Recipe for Pig's Feet Souse

[kdfrawg]

Wellsir, I must have been getting the rich man's scrapple. That's probably why I didn't like it much.

[Diane Amberg]

 Here it's not out of a can.  It's a fresh one or two pound block wrapped in plastic.  Rapa scrapple is made right here and at the Amish market you can have it sliced out of the big pan.  Teresa, you are right, now that I'm retired, I just might make my own.  If I'm not too lazy.   I like mine with a bit of ketchup, or even better, as a breakfast sandwich on toast.  I like mush too.  Do you all get Lebanon Bologna out there now?  I know Kansas didn't used to have it.  Kermit did you have time to ever go to the 9th st. Italian market in Philly?  Good Amish dried beef makes the best sos too.  Very smokey and not so salty tasting, in my personal opinion.

[kdfrawg]

Among others. That was back when I could walk, and I did a lot of it. I worked at 1600 Arch. I had a company apartment on JFK next to the Hilton, with a view of the Penn statue. I found some of the best markets and diners of my life inside about a one square mile area of downtown Philly.

[Diane Amberg]

 Yeah, I know what you mean... Al can't get his scooter through, the sidewalk is too full and he wouldn't dare take it into the street.  I really miss the spice market and the two cheese shops.  But we still go to the Reading Terminal Market, not as large but pretty much has the same thing.  Don't you love city hall?  Nothing else in the world like it.  And the real delis are second to none...except they scare me to death!  All that hollering and yelling.  You better know what you want and be quick about it.  Al laughs at me.

[kdfrawg]

It is odd how quickly a newly minted California boy (still mainly a Nebraska boy) got used to the hustle and bustle of Philly. The delis were marvelous and, you're right, loud. The diners were steamy and smoky and, yes, loud. But inside a week I was getting my order in like the veterans and jostling with the cabbies for space. Some of my fondest memories are from the tiny Italian restaurants that had been there forever in the early seventies and probably are there still. My father and I once discovered, by retracing the necessary steps from the Navy Yard, that we had eaten in the same second-floor Philly Italian restaurant about 25 years apart.