Spam

There is a small, narrow cabinet in the far right corner of my kitchen, where there are two shelves scarcely populated with the items we dare not use, things that have long past their expiration date or extra bottles of hot sauce in a brand I hate. On the top shelve in this cabinet above the three year old box of jelly beans sits one can of Spam. These are my emergency rations, in the event of war or nuclear fallout or a severe case of hunger. I buy it on the rare occasions I go grocery shopping, so I have it when all other foods are gone. In reality, it is just cat food packaged for humans, which I’m sure is why my cat curls up around my feet when he hears the sickening thwack of the Spam hitting the plate. This is some food I have no problem sharing.

There are a lot of ways to make Spam, and it actually isn’t the most disgusting food out there, but it certainly is an acquired taste. I have my father to thank for introducing me to the premier potted meat, as when I was a child his cooking skills extended only a few inches beyond things that came in a can. I cook it like he did. First is vigorously shake the can so the gelatinous meat wiggles out and plops on the plate. Then I lay it on its side and cut it into thin strips. The thinner the better with Spam, as it can be quite hard to stomach in thick bites.

I pan fry my Spam, with nothing to grease the pan because once Spam heats up there is plenty of grease already. Spam looks edible fried, with each side of the thin slice crisping up into a golden brown. To add to the mystique of Spam it is the only thing I eat with mustard. I feel it goes well together, yet I will never put mustard on a hot dog or anything normal mustard goes on. So my usual Spam plate consists of four or five thin slices of Spam fried to a crunchy brown outer skin, the grease bubbles popping all over its outer shell and a pile of mustard in the corner.

This is my emergency meal, and the cat curls up next to me in an attempt to get some. I am not against feeding him this time, as I feel it would send the wrong message if I deny him people food and cat food, and seeing as Spam looks and smell like cat food, I think he deserves some. So I cut up a little corner into cat sized bites, and the both of us sit there and eat Spam, my Tuesday emergency meal plan.