SPAM Lovers Unite

Hormel is having a banner year, thanks to strong sales of SPAM. It seems a tough economy makes people eat stuff they usually make fun of - including spiced mystery meats sold in aluminum blocks with pop-tops.


When my dad heard the news, he said "I'd eat SPAM, even if I were a millionaire. "

It's true. I think he learned to like it as a young Air Force recruit, but he perfected his taste as a young father of five. On Sunday nights Mom would flee the kitchen in culinary horror as Dad whipped up his famous SPAM and cheese pancakes doused in maple syrup. We kids were skeptical at first, but I learned to love the salty, gooey, sweetness that made Mom gag. If it weren't for her gross-outs, I doubt I'd have known SPAM was something to be avoided at all costs. I still secretly crave it.

Several years ago Dad suffered a traumatic brain injury that changed a lot of things about him: his personality; his dexterity, his ability to communicate his feelings; his short and long-term memory. But his love for Mom and us is just as strong, despite the jumbled synapses of his injured brain. And so is his love of SPAM.

I mentioned the latest surge in SPAM sales to Dad on the phone last night and he confided that he keeps a few cans stashed in his desk drawer "for emergencies."

"Exactly what kind of emergency would call for SPAM?" I chided.

"Waking up. Getting ready for bed at night. Minor emergencies qualify," he deadpanned.

I'm not sure if he was trying to be funny. . . it's hard to tell sometimes when the brain injury is talking and when it's not. But I must say that a SPAM-loving father with a rattled brain and an odd sense of humor is better than a lot of alternatives I can imagine.

And you know what's almost as good? SPAM and cheese pancakes with syrup.

P.S. Visit the official SPAM website. It's marketing perfection!