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  • Writer's pictureLaura McBride

Spam. A lot.


Sometimes, you just have to take a deep breath and admit something.

In the mid-1970s, I once had an enormous craving for SPAM®. I satisfied it. I bought some, fried it up, served it to my husband (who astonishingly had the same craving at the same time) with oven french fries that I tarted up with a small sprinkle of oil and a large sprinkle of salt.

And then I went back to ridiculing SPAM®, and anyone who eats it…until I found out that not only does my sister-in-law like SPAM®, she has a SPAM® cookbook. A whole SPAM® cookbook. She once made me a dinner of stuffed SPAM®; I had asked for it, because some things one has to see to believe.

But here’s another guilty secret: My brother likes SPAM®. My own flesh and blood. He likes SPAM®. Not just in 1970-something. But today.

When we were exploring in Morrison’s Supermarket one day, Simon and I noticed a SPAM® product in the frozen section, and naturally took a picture of it. Not a good picture; all we had available was his cell phone, which predates the rise and fall of Constantinople. But we had to have it. The picture. The SPAM® Fritters stayed where they were.

While I was on the subject, though, I recalled that there is a SPAM® Museum. I looked it up, and, for good measure, checked out the first recipe in the recipe exchange section, Tomato Spasta*. It called specifically for SPAM® Classic. This led me to believe that there are now variations on SPAM®.

Sho ‘nuff. There’s SPAM® Lite; shoulda figured. But SPAM® with Cheese. Oh, mama.

Hot and Spicy SPAM®. And boon to all those who need the odd cocktail snack, SPAM® Spread. All you need is the crackers; might I suggest bona fide Saltines?

I saw nothing about SPAM® Fritters, though. Maybe they are only made for the European market. If you’re a SPAM® lover, you’re welcome to come visit. I’ll even drive you to Morrison’s; the road is really twisty, barely a car and a half wide, and steep with curves. Americans don’t like the road at all (it took me almost a year to learn to love it!). So I won’t make you drive it. Plus, I’ll let you use the stove, but that’s where I stop. You’ll have to cook the SPAM® yourself.

Though I may sneak a bite.* I find this an unfortunate name for a recipe, especially for a frankenfood, for so many reasons.

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