Scrapplefest 2000

PHILADELPHIA--For one warm winter day, modern health concerns curled up in a ball and rested quietly on the outskirts of the Trocadero.

Scrapple ruled Philadelphia on that Sunday afternoon, and virtually nothing could stop its pork-filled "goodness." The concert venue swelled to capacity as 3,000 people lined up for blocks to eat free samples from five different vendors at WWDB's Scrapplefest 2000.

"It's all about the taste," said Ken Yoder, manager of Stoltzfus Meats. "We thought the people deserved to have some good Lancaster County scrapple."

At 12:30, Yoder straightened up his display, as did many of the other workers in attendance. Scrapple stacked neatly on white bread rested near the scrapple pizza. Scrapple squares and scrapple on a cracker vied for table space.

Renowned scrapple-maker Hatfield Quality Meats tested the boundaries of pork preparation even more with its "Frontier Scrapple." The bean-like concoction served with chips and shredded cheese added a bit of variety to the normally brownish chunks. On the vendors' tables, ketchup, apple butter, jelly and syrup (the usual condiments) filled giant bowls.

Everybody seemed ready for the festivities to begin, including the Scrapple King and Queen. The couple stood poised in the Troc's lobby awaiting the throngs of scrapple enthusiasts.

"This is the highlight of my career," Queen Eliana Kelly quipped. The buxom brunette, decked out in a crown and sash, kidded with Todd Nurick, her broad-shouldered mate.

"The king's main job is to protect the queen," Kelly said, pointing to her partner for the day. Her own responsibilities, however, seemed a bit more vague.

"You know, I don't even know," she said.

Kelly works for WWDB's morning show, and Chad Wilkinson, the executive producer of programming, said the radio station picked her for the honor because she was "perfect for the role." The king received his sash for less picky reasons. He won an on-air contest.

"My dad has never been more proud," Nurick said.

Photographers lined up to shoot the boisterous couple and they both seemed happy to oblige, offering multiple sexy poses.

"I'm just a little beauty in this ugly, ugly event," Kelly said. Her comments did not intend to offend, though, as Kelly offered words of encouragement to the crowds that just burst in.

"Scrapple does a body good," she shouted.

The average medical opinion might take a different stance. In addition to cornmeal and chicken broth, the treat's main ingredients are chopped scraps of cooked pork, including the ears, feet, snout and other miscellaneous body parts and organs. University of Delaware English professor and folklorist Robert Bethke explained how this eclectic mix of foods came to be known as the "blended tradition" of scrapple:

Centuries ago, Germans settled the eastern Pennsylvania region. With them, they brought over their traditional food of panhaus (ground-up pork that's fried). Native Americans already lived in the area where the Germans settled. They were excellent corn growers, and eventually somebody got the idea to add maize, as well as some other spices, to the panhaus. Kent and Sussex counties in Delaware soon became places where many farming English settlers took up raising pigs and growing corn.

"It thus seems natural to me that there would occur a >drift' of scrapple awareness and appeal from eastern Pennsylvania southward into central and southern Delaware," Bethke said.

Thus scrapple was born. But an interesting situation has occurred. The love (or even knowledge) of the food generally hasn't spread beyond the Delaware/Eastern Pennsylvania region.

"I've never had scrapple before," said Colorado native Jeff McCarthy while waiting for the lines to die down. "Everybody tells me to try it. I'm not too crazy about the smell, though."

But for many people in attendance, there were no second thoughts. Multiple scrapple-shaped Liberty Bell sculptures (all of which included the crack) adorned the building, earning impressed stares from the people inside. Meanwhile, a continuous flow of bands took the Troc's stage, offering odes to the meat treat.

"I got scrapple on my mind / some grease got in my eye," opening act Bill Aronson sang.

Frank Palencar shared the band's sentiment--at least the first part. Three years ago, the senior citizen earned the distinction of being the very first Scapple King.

"It's nutritious and delicious," he announced with a plate full of the stuff in hand.

Pat Smith also seemed to be enjoying himself. Sunday marked the third year in a row he attended Scrapplefest, and he said he sees beyond the mere pigging out at the all-you-can-eat event.

"It's a fun, free time," he said. "It is a shot of optimism."

However, that optimism didn't exactly spread outside the Troc. With the meaty smell wafting in the breeze, a lone teen-ager stood on the cold sidewalk of Arch Street in protest. A few vegetarian pamphlets rested on his makeshift cardboard table. The spike-haired dissident had a video camera on his shoulder to record the day's sometimes unfortunate proceedings.

"Some people dumped scrapple in my donation cup," 18-year-old Brian Good said with a bit of disgust. "I don't want to interfere. I just want to present my point of view."

Good was not the only person to question the validity of such an event. One man said a much more symbolic meaning lurked behind thousands of people chowing down on pig leftovers.

"It's an excuse to have a fair," Alexander DeVore said, as he inched back in line for another helping. "Nobody likes scrapple that much."