SPAM.
Monty Python had Vikings sing its praises.
It's practically the state dish of Hawaii.
Mom called it a lifesaver when the price of beef, pork, and chicken was too high for the budget.
Over time, the only thing worse than SPAM for dinner was Banquet's "Boil A Bag" chipped beef, pungently renamed by Mom as "shit on a shingle." For all I know, she was right and that's what that dish was originally named. I know I once suggested creaming SPAM, and she looked at me as if I'd just lost my damned mind.
Then again, Mom was the Queen of Milk Gravy--aka cream gravy, "red-eye" gravy, and sausage gravy--and I would still eat a plateful of SPAM if she covered it with her specialty. Damn, now I'm hungry.
So what is it about Spam, and why are we still eating it?
Spam--officially, "SPAM"--is made by Hormel Foods. The ingredients, as listed on the can, are: chopped pork shoulder meat, added ham meat, salt, water, modified potato starch, and sodium nitrate. The gelatin that forms around it comes from the cooled meat stock, which personally relieves me--for years, I thought that stuff was some kind of weird goo meant to keep SPAM from spoiling, much like Twinkie cream supposedly keeps it from going stale for 50 years . . .
(I kid, I kid. I know what aspic is.)
According to Wikipedia, SPAM started life as "Hormel Spiced Ham." (Spiced with what, one wonders.) In 1937, as Hormel Supposedly Spiced Ham began to lose market share, Hormel held a contest to rename its product. A company official claimed the winner was "Spam," for "Shoulder of Pork and Ham." Some sources say it's actually from "Spiced Meat and Ham." In Britain, the meaning of the name is said to vary from "Specially Processed American Meats" (as opposed to those American Meats processed any old way?) to "Supply Pressed American Meat," and comes from the war effort of the 1940s.
Some of the better nicknames for SPAM: "Something Posing As Meat", "Specially Processed Artificial Meat", "Stuff, Pork and Ham", "Spare Parts Animal Meat" and "Special Product of Austin, Minnesota."
During World War 2, fresh meat was hard to get, especially to soldiers serving in the Pacific Theater, but also worldwide. As noted above, it was imported to Europe and the United Kingdom; it was brought to Hawaii, Guam, Saipan, Okinawa, and the Philippines, where soldiers called it everything from "ham that failed its physical" to "meatloaf without basic training." In Hawaii, it's immensely popular; Burger King actually started selling SPAM in 2007 solely to compete with all the McDonalds' that have been doing so for years!
But thanks to wartime conservation, and the recession in America that followed, SPAM is still known as the fake meat you buy because you literally can't afford to buy anything else.
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So, back to the topic, which is SPAM for dinner.
My sister-in-law, like me, grew up poor. There's poor, and then there's scouring the house for enough pennies to buy macaroni & cheese poor. There were times when Mom and I were at the "look through the couch one more time, and check the vacuum cleaner bag" level of poor, usually right before payday. Living in Phoenix, Mom didn't start making enough money to keep us out of tight spots until she earned her GED and was able to get jobs paying more than $3.35/hour.
Unlike me, Sis loves SPAM still. Like most kids, I loved salty foods--I could have lived on potato chips and hot dogs up to my sixteenth birthday--but at some point my body just revolted at the sight of SPAM. Now I can't stomach the smell. Every five years, I get a craving for just one can. I buy the smallest I can find, cook it, eat it, and then never suffer the slightest twinge of desire for another bite of SPAM. But Sis? She'd serve it three nights a week if my brother would let her.
She actually sat with me when my last craving hit, which was two days after Mom died, and shared my SPAM dish with me. I didn't make it with milk gravy. I made it with scrambled eggs, and later mixed some fried rice in with it so I could get the rest of it down. With Sis helping, we managed to put away a small can of bacon-flavored SPAM.
During that evening, I shared Mom's "favorite" way to make SPAM, which was to slice it thin, fry it, top it with onions, cover it in brown gravy, and put it on a bun. It was like a sloppy, porky meatloaf sandwich; all it was missing was the mashed potatoes. Sis confided she liked giving it the "SPAMburger" treatment--sliced, on a bun, topped with cheese and tomato.
We started talking about different ways of making it--like cutting it into chunks, glazing it with barbecue or teriyaki sauce, and grilling it on skewers. Or charring the outside in a cast iron skillet, shredding it, mixing it with celery, mustard, onions and mayo, and calling it ham salad. I actually suggested dicing it, broiling it until crisp, and adding it to potato soup to make it SPAM chowder. (My younger brother made a grimace of revulsion that words can't adequately describe.)
If I ever need to add SPAM to my pantry again, I can say that I have some choice in how to prepare it. And since none of us know what the future may bring . . . that's actually comforting to know. Kinda like how having a fire extinguisher by the front door makes me feel easier about the possibility of my apartment ever catching fire.
In the meantime, here's my "recipe" for SPAM. It's not much, and I doubt it'll ever become a favorite of anyone's--it certainly isn't mine. But what can I say except, it filled a need, and it'll fill an empty stomach as well?
So here it is.
Teriyaki-Glazed SPAM With Scrambled Eggs & Fried Rice
One can of SPAM (any flavor)
One cup cooked rice (Minute Rice will do in a pinch, but basmati rice works best)
Five green onions, chopped
Two eggs
Teriyaki sauce
Three cloves garlic
Half of one small yellow onion, chopped
Two tablespoons oil
Take a baking sheet and cover in foil. Slice SPAM into thin slices. Brush each slice on both sides with teriyaki sauce, place on pan, and put in the oven. Set the temperature on "broil." Wait 3-5 minutes, and check. If the slices aren't bubbling (from the teriyaki sauce) and crispy along the edges, close the oven door and wait another minute. When the SPAM is at your desired crispiness, remove the pan from the oven and turn the oven off. Once the SPAM cools, tear it into pieces.
In an 8-inch skillet over medium-high heat, add the oil and wait until it starts to get hazy. Add the rice, onions, and garlic, and saute until the rice browns and the onions get tender. Push the rice to one side of the skillet, crack the eggs in the empty spot, and scramble with your spatula. Once the eggs are scrambled, fold them into the rice. Add the SPAM. If you like, add a little teriyaki sauce to the rice. If you want to steam this for a while, add two tablespoons of water, turn the heat down to medium-low, and cover the pan for one minute. If not, don't. In either case, stir thoroughly and make sure the eggs are cooked completely before serving.
Serves however many want to try it. You've been warned.