You know about Mystery Meat, of course. That stuff nobody ever admits to eating but it somehow sells and sells and sells? Yeah. SPAM. Hormel's canned luncheon meat, which they like you to refer to in caps to differentiate it from the scourge of the e-mail world, lower case spam. (On a side note, the latter use of the word apparently stems from an old Monty Python skit wherein they chanted Spam! Spam! in mind-numbing repetition.)
SPAM has been around since 1937, making it (barely) older than I am. In the beginning, Hormel referred to it as "miracle meat" but I think that might be considered hopeful elevation. On the other hand, maybe not. How else can one explain its popularity in this health-conscious era when you consider its fat and sodium content? This is not a health food, folks. One 2-ounce portion contains 174 calories, 137 of which are fat!
In spite of that, I'm told it is one of Hawaii's favorite foods and the favorite way to eat it is as the SPAM musubi. That's a sort of sandwich made with layers of rice and SPAM wrapped in nori (seaweed). You can view the recipe here or watch it being made by the Single Guy Chef here.
That was far from the only SPAM recipe I found while merrily Googling away. It lends itself to an astonishing number of variations, limited only by the imagination -- and pantry contents -- of the chef. What I ended up making yesterday was an adaption of something billed as Spambalaya, drawing on Cajun-style cuisine. It's quick and easy to fix and the flavor of the finished dish is good enough to almost make you forget what you're doing to your arteries.
SPAM has been around since 1937, making it (barely) older than I am. In the beginning, Hormel referred to it as "miracle meat" but I think that might be considered hopeful elevation. On the other hand, maybe not. How else can one explain its popularity in this health-conscious era when you consider its fat and sodium content? This is not a health food, folks. One 2-ounce portion contains 174 calories, 137 of which are fat!
In spite of that, I'm told it is one of Hawaii's favorite foods and the favorite way to eat it is as the SPAM musubi. That's a sort of sandwich made with layers of rice and SPAM wrapped in nori (seaweed). You can view the recipe here or watch it being made by the Single Guy Chef here.
That was far from the only SPAM recipe I found while merrily Googling away. It lends itself to an astonishing number of variations, limited only by the imagination -- and pantry contents -- of the chef. What I ended up making yesterday was an adaption of something billed as Spambalaya, drawing on Cajun-style cuisine. It's quick and easy to fix and the flavor of the finished dish is good enough to almost make you forget what you're doing to your arteries.
Because you will be cooking your rice in the same pan with everything else, you need either a large skillet or a 3-quart saucepan. Now, I never remember the measurements of my saucepans. In my mind they are simply sized as Baby Bear, Mama Bear and Papa Bear. The really big kettle that goes with the set, I just call Clyde. Anyway, I used the Papa Bear saucepan for this gig.
Splash a little olive oil in the saucepan and sautee 1 (12 ounce) can of SPAM that you've cubed all nice and neat, 1 cup of chopped onion and 2 cloves of minced garlic. You can also toss in chopped green pepper and celery if you have it. I didn't. (sigh) When the veggies are tender, add the contents of 1 (14-1/2 ounce) can of diced or stewed tomatoes and shake in, to taste, your favorite hot pepper sauce. (I used the Tabasco Chipotle.) I also had a small can of minced black olives that I tossed in. It's not necessary but seemed like a fun idea. This is that kind of recipe, you know.
The recipe I worked from also called for a 10-ounce can of chicken broth but I used Knorr's tomato-chipotle bouillon in the same amount. Bring the mixture to a boil and add 1 cup of long grain rice, turn the heat down, put a lid on it, and simmer for 20 minutes. Fluff it up with a fork, put the lid back on and let it sit for a good 10 minutes or so. You'll find the rice won't stick to the pot if you do that.
What can I say? This is really, really Good Stuff, Maynard. And you know what? The next time I make it, I'm going to add 1 small can of crushed pineapple, by golly. I'll bet that would work out quite nicely. I should point out that one need not use the high-fat SPAM when making this dish. It would work just as well with any other meat, like my beloved chicken, for instance. Don't you just love dishes that are that flexible? And when they fill the Papa Bear pan, there's plenty for everyone.
Splash a little olive oil in the saucepan and sautee 1 (12 ounce) can of SPAM that you've cubed all nice and neat, 1 cup of chopped onion and 2 cloves of minced garlic. You can also toss in chopped green pepper and celery if you have it. I didn't. (sigh) When the veggies are tender, add the contents of 1 (14-1/2 ounce) can of diced or stewed tomatoes and shake in, to taste, your favorite hot pepper sauce. (I used the Tabasco Chipotle.) I also had a small can of minced black olives that I tossed in. It's not necessary but seemed like a fun idea. This is that kind of recipe, you know.
The recipe I worked from also called for a 10-ounce can of chicken broth but I used Knorr's tomato-chipotle bouillon in the same amount. Bring the mixture to a boil and add 1 cup of long grain rice, turn the heat down, put a lid on it, and simmer for 20 minutes. Fluff it up with a fork, put the lid back on and let it sit for a good 10 minutes or so. You'll find the rice won't stick to the pot if you do that.
What can I say? This is really, really Good Stuff, Maynard. And you know what? The next time I make it, I'm going to add 1 small can of crushed pineapple, by golly. I'll bet that would work out quite nicely. I should point out that one need not use the high-fat SPAM when making this dish. It would work just as well with any other meat, like my beloved chicken, for instance. Don't you just love dishes that are that flexible? And when they fill the Papa Bear pan, there's plenty for everyone.