And the life and times of SPAM didn't end there.
People all over the world eat spam. You can find that it's weasled its slimy little way into just about every meal and snack out there. From ASPAMagus rollups to my personal favorite, Huevos SPAMcheros and everything in between. In FACT, Hormel just sold it's 7 billionth can of spammy goodness in 2007!.....? Maybe people are wisening up....
SPAM is celebrated from coast to coast with ENTIRE festivals devoted to it's infamy.The annual Spam Jam held in Hawaii the last week of April for starters and Spamarama, a yearly festival held on April Fool's Day in our very own Austin, Tx. Even the small town of Shady Cove, Oregon is home to the annual Spam Parade and Festival. (Could they have done better with that title? I think so.)
Celebrities like Monty Pyton and Weird Al Yankovic have created ballads about SPAM and you can even find a few modern day songs on itunes with SPAM as the token muse.
You can find SPAM paraphenalia at the click of a mouse! Items like sweat bands, athletic (what the...?) tees and even iphone covers.
In fact, SPAM has really evolved since the late 30's and now is offered in a myriad of varieties like Jalapeno SPAM, Hickory SPAM, SPAM with cheese, Black Pepper SPAM, Hot & Spicy SPAM and don't forget SPAM Classic.
I'll spare you the nutritional, er lack of nutritional details but suffice it to say SPAM is not a friend of anything on your body, head to toe, least of all your heart, liver, thighs, belly, pancreas, bootay, love handles....ok, we're back the original thought; SPAM is not a friend of anything on your body; head to toe.
So, now that you've all been sufficiently disgusted and are probably gagging on your lunch, let me tell you, as Paul Harvey would say, 'the REST of the story'.........................
It was a normal Tuesday evening. Well, actually a bit abnormal because up to this point in pregnancy I have been a WRECK. I mean like, get home, eat a snack and get in bed by 5:21 wreck. Exhausted with a capital E and the triple digit temps don't help. So, let's start over. It was an abnormal Tuesday evening during which I actually had the energy to cook dinner! So, feeling great about myself and this surprise burst of energy, I decided to step it up a notch and make something out of the park healthy. This has not previously been the norm so you can imagine the pleasure I was having at my own sense of awesomeness. Baked sesame salmon, brown rice and steamed veggies was on the menu and considering my diet had consisted of saltines, smoothies and let's not forget a few meatball subs thrown in for good measure, BOY did it smell good. The rice was done, veggies were on low and salmon had 15 minutes left on the timer. And all of a sudden, amidst the savory scents in my kitchen, it hit me like a ton of bricks, like a wave of babies, like a two ton truck.....ALL.I.WANTED.WAS.SPAM! And it wasn't just one of those fleeting 'oh my gosh what just came over me' moments. I wanted SPAM and I wanted it now. I was like Bella from Twilight when she was a baby vamp on the trail of her first human scent. If there was SPAM within 20 miles I was gonna find it. One problem. The salmon. Was cooking and by this time it had 14 minutes left. "I could totally make it to Brookshire Brothers and back in 14 minutes." I mean, in my fever, my energy was growing to Olympic proportions by the milli-second. In haste, I let Snoop-Lion out in case the place burned down, grabbed my keys and sprinted, literally sprinted out the door. And as I approached the automatic doors at Brookshire Brothers, I had a brief moment of rational sense during which I started to ask myself 'WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU DOin.......but then I felt it. My self-control, rationale and common sense blown to bits by the fan over the door. Within moments it was already headed toward the next town. And I was headed to the mystery meat product aisle. I'm usually pretty focused when it comes to 14 minute trips to the grocery store but I was like a carb and fat deprived caged beast who had been recently uncaged only to find myself as a lucky contestent on that game show, Supermarket Sweep. Everything that I had said 'no' to for the last 32 years in any shape, form or fashion found it's way into my cart that day. In under 12 minutes I had pillaged and the booty was bountiful. Flaky biscuits, white bread, creamy peanut butter, grape jelly, all beef hot dogs (or maybe they weren't; I wasn't THAT focused), BUTTER, velveeta mac and cheese and of course, the entire reason I was there in the first place....you guessed it. A can of Classic SPAM. I got home just as the timer on the salmon was going off. And despite it's deliciousness, I promptly put it in a tupperware and proceeded to slice and fry up my can of SPAM. I had some cold. I had some hot. And if it wasn't SO delicious it would have been disgusting. Well, let's call a spade a spade. SPAM was, is and always will be disgusting, but to me, that night, it might as well have been prepared by the Iron Chef himself because it was everything I had hoped it would be. I was hoping to have polished off the evidence before Mr. G came home but I was still reveling in my spamthusiasm when he clomped through the door. Not having been served actual dinner for several weeks at this point, you can imagine his surprise at the option of not one, but two dinner choices. Sesame salmon, brown rice and steamed veggies (the obvious choice right?) or fried spam and maybe I had made some mac and cheese too....and maybe just a few biscuits were baking in the oven as well. A man after my own heart with a fondness for things slightly redneck, poor, fattening and trashy, we sat down to the best dinner the Goble table had seen in WEEKS. As we layed in bed that night, feet and hands swollen from the SPAM induced astronomical sodium levels, the common sense part of my brain kept trying to convince me to feel guilty for the crap I had just fed my baby. But there was another voice, a smaller voice that piped up and shouted above the guilt and worry. 'Meh. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger and you never know when the next WW is coming.'
SPAM. It's not what SHOULD be for dinner, but sometimes the difference between what SHOULD be and what IS, is night and day.
For more useless information, comical recipes and time wasting activities, check out www.spam.com. Pay particular attention to the 'Catapult Dairy Cows from a castle and into a line of Frenchman' Game. You won't be disappointed. Or maybe you will. Regardless, don't eat SPAM. And don't wear it on your head either.
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