Thanks for the ode to Spam! I remember growing up on the north shore of Boston, spending summers eating "raw" Spam sandwiches at the beach. Upon moving to Honolulu, I rediscovered Spam in the form of musubi, a great improvement over the sometimes sandy sandwiches of my youth. Shoyu marinade and a rice carrier improves the taste immensely (liberally anointed with Shriacha garlic-chili sauce, thanks to my Korean co-workers at Queens Hospital). The musubi has inspired me to buy more Spam, it's a staple in my pantry now, mahalo!

Spamwiches, mentioned in one comment, were a mealtime staple when I was growing up. I remember the original sandwich and was unable to re-create it — the mushroom soup was what I missed. A variation of the same recipe is to cube green pepper, onion, American cheese, Spam and mix with mayo and seasoning. Fill bun with mixture, wrap in foil and bake until the cheese melts. For the complete cardiac ensemble, serve with potato chips or Fritos with French onion dip, berries and Cool Whip and a root beer float. Great summer meal when I was a kid. Thanks for the story.

I was born and raised in Austin, Minn., ground zero for Spam. My dad used to make "Spamcakes," which are thin, fried slices of Spam around which is poured pancake batter. Proceed as with conventional pancakes served with butter and maple syrup. I may have to make them again.

I defended Spam in court.

The case was tried more than twenty years ago, before the Honorable Irving Fisher, in the District Court of Maryland for Prince George's County.

An old man lived alone. He bought a can of Spam for supper. He opened it, cut some slices. He thought it looked a little green. But he was hungry.

The man looked at it for a while. He smelled it. He was not sure. He gave some to his dog, who was also hungry, but the dog would not eat it. But the man was hungrier, so after it had sit there a little while longer, he went ahead and ate it.

Later the man got sick. He sued Hormel.

District Court is where you go to explain you didn't mean to speed that day on Route 40, but your mother was in the hospital, and you say it really pitifully, hoping for the best. The courtroom held many such people.

The plaintiff had no experts or witnesses other than himself. The defense had one, provided for us by the National Food Processors Association.

The morning lengthened. After hearing the man's story, and then my argument that Hormel should win the case before having to call any witnesses, the judge was polite. Despite the rustling of the audience as his docket continued to lag, he said he wanted to hear what Spam had to say before reaching his decision.

In addition to traffic offenders, the courtroom now held many others. They waited to resolve landlord-tenant disputes, get judgments against debtors, or defend parents who'd punted on child support. But once they realized an expert in food safety was going to be called to defend a plate of green Spam, the room fell silent.

I was a new lawyer, and my adrenalin was set to high. It did not help that my client's rep, seated next to me at counsel table, had recently been in a bicycle accident and had his jaw wired shut. He was unable to assist me. I would have to wing it with the expert.

She held a Ph.D. in public health. She wasn't a mediocal doctor, but the judge accepted her qualifications as to product defect and basic concepts of scientific cause and effect. She told the judge that the plaintiff's description of the product was inconsistent with something that would cause his symptoms. She further stated that under certain lighting, even perfectly good processed meat can look green.

"It's the fat. In a warm room, the surface melts a bit. The reflection that's green. You see the same thing in good corned beef."

The judge nodded. She made eye contact with him and smiled.

"Spam is like this. It doesn't mean anything is wrong."

I was making good progress. It did not hurt that our Ph.D. was also blonde. Judge Fisher liked her.

She continued. "Now, if you are at the deli, looking at some chicken through the glass, and it's green —"

"Stop right there," Judge Fisher said. He reached across the bench and pressed his palm into her shoulder. All eyes turned from her to the judge.

"I don't want to know about chicken, hon. My law clerk just ordered me a chicken salad sandwich." He paused and looked at the clock. "Anyway it's time for lunch." He got up.

"All rise," said the bailiff.

The judge vanished to eat his pre-ordered sandwich in chambers. The rest of us went next door to the diner. Some lawyers came up and introduced themselves. They could tell I was green — the other sort of green. I stood up to greet them, my mouth full of whatever, and they shook my hand reassuringly.

"You're doing a great job," some said, smiling benignly at my seated client, who sipped something nutritious through a straw. Some were interested in meeting my witness.

We returned to the courtroom.

"Is there any further evidence?" The judge asked. There wasn't. Each side was to make a brief argument. The plaintiff repeated what he said earlier. With great seriousness, I set forth both the undisputed facts of the case, and the law.

Midway through my moot-courtish speech the judge looked up again at his clock. I quickly summarized and sat down.

Judge Fisher ruled in favor of Spam.

On our way out of the courtroom, my new friends patted me on the back. "Great job," they all said.

To have an unbiased article is the way of National Public Radio.

Let's be fair to the environment as well as to our bodies. Eat more plant-based foods. Avoid highly processed "foods," like meat products in a can.

