Zen and the Art of Scrapple Eating at The Cracked Egg Cafe

So here I am, getting the band back together so to speak, and I present to you a brand-new post…with no pictures. But you’ll see (or should I say read) why in a moment. By the way, how was the LBI Shellfish Soiree from three years ago? Yes, I’m pretty sick of seeing that post. If you did attend, I hope you had a lovely time and I have no ill will towards you.

Ever get frozen by indecision? Your feet plant themselves and refuse to budge until you figure things out?

It had been some time since I had gone out on a food adventure that didn’t involve a real deadline. But I had my trusty little digital camera with me, ready to gather some new material for a triumphant return to old-school blogging. I parked in front of the almost-missed Cracked Egg Cafe, got out of the car…and that’s when my feet came to a halt.

Do I really want to take pictures?

To this day, I still think it’s a little weird to snap images of a plate of food. That feeling has never completely gone away. But in order to give your 21st Century audience as close to a full experience as possible, you have to document it all with pics (and video, too).

Or so we have been told.

Truth is, you can also do a good job painting the picture with words. Another truth: really bad pictures can ruin even the best writing accompaniment. Truth #3: if you’re not feeling it, regardless of your endeavor, the result will suffer.

I left the camera in the car. And my feet took me inside.

The Cracked Egg Cafe is small, with a counter and about four tables. You can sit at one end of the counter and almost shake the hand of someone sitting at a table on the opposite end. The waitstaff know many of the patrons. You can’t really hide in a place like this.

There’s something very American about sitting at a counter for breakfast, coffee within grasp, while local news on the TV provides background noise. It was a gray Saturday morning of no particular importance, and yet I wanted to be present to it all and not distantly observing from behind a camera.

My breakfast order was for one of the daily special omelettes with cheese and asparagus, along with home fries and toast. And – a side order of scrapple. I watched the cook as he made omelettes that were not in the classic French tri-fold style. They looked like puffy half-moons – the kind I make at home. I got a kick out of that.

The omelette was solid and satisfying. The potatoes and toast played their starchy and carb-y roles, respectively. But it’s the scrapple that I want to discuss. And it might get a little weird for some of you. Are you game? Yes? Cool.

Admittedly, I was late to the scrapple party. My folks didn’t serve it at home when I was growing up. But now that I’ve gotten the news, I really do like the stuff.



The way I look at it, don’t think about what scrapple is – think about what scrapple does. Cooked properly, you get a crispy outside, a soft and slightly creamy middle, and it all tastes like pork. That’s a pretty cool magic trick in my book.

So there I was, enjoying every blessed forkful as if it were dry-aged steak served medium rare. I had reached my place of zen, and nothing else mattered. And in this state of eating, when the senses are present and willing, it all tastes amazing. Scrapple, steak, Spaghetti-Os, whatever – find your eating zen, and everything is delicious.

How does one find their eating zen?

Well, we’re all a bit different, aren’t we? But, as a suggestion, maybe one step we can take in the right direction is to put down our cameras and smartphones every so often and enjoy eating as an experience and not as a photo op.

Will I ever take my camera out again? Sure – I haven’t gone Luddite. My Instagram page won’t feed itself. But snapping images of my plate of food is an option, and one I can opt out of when zen-time beckons.

The Cracked Egg Cafe637 S. New York Rd. (aka Route 9), Galloway. 609.241.8784.




One thought on “Zen and the Art of Scrapple Eating at The Cracked Egg Cafe

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s