My mom made that, Scrapple, for breakfast when we were kids as a side to eggs. I thought it was pretty good, actually. Never occurred to me to ask what was in it, and nowadays I eat, with pleasure, all sorts of ethnic stuff that some guys gag on.
As Shoulda says above, at our house, growing up, it was “eat what’s put before you.” And there was no leaving the table, either, until you were excused by Dad. (Onions were tough, when I was a little guy. Love ‘em now.) And Mom would make desserts, which you had to eat all your dinner to enjoy.
My parents would admonish us, “Think of all the starving children in India,” when we would balk at dinner. And while we knew better than to say it, we’d think, along with every other red blooded American kid in a similar predicament, “Then ship this stuff off to ‘em already!”)
My wife did not grow up that way, and when my kids were small, she’d give ‘em a break when they did not want to eat something at dinner. She was raised differently. Took me a long while to adjust to that.