Seriously

Pathetic

Attempt at

Meat

I remember taking a bunch of junior high school and high school students on a three-day hike and camping trip of Lost Maples Texas State Park. After two days of eating dehydrated eggs, dehydrated spaghetti, freeze-dried ice cream, canned sardines, beef jerky and handfuls of trail mix, our final breakfast of dehydrated eggs reconstituted with water from a nearby pond and slices of fried Spam was delicious. It was exquisite. Crispy and savory with fat and carmelization, kids who only a few days before would make faces at the thought of eating Spam came back for thirds. Every scrap of Spam was devoured. It was so so so gooood !!!!

Yes, Spam and kimchee ... Spam and eggs ... or just the plain ol' goodness of fried Spam and steamed rice!!! I like to think of Spam as appreciating the whole pig. Thank you for validating the culinary habits of my Korean immigrant childhood with your lovely story on the cross-cultural value of processed meat.

Spam, glorious Spam.

Spam was a staple of my childhood. My mother is from Saipan and the U.S. military introduced Spam there after the war. Likely Guam and Saipan could compete with Hawaii for Spam consumption. We even have a Spam cookbook and a whole aisle dedicated to spam at Costco.

I remember loving my grandmother's Spam empanadas or Spam in soba and yes, crispy Spam with eggs (great for a hangover, I have discovered more recently).

I don't eat Spam anymore (although it does decorate my kitchen shelf as a novelty item), but it is more because I am concerned with the source of the animal products and the other chemical additives that go into either the Spam or the animal feed.

But I will always retain my fond memories of my Spam youth!

One of my most favorite lunches as a kid was "Spamwiches" — ground Spam and Velveeta cheese mixed with cream of mushroom soup and a little onion. Slathered on half of a hamburger bun and baked/broiled/toasted in the oven ....yum. I recently bought a can of Spam for the sole purpose of re-creating this family favorite from the '60s. (It was in the local church cookbook, not sure where it came from originally, but I would love to know if anyone else has ever had these — to date, I've never found another soul outside of the town I grew up in that ever heard of these things).

Loved your story on Spam — love Spam (all versions except the e-mail one!!) and that is why I am asking: Why no mention of the fabulous, famous Spamarama, held every spring in Austin, Texas?? (It is also a fund-raiser for a charity, I believe.) I have never been, since it is held [at the same time as] my mother-in-law's birthday, and you know what wins!

Great story, great recipes! The love of Spam is the only reason I would ever live in Hawaii!!!

When my father, a WW II Marine, was dying, one food he asked for was Spam. He had a can opened in his fridge, so my sister warmed up a piece, and she gave him his also-requested slice of toast with peanut butter. He ate the Spam and the toast. When he was finished, he asked for another piece of Spam and another slice of toast with peanut butter. Only this time, he wanted the Spam on the toast with peanut butter! I suspect my sister's head turned around a couple of times at this request (though I didn't witness it). She put the Spam on the toast with peanut butter and he happily ate all of it.

Another way to cook Spam and eggs is to dip your spam in the egg and fry over low heat until egg is done. Spam is already cooked, so it makes for a very quick and easy meal. Very, very good!!

Spam was a staple in my childhood home. Spam and scalloped potatoes. I remember it fondly, though I don't make it myself. A layer of sliced Spam on the bottom, thinly sliced potatoes dotted with butter sprinkled with flour doused with hot milk, a layer of Spam on top sprinkled with brown sugar. Bake at 350 degrees for an hour. Better than creamed chipped beef on toast, but that's another story...

Spamemories: When I was growing up, my mom, who was raised in Hawaii, used to make Spam "ham" once or twice a month for our family. Just like the picture on the Spam can. Placing the whole rectangle of Spam on its side, she'd score the top surface, insert cloves, top with a sweet brown sugary glaze, and pop it in the toaster oven. Yum! Spam, rice and fried eggs were also a staple for weekend brunch.

I saw your article while I was here working on the Fourth of July, and it immediately catapulted me back to our 1950s kitchen table. My sister and I had been nagging and nagging my father for months to bring home Spam from the grocery store.

No success. "Damn C rations…" Daddy would grumble. "Ate enough of that stuff in the Army. Never, ever again!"

We kept bugging him. We'd turn the glossy pages of Ebony and Life, and there were always mouth-watering ads for Spam. We saw it spiked on skewers, with slices of pineapple, brushed with teriyaki sauce. Grilled and served beneath a poached egg and hollandaise, on top of an English muffin half as Spam Benedict. Chopped up and sauteed with potatoes and onions as Spam hash.

We had to have some.

I guess we finally got to him, because he came home one day and announced "come into the kitchen. Now."

We trailed him. He fished into a big paper grocery bag and thumped down a blue and yellow can.

Spam!

"OK! Now I'm going to let you kids have your Spam and maybe I can have some peace!"

My mother came into the kitchen and pulled up a chair.

"You want some, too?" Daddy asked. (Oh no! We'd have to share?!)

"Oh no," my mother said quickly. "I just want to watch."

So he got a big plate, detached the little key, wiped off the lozenge-shaped top, attached the key to the tab and began to roll it slowly around the can. We thought we'd faint we were so excited.

The top came off. He turned it upside down on the plate.

And this stuff slithered out — quivering with jellied fat. Little holes and spaces where the meat hadn't been compacted quite right.

