of course, we let them believe exactly this! Ah, the surrealistic comedy of the Cold War! I really should finish that damn novel about all this.
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