Spam Sandwiches

Year of The Rat  4706
18 January 2009 AD
Sunday, 0507 hrs.  CST
Stormcrow Ranch
Boone, IA
USA
"Squirrel Corn Capital of The World"

My friend, Chef, comes over on Saturday mornings--mostly for the free coffee, I think.
    He travels a lot in his job--which is not cheffing--he does some kind of thingy with water.  But he knows I am most always here, and almost always awake.  We talk and laugh, sharing the past week and the days yet to come, two friends who have grown comfortable with each other.  About two months ago he started a new idea--food in our private coffee klatch.
     Now, Chef is a world-class, um, well,... chef.  Me, I'm mostly a cook, helluva rank.  So things that come from our respective kitchens tend to astound and draw crowds from miles around.  But on our Saturdays, we go with simple and plain elegance.  We have Spam sandwiches, or fried baloney or bacon-n-onion sandwiches on paper towels.  I gotta tell ya, there ain't nothing like it in the world.
    Sure, we could do fiddle-neck ferns in smoked hazelnut butter, or steamed bok choy with garlic and shallots, or hash from a bacon-wrapped pot roast with green peppers, topped with a Cajun roux.
    But it's just two friends, having coffee--one often lit like a Christmas tree, and the other waving cigarette smoke away from his face.
    The thing that gets us most though, is the questions we field regarding our tastes.  'Why Spam? ' or 'You're great; you can make food laugh, dance, and sing; couldn't you make something better?'
    Well, yeah; we could.  But that's really not the point.  We could pull out all the stops and break out our copper pans and cast iron skillets, and cook a breakfast that would give Henry VIII the gout.
    It's simple:  Spam tastes good,  It is only bigotry and snobbishness which prevents it from being a premiere product.  Many think it is like trailer-trash ham, or government cheese.
    Look, ya think you have seen all of the Ver Meers, or Van Goghs?  Ever see the rough drafts?  The things they threw away?   What would you pay to have one of those?  Well, bacon and Spam are the same way.  And you are wasting your taste buds if you don't just try.
    Ah, well.  It's your life.
    But I hope you always,

Rage, rage,....

~~Hob

Post Script:  Just as I was finishing this post, Chef showed up.  He read over my shoulder, cup of coffee slopping on my sweatshirt, hoping I was surfing porn. He noted that I had left some things out in my blog;  that it was almost the perfect blog but I hadn't mentioned salt, or butter or The Food Lover's Companion.  And I have to agree with him.  So, in the spirit of David Allen Coe and his friend Steve Goodman, I pen these words:

A big part of our mornings together is butter and salt.  Suffice it to say, we do not adhere to any diet which limits these things.  We both believe in moderation, but I drink moderately a lot, and Chef uses salt with reckless abandon.  We both figure that if salt, smoke and alcohol are all preservitaves, then we will out-live you all(some people worry about donating organs.  Me, I have oil companies bidding on my lungs for the coal-tar therein).  Through this all, as we laugh and cook and talk, Chef and I rely on The Food-Lover's Companion by Sharon Tyler Herbst, as we foodies drink our coffee and slice red onions for our sandwiches.  Ms. Herbst recently died, but word has come down the pike that her husband Ron will/is continuing her work, so the Fifth Edition may be available in a year or two.(Check Amazon for previous editions and/or copies)  Anyway, we drag THE BOOK  out when a question of food comes about.  Me, being a hack, who just barely knows the recipe for ice, has to check it over and over again, but Chef almost always knows the answer(Truth to tell, I think he is still pissed about me beating him in the fried wonton throwdown, and takes a private glee in proving me wrong.  Smart man, my friend and someone I admire and respect;  too bad he has a memory like Swiss cheese--sodden and soft and full of holes).
    Yeah.  Whatever. Say what you will about me.  It's all true.  Just don't diss my friends.  But I can look at myself in the mirror every morning and can laugh like a hyena at the face I face.  Can you say the same?
    Through it all, I always,

Rage, rage,...

~~H.

Post Script of the Post Script:

You are all invited to coffee and bacon sandwiches every Saturday;  coffee is most always going by 0600.  Hope to see you.  Bring some bacon.