Pigs in Paradise

To most Americans, spam is a four-letter word for the unwanted emails that clog our inboxes. Thought of the gelatinous pink pork that clogs our arteries is preserved only in our distant memory, immortalized as a fixture of the past.  SPAM®, the food, might bring to mind images of WWII bravado and Andy Warhol irreverence, lunch time mystery meals and Hormel advertising antics, but the thought of current consumption of the canned meat probably remains far-removed from our collective consciousness. It may seem as though SPAM® as a lunch meat, rather than an object of ridicule, has become obsolete.

Obsolete, that is, for everyone except Hawaiians. The residents of the fiftieth US state make up less that one-half percent of the nation’s population, but consume seven percent of the nation’s SPAM®: 6.7 million of those little blue cans each year. They eat 16 times more SPAM® per capita than the anywhere else in the country, an average of six cans for every man, woman, and child. No state, including densely populated New York and California, eat more SPAM® than tiny Hawaii. The pinkish pork has earned the monikers of “Hawaiian Steak” and “Hawaii’s soul food,” elevating it to the status a glorified member of Hawaii’s cuisine rather than mystery meat reserved to the shelves of shady convenience stores and bowels of your local nuclear bomb shelter (if you have one?).

So what’s the deal? Why the love for all the SPAM®? Do Hawaiians have different taste buds than those of us on the mainland? Is Hormel hoaxing the residents of the Aloha State into liking their product? Are they privy to some knowledge about the curative qualities of the ham in a can?

The answers to these riveting questions may have something much deeper to say about our humanity. You see, we, as human beings, are predictable creatures of habit. And for Hawaiians, SPAM® is comfort food. SPAM® was first introduced to the fiftieth state during World War II. Fresh meat was difficult to get to the soldiers of the military occupation in the Pacific, so the not-so-fresh meat in the blue can was called in. GIs ate SPAM® for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, often referring to the meat as “ham that didn’t pass its physical” and “meatloaf without basic training.” Civilians also started loading up in the brand-name C ration, mostly from military surplus. They too discovered the capabilities of the SPAM®’s preservatives, stocking up on the proletarian pork during threats of hurricanes, tsunamis, and dockworkers’ strikes. Perhaps it was the consumption of the meat during troubling times which secured SPAM’®s place in the hearts (literally and figuratively) of Hawaiians. Certainly, SPAM® has a special place in the history and effects of the US influence in, and eventual assimilation of, Hawaii.  

The other part of the Hawaii’s SPAM® story may also teach us something inspiring about human nature: its unbounded creativity. Hawaiians have been handed proverbial lemons and have made proverbial lemonade. They’ve been handed congealed meat and have created culinary masterpieces, most notably SPAM® musubi.  Generally, Hawaiians treat their SPAM® differently, not just throwing it cold on a slab of Wonder Bread and calling it lunch meat, but delicately cooking (i.e. reheating) it to pork-y perfection. Specifically, SPAM® musubi combines a slice of seared SPAM® and a block of rice, wrapped in nori seaweed (think SPAM sushi). The specialty, introduced in the 1980s, has dominated regional cuisine since, become ubiquitous at island delis, restaurants, and 7-Elevens. SPAM® fried rice is also a local favorite. The popularity of the meat has inspired Hormel Foods, the Minnesota-based producer of the meat, to create SPAM varieties for its island fans, including but not limited to SPAM® Garlic, SPAM® Bacon, SPAM® with Cheese, SPAM® Hot and Spicy, SPAM® Oven-Roasted Turkey, the more health-conscious varieties of SPAM® Lite and SPAM® less sodium, and the proletarian-paté SPAM® Spread.

Others besides Hormel have capitalized on fiftieth-stater’s love of the pork bricks. Writer and illustrator, Ann Kondo Corum, has sold 30,000 copies of her Hawaii’s SPAM® Cookbook and Hawaii’s 2nd SPAM® Cookbook, sharing recipes such as Chinese-style SPAM® paella, SPAM® quiche, and kalua SPAM® (a spin-off of the traditional Hawaiian kalua pig). McDonald’s Corp. has had the McSPAM sandwich on the menus of its 75 island restaurants since 2002. Burger King Corp. ignited the “Spam War” in 2007 with its “SPAM® in the AM” campaign, introducing the SPAM® Platter (slice slices of SPAM® nestled between white rice and scrambled eggs) and SPAM® varieties of the “Croissanwich” and “Biscuit Sandwich.”

On a less-commercial note, Hawaiian’s have come to celebrate their love of SPAM® in style. In the spring of 2003, Waikiki’s Kalakaua Avenue saw its first annual Waikiki SPAM® Jam. Each year the 2-day street festival/block-party celebrates Hawaii’s special relationship with SPAM®, hosting over 20,000 SPAM® lovers.  Live entertainment, parades, SPAM® recipe samples, SPAM® memorabilia, SPAM® eating competitions, and a Mr. and Ms. SPAM® contest entertain visitors and locals alike. The 2004 SPAM® Jam saw the creation of the world’s longest SPAM® musubi, a 325ft. long masterpiece, using 770 cups of steamed rice, 1,650 slices of SPAM, and 600ft. of nori.

Undoubtedly, the Hawaiian SPAM® obsession is something to be proud of. Not only does it teach us something valuable about our predictable, comfort-bound nature but it leaves us inspired with tales of culinary creativity. Thus, irregardless of whether we say exactly what’s contained in the small blue can, there’s one phrase Hawaiian’s have taught us to say assuredly: SPAM® me.