I must admit I have been a SPAM snacker for most of my life. It's the salt and flavor, I think. But even more, I read once that SPAM was given to soldiers in WW2, especially those on the front where no one could cook. But in between fyling bullets, they could duck down and , with the key, release the SPAM. I was a WW2 kid, one so young I thought the fighting front meant our soldiers and their soldiers boxed with each other....and SPAM did the trick for our soldiers.
To this day I haven't yet lost a fight, but, then again, I haven't had one. I do make my SPAM delectables from time to time while my wife clucks at me. So it goes. And I am grateful for it. But, especially to these soldiers who save our freedoms. God bless them all.
If SPAM is still on their menu, our troops are all the better for it. And I'm doing my part.
SPAM spread on a Ritz cracker with a splash of Tabasco sauce washed down with a tiny sip of beer and the six-year-old me out on a fishing trip with my G.I. Dad and his G.I. buddies and my best friend . . . and I was in boy Heaven.
My Grandfather wouldn’t allow Spam in the house. He called it “K rations” or something. Said he’d rather eat a roadkill opossum. I apparently inherited his loathing for the stuff. Even as a child, regardless of how it was prepared, I always went into involuntary dry heaves. I’d hear that wet sucking sound as it was tipped out of the tin and could almost certainly see the mucilaginous jelly crawling to the side of the skillet. And I’m Scottish. Most of our cuisine was conceived of on a dare. I have ten pounds of haggis in my freezer and still will not touch Spam. It’s one of the main reasons I’ve never been to Hawaii…
I must admit I have been a SPAM snacker for most of my life. It's the salt and flavor, I think. But even more, I read once that SPAM was given to soldiers in WW2, especially those on the front where no one could cook. But in between fyling bullets, they could duck down and , with the key, release the SPAM. I was a WW2 kid, one so young I thought the fighting front meant our soldiers and their soldiers boxed with each other....and SPAM did the trick for our soldiers.
To this day I haven't yet lost a fight, but, then again, I haven't had one. I do make my SPAM delectables from time to time while my wife clucks at me. So it goes. And I am grateful for it. But, especially to these soldiers who save our freedoms. God bless them all.
If SPAM is still on their menu, our troops are all the better for it. And I'm doing my part.
SPAM spread on a Ritz cracker with a splash of Tabasco sauce washed down with a tiny sip of beer and the six-year-old me out on a fishing trip with my G.I. Dad and his G.I. buddies and my best friend . . . and I was in boy Heaven.
My Grandfather wouldn’t allow Spam in the house. He called it “K rations” or something. Said he’d rather eat a roadkill opossum. I apparently inherited his loathing for the stuff. Even as a child, regardless of how it was prepared, I always went into involuntary dry heaves. I’d hear that wet sucking sound as it was tipped out of the tin and could almost certainly see the mucilaginous jelly crawling to the side of the skillet. And I’m Scottish. Most of our cuisine was conceived of on a dare. I have ten pounds of haggis in my freezer and still will not touch Spam. It’s one of the main reasons I’ve never been to Hawaii…