The Joy of Spam: Embracing an American Icon While Keeping It Away

The last thing I do with my smartphone is make smart phone calls. I am continually impressed by people who can use this miracle tech to build business empires and cure diseases and so on, but that’s not me. I’m canceling dentist appointments, ghosting relatives, or texting the dog groomer. The last thing I’m doing is punching in a phone number to actually talk to someone. I don’t even know who that would be.

But my phone keeps ringing, or buzzing, or playing stupid music, and yours does too, now with this flashy warning about “SPAM RISK,” and we add yet another random number to our personal block callers list, like that will do anything to keep this slimy intrusion at bay.

Just once, I want to answer one of those calls without talking to spammers who have so unjustly usurped the name of an otherwise blameless cultural institution. I want to speak with actual Spam.

Because I have questions.

Like, first off, why is Spam so dreadful in every application except Spam musubi in Hawai’i? Is it because it’s in Hawai’i?

Answer: Yes, where it’s treated with respect.

For those who don’t know, or would never try it, I am talking about a piece of fried or grilled Spam glazed with a sweet and savory sauce on sushi rice, wrapped in nori. It combines the Japanese onigiri tradition with Hawai’i’s wartime heritage, when the population survived for years on U.S. Army rations, like Spam. And once you know about it, you see it everywhere. At least in Hawai’i.

Same goes for army base stew, an artifact of rationing in Korea. Ramen or spaghetti noodles, kimchi, and Spam are all simmered up in broth or tomato sauce, or both, maybe with a little scoop of gochujang to keep you honest.

The point here is that to make the most of Spam, it should not be treated like normal meat, because it’s not normal. Discovering the culinary potential of Spam means moving past its reputation as a pantry pest to find its value as a misunderstood American classic in its own vacuum-sealed fortress.

The stuff is mashed-up pork and fat with some other benign ingredients jammed into that iconic, easily stackable Prussian Blue rectangular can, giving it a very long shelf life. Two tricks to getting the slab out intact: run the can under hot water for a few minutes, or soak it to start melting the luscious, sticky fats within, and then pierce the bottom with a can opener (or your USMC Ka-Bar knife) before opening the top. That will break the vacuum and allow the slab to slide out in a coating of nicely melting grease. Next up, soak the meat in hot water to draw out excess salt. You might have to change the water a few times, depending on how much Spam you’re soaking, and it will go faster if you slice it up first. This will mellow the taste considerably and put you, the cook, back in charge when it comes to flavoring the final dish.

Now, if you want to try your hand at Spam musubi, I’m all for it, but sushi of any kind is something I leave to professionals, not something I try to make. Instead, I recommend army base stew.

Korean Army Base Stew, or Budae-jjigae

Ingredients

Kimchi of your choice. Or if you’re afraid of that, slice up a decent onion or two. Maybe with some pickled garlic and sauerkraut. Yes, you read that right. Fermented stuff that lasts a long time, like wartime rations.

Sufficient amount of pasta or other noodles for your needs. Ramen is preferred because you can use the little flavor pack that comes with it, which is chock-full of the often maligned and misunderstood MSG and other mysterious ingredients that pack a nice umami punch, if umami can be said to have a punch. Perhaps “caress” is better.

Some liquid to go with the above, say three or four cups of some kind of stock.

1 can of Spam in the flavor of your choice (they have like 15 now, from pumpkin spice to Filipino bacon). If you’re squeamish, use hot dogs or sausage instead.

1 emergency beer, the hoppier the better.

Maybe some slimy greens or canned beans, or both.

Procedure

1. Sauté your kimchi or what have you until it starts to break down, along with a tablespoon of gochujang if you’re using it.

2. Add your noodles, just top with stock plus a tad more, and add the meat. If you do it this way, you won’t have too much liquid at the end, though you may decide you need some. Whatever the meat is, it should be cut into bite-sized pieces. If it’s Spam, do the salt soak first. If you’re Spam-averse, leave it in big chunks and fish it out before you serve. Its distinct flavor will remain while you avoid facing its unctuous texture.

3. As noodles finish, give the broth a taste. Still too salty? Add water, or that beer. The hops will pair nicely with the kimchi and any other spices. Unlike normal meat, you’ll find that Spam imparts its flavor while becoming pleasantly tender. Still too salty? Try a dose of sugar or vinegar. Better yet, throw in a couple of sacrificial carrots for half an hour. They will absorb salt while imparting a mild sweetness. Plan on tossing them.

4. Sometimes I’ll add a pound of raw, chopped spinach or other slimy greens at this point, just to feel good about myself, which is an ongoing campaign. Spinach doesn’t need more than a few minutes, but stuff like chard, kale, and the like need a good 8 to 10.

5. Noodle up and serve. Maybe add a shot of sriracha or some other exotic heat. But if it’s already too spicy, say from the kimchi, add a can of baked beans or straight-up Navy beans to dissipate. You can get all this stuff, including the 15 different kinds of Spam, at your local Asian market; you just have to find it first.

Click here for a printable version of this KP Cooks recipe.