Scrap the Placenta

On Tuesday, I ate scrapple, "I think for the first time," I said to my wife after the possibly momentous meal. Really, it's hard to be absolutely sure. This Jew's consumed so much porcine material over his lifetime, it's really all just an oinky blur.

To be honest, I didn't even really want it. It's not like I was all like, "I'm going to eat scrapple to make my more-Jewish-than-thou mother-in-law and my wife uncomfortable. It just happened to be one of the items on the menu included in the particular breakfast special that had piqued my interest. It just happened to be there, in addition to eggs, (any style), toast (any style), home fries, sausage links, bacon, pork roll, and ham. It was just... there.

Part of The Seaman's Special.

When I ordered it, the waitress was surprised. I guess the sight of a 136-pound Jew ordering that would be surprising to anybody. I guess it would be like a Catholic bishop ordering borscht and challah for dipping. But I enjoy crossing that cultural void. I like fucking convention up the ass without a condom.

Also, I like meat that comes from a pig.

"Most people never order the Seaman's Special," the waitress confided in me, "when they do order it, they're so embarrassed, they whisper the name-- 'the Seaman's Special'. I think it's probably because it's so unhealthy."

"No," I said, "I don't think that's why."

The scrapple wasn't very good. I mean, I don't know what it's supposed to be like, frankly, but I was hoping it would be more fried. More crispy. This had rather unpleasant mouth-feel. And the color was, well, it was gray. I'm not a real proponent of all the additives and food colorings and preservatives we use nowadays to make food look outstanding and camera-ready, but, truthfully, I'm not really into gray food, either. Food shouldn't be gray. Bea Arthur's pussy was gray. Rutherford B. Hayes's beard was gray. Toyota Camry interiors are gray. England is gray.

Food? Shouldn't be gray. Whether it's for a seaman or not.

My wife contends that I will eat anything that is put in front of me. She's formulated this opinion not just because I willingly elect to consume things like scrapple, but because I am exceedingly polite when it comes to being invited over for dinner, in that I will consume whatever obnoxious and deleterious food offerings my host gives to me, because I am petrified of being thought of as rude or unobliging.

"Seriously," she says-- half jokingly, "if we were invited to someone's house, and they served you a donkey dick covered in raspberry jam, you'd eat it."

"I probably would," I say. Half jokingly.

(Maybe a quarter.)

I maintain that there are limits to my omnivoriousness. I think the true test of whether or not that's true will come when our twins are born in December or thereabouts. There has been some talk in our deceptively vanilla household about whether or not I will be driven, or perhaps drawn might be a better word, to placentophagy-- yes, that's exactly what it sounds like: the act of consuming the afterbirth.

From photographs and video I've seen featuring placentae, I rather think I'll be able to resist such a Hannibal-esque temptation. Certainly if there isn't an oven, a fry pan, some olive oil and Lawry's garlic salt handy in the delivery room. I mean, I'm not a savage, for Christ's sake.

I wonder if there are people out there who consider eating scrapple more vulgar than eating your own children's placentae. There probably are people like that, and I'm willing to bet they're orthodox Jews. "Eating the placenta of two Jewish babies is one thing, but eating PORK?!"

God, I love being Jewish. Just when you're sitting around on a Saturday night absolutely convinced that, after 851 blog posts, there is fucking nothing left to blog about, there's always the scrapple vs. placenta debate.

Love.