"What's this?" I asked.

"That, kid, is Spam."

No — this can't be right. "Where's the pineapple? The crusty grilled edges? Spam is prettier than this!"

"This is Spam," Daddy said, cutting distressingly big slices and plopping them on our plates. "Eat. I paid good money for it."

My sister, around 5, burst into tears. "I don't want it! I don't want to eat it!"

I was more adventurous, so I had a bite. Not bad. A little slimy.

My father ended up eating her uneaten slice (he hated waste). To the best of my knowledge, it's the only time he voluntarily ate Spam after being released from the Army.

Since then, I've seen Spam quiche, Spam en brochette, Spam wiches, you name it. But it's hard to get over that first, quivery introduction.

Now that you've given us some recipes, I guess I'll try again.

Thanks for the memories — I think.

Your article has raised a delicacy to new heights. No breakfast is better than Spam straight from the can and one sliced hard-cooked egg between two pieces of buttered toast. Lovely to behold!

More Spam is consumed in Hawaii than any other state in the U.S. By far, Hawaiians' favorite dish is Musubi, a ready-to-eat Spam snack that resembles a large piece of nigiri sushi. In Hawaii, you can buy Musubi in nearly any convenience store or grocery store for between $1 and $2. This is adapted from a recipe on the Hormel Foods Web site.

Makes 8 servings

1 12-ounce can Spam Classic

1 clove garlic, minced

1 teaspoon grated fresh ginger

1/3 cup brown sugar

1/3 cup soy sauce

3 cups cooked white sushi rice (found in the Asian section of supermarket)

1 package hoshi nori (Japanese dried seaweed, available at Asian markets)

Slice Spam lengthwise into 8 equal pieces.

In a shallow dish, combine garlic, ginger, brown sugar and soy sauce. Place Spam slices in the mixture and let sit for 30 minutes. Remove and pat dry.

In a medium-sized skillet, fry the marinated Spam slices over medium heat, 2 minutes on each side or until lightly browned.

Moisten hands and mold rice into 8 thick blocks with the same outside dimensions as Spam slices. (You can get a perfect block shape by using a special plastic Musubi mold found online or in specialty stores in Hawaii.)

Cut nori into 8-1/2 inch strips. Place Spam slices on rice blocks and wrap individual nori strips around each middle.

Moisten one end of nori slightly to fasten together. The remaining marinade may be used as a dip.

This is the dish my mom used to make whenever she ran out of time or ideas for what to cook for dinner. Kimchi is available at any Asian supermarket and now even at some larger grocery stores.

Makes 3 to 4 servings

1 12-ounce can Spam Classic

4 eggs

1 scallion, chopped thinly

1 tablespoon vegetable or peanut oil

Salt

Pepper

Slice Spam lengthwise into 8 equal pieces.

Whisk eggs and scallions in a mixing bowl.

In a skillet, fry the Spam slices over medium heat, 2 minutes on each side or until lightly browned. Remove Spam from skillet onto a paper towel or plate.

Add oil to the same skillet, then pour in egg mixture. Fold over sides to form a long, flat tube shape. Salt and pepper to taste. Remove and slice into 2-inch wide strips.

Serve Spam and eggs with a side of hot white rice and kimchi.

Don't expect to earn your third Michelin star with this dish. But any diners who are also die-hard Monty Python fans will be delighted.

Makes 4 servings

4 lobster tails

16 jumbo shrimp, shelled and deveined

4 tablespoons butter

1 small white onion, diced

2 tablespoons all-purpose flour

1 tablespoon brandy

1/2 cup heavy cream, scalded

1/4 cup grated Gruyere cheese

1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese

1/8 teaspoon salt

1/4 teaspoon black pepper

1/2 teaspoon paprika

2 tablespoons bread crumbs

1 12-ounce can Spam Classic

4 eggs

1 can truffle pate (found in gourmet food stores)

1 tablespoon vegetable or peanut oil

Preheat oven to broil.

Place lobster tails into large pot of boiling water. After 3 to 4 minutes, add shrimp. Cook another 3 to 4 minutes until lobster and shrimp are done.

Remove from pot. Drain and rinse under cold water. Using kitchen shears or carefully with a knife, remove but save lobster shells. Cut lobster meat and shrimp coarsely into 1/2-inch pieces.

Heat 4 tablespoons of butter in skillet over medium heat. Add onions and saute about 4 minutes, until translucent. Add flour and stir, cooking for another 1 to 2 minutes.

Whisk in brandy, then hot cream.

Remove from heat and add Gruyere and half the Parmesan cheese, stirring frequently. Add lobster, shrimp, paprika, salt and pepper.

Arrange lobster shells in a casserole dish. Pour lobster shrimp mixture over shells and sprinkle with remaining Parmesan cheese and bread crumbs. Broil on high until golden, 3 to 5 minutes.

While waiting for the dish to broil, slice Spam into 8 pieces. Fry eggs over medium heat, then remove. Fry Spam slices until light brown.

To serve, place each lobster shell on a plate. Top with one or two slices of Spam and then a fried egg. Serve truffle pate on the side.