“I dare you to do a piece on Pumpkin Spam.”
So came the subject header on an email from a colleague.
It was a near-perfect way to get me to do it (the only thing better would have been a triple-dog dare) and so I wrote to my editor about the idea, who scanned my note and at first interpretation believed I was receiving spam email about pumpkins.
Her reaction was reflective of how surprising folks find the idea of SPAM(R) Pumpkin Spice, a new, limited-edition product that Hormel — makers of the can-shaped pork loaf since 1937 — will be releasing on Monday, Sept. 23.
Easily one of the most divisive food trends in recent history, pumpkin spice has certainly enjoyed baffling longevity. SPAM, notably shelf-stable, now gives it something that flirts with immortality.
SPAM, I have since learned, is pretty divisive, too. Lots of barf emojis when I teased it on social media.
First I considered whether this was — finally? impossibly? — a “jump the shark” moment for the pumpkin spice trend.
And then I thought about clove-studded ham — so ubiquitous — and wondered whether pairing SPAM(R) with these fall flavors didn’t make more sense than some of the other products that have seen the likes of this seasonal makeover.
Then I realized that none of it mattered. The gauntlet had been thrown.
I didn’t grow up in a SPAM(R) family (SPAM(R), by the way, is a portmanteau for “spiced ham”). Most of the American ones, you might already know, are from Hawaii — which loves its SPAM(R) so much, it’s on the menu at McDonald’s and Burger King.
Why?
Along with Hormel, they can thank the troops, who ate SPAM(R) in spades.
More than 100 million pounds of the stuff was sent ’round the world to feed allied troops in 1941, reason being that it had a long shelf life and needed no refrigeration. From the bases in Hawaii, SPAM(R) infiltrated the pantries and hearts of the civilian population, where it remains in the form of musubi (essentially a grilled slice lashed to a wad of rice with a strip of nori), among other island delights.
I’ve had SPAM several times before, most recently at the 2018 Epcot International Food & Wine Festival, where they served Teriyaki-Glazed SPAM(R) Hash at the (you guessed it) Hawaii Marketplace. Mixed in with potatoes, peppers, onions and the like, the Spam worked well as a salty, porky component.
That’s pretty much SPAM(R)’s entire flavor profile, actually — salty and porky.
Then there’s the consistency which one might describe as “terrine” or “pâté” or “dog food.” As textural adjectives, these are pretty much the same thing. It’s the connotation that tells folks how you really feel.
You may find this pedestrian, but I’m not big on pâté. Not even the fancy-schmancy stuff.
I’ll eat it, though. I’ll eat anything. I ate bugs with Scott Maxwell once. In fact, I eat things I don’t care for over and over in the hope of having my mind changed. To date, I am duck breast over duck liver all the way.
But to me, food is about experience. And I want the full range. So, after dislodging the glistening loaf from its can, I sliced off a small corner and had a taste.
Overwhelmingly, SPAM(R) is salt-first. Then pork. Then, delicately, pumpkin spice. It was far subtler than I had expected, but it was there. It made the SPAM(R) no more or less desirable as a meal component.
The SPAM(R) folks sent along some recipes with the sample, but feeling confident in my belief that there’s virtually nothing that can’t be made better by a runny egg yolk, I decided to fry up some for an English muffin breakfast sandwich. I skipped the cheese to afford the SPAM(R) a little more space to shine.
The SPAM(R) didn’t precisely win me over into its camp — I’d have preferred a thick, crisp slice of really good bacon, but it wasn’t bad. And yes, that gooey-wonderful yolk did wonders to mellow out that salt. So, too, did the muffin. Craggy and well-toasted, it brought to the meal a nice crunch that many SPAM(R)-laden dishes need. I was hungry. I ate the whole thing