When I was growing up as one of
seven children in the late 1950s and through the 1960s, meals seem to fall into
a loose pattern. On Sundays we had roast chicken or roast beef or pork fillet.
On Mondays we had something called vegetable roll which was actually round
slices of meat like beef burgers. Tuesday’s were stew days, Fridays were fish
and Saturdays were fry days. My mother was a great magician in the kitchen,
almost always cooking from scratch. She was a great baker too. Even when money
was tight, as it often was, we always seemed to enjoy great food. And I don’t
remember eating much processed food until I became a little more adventurous
and started to experiment with exotic concoctions like Vesta beef curry which
was basically rice and dust boiled into something that might have been better
suited to the bottom of a budgie cage. There was spaghetti and macaroni cheese
in tins, and Fray Bentos steak and kidney pies too. In a stroll down memory
lane, I tried macaroni cheese not so long ago and, perhaps because of my more
mature and discerning palate, it was ghastly with a claggy aftertaste. Over 50
years ago, I thought is was superb!
Aunt Sheila was the start of my
quest for ‘foreign’ food. She had the amazing idea to sprinkle curry powder
onto stew and, wow, what a revelation that was. Extraordinary and delicious.
From the first spoonful in my pre-teens, my taste buds were transported from
local Belfast grub to a hankering for international dishes.
Occasionally, in the summer, our
salads would invariably include ham, sometimes in slices from the grocer and
from time to time from a tin. Ye Olde Oak was a brand. It was a
near-oval-shaped tin and, like some canned food, you took your life in your
hands to open it without incurring an injury. As I recall it, the ham was
perfectly good and tasty, coupled with slices of hard-boiled egg and smothered
in Heinz Salad Cream. We had luncheon meat too, cheap and cheerful pink meat to
keep all those kids happy.
Spam, which was launched 80 years
ago, must have featured at some point in our cuisine. On days when my mother
was probably wracking her brain to think of what to cook for her magnificent
seven, the odd tin of prepared food must have played a part. I don’t remember
ever eating Spam but I suspect I did sometimes. So, on this keynote
anniversary, I decided to take another stroll down memory lane. I bought a tin
and looked up the history of this famous product. In these days of evangelical
chefs, self-appointed nutrition experts and celebrity faddy diets, when we seem
to be bombarded with lists of things that are good and bad to eat and drink,
Spam and other convenience foods are frowned upon. But it shouldn’t be
forgotten that sometimes on restricted budgets families may have little choice
but to opt for inexpensive food. Pious, snobbish and puffed-up TV cooks should stop
waving their ladles at us from their pulpits.
Spam emerged in 1937 as a simple
convenience food brand made by the Hormel Corporation, based in Austin,
Minnesota, and it coasted along in its early years. But sales skyrocketed
during the Second World War when it was next to impossible to supply troops
overseas with fresh food. Tinned supplies proved to be a convenient and
efficient way to feed U.S. military units in Europe and elsewhere and Spam
became part of a loved and loathed foodstuff on a soldier’s daily menu.
Apparently, Hormel kept a file for hate-mail from disgruntled soldiers who had
endured the product often for breakfast, lunch and dinner on the same day.
In its 80 years, it is estimated that
nearly 10 billion tins of the product have been sold worldwide and there are
dozens and dozens of recipe ideas to jazz it up and to keep it relevant and
popular today. There’s Spam in its traditional tin and Spam in easy-to-open
plastic tubs. There’s Spam with bacon and even Spam Lite. I opted for the 200g
tin of the original at £1.75.
The blurb on the tin tells me its
“the unique blend of prime pork & ham, minimum 90% meat”. The ingredients:
pork (89%), starch, water, salt, ham (2%), sugar, stabiliser (trisodium
diphosphate), flavourings, antioxidant (sodium ascorbate) and preservative
(sodium nitrate), and its gluten free but may contain traces of milk. The
nutritional information scores fat at 24.3g per 100g. There is a recipe idea on
the back for Spam, egg and chips and guidance that I can eat this grilled,
baked, microwaved or even cold. This tin, bought in July 2017, has a “best
before” date of May 2020. So, if I had a nuclear bunker, I could stock up for
the long haul. There is a handy illustration on the top on how to open the tin
with a ring pull and a clear big red X warning not to use a tin opener.
Although there are a few instructions on how to get the meat out of the tin, I
had to resort to a knife for assistance. After a few manoeuvres, out popped a
moist pink small brick, referred to in some quarters as “mystery meat”.
By the by, the origins of the word
Spam are wrapped in mystery with some suggestion that it is a condensed version
of spice and ham. We can knock that one on the head, I think, as pork is the
dominant ingredient, it indicates that a more correct name would have been
Spork. I decided on two ways to eat it.
First, I sliced off a couple of pieces and got stuck in eating it cold. I don’t
know what I was expecting but it is mild, a bit boring and quite salty but not
unpleasant. It would probably work better in a sandwich with tomato and pickle
or some other creations. Next, I fried three slices until they were just on the
cusp of crisp. I noticed quite a bit of fat in the frying pan that I had only
lightly oiled. The fried version is definitely better with a flavour not
dissimilar to bacon, unsurprisingly. But it was saltier and the taste lingered
for a while, annoyingly. On the whole, cold okay, hot better. (Two hours after
eating the Spam, I know I’ve eaten Spam. It lingers!)
Will I buy it again? The straight
answer is no. I can understand its popularity as a convenience food but it’s
not my thing. Like my mother, I cook mostly from scratch and steer clear of
ready meals in tins or packets. I don’t condemn anyone for their preferences
and there are clearly many people who like their tinned meats. There is a fair
amount of supermarket shelf space given over to it and that only happens if
there is customer demand.
Spam has attracted both praise from
its fans and ridicule, the latter exemplified in the classic Monty Python Spam
sketch and song, which in turn begat the global hit musical Spamalot. The
musical, the brainchild of Eric Idle, is not about Spam at all. It is a bawdy
and irreverent spoof on King Arthur and the Spam pun was used simply to
highlight its Pythonesque connections. (From
the Python café sketch: “Lobster thermidor aux crevettes with a mornay sauce,
served in a Provencale manner with shallots and aubergines, garnished with
truffle pate, brandy, a fried egg on top and Spam …….spam, spam, spam, spam ……).
Weird Al Jankovic’s comedy Spam song suggested that any Spam left over could be
used for bathroom grout.
There’s even a Spam Museum (“Please
don’t eat the exhibits”) in Austin, Minnesota and an annual Spam Jam festival
in the city. Hawaii hosts a Spam festival too every year. Chefs in fine
restaurants conjure up all kinds of classy and fancy recipes and fans wander
about Waikiki in their I Love Spam tee-shirts and baseball hats enjoying the
splendour of their beloved Spam. Some excited attendees even dress up as tins
of Spam. As I say, praise and ridicule. As Spam repeats on me, I repeat it is
not unpleasant and has a place on my menu of last resorts.
Of course, for this generation, the
word has been hijacked to describe unsolicited, unwanted and sometimes illegal
email, tons of cyber rubbish that clogs up the internet and frustrates people
on a daily basis. Now that really is unpleasant!
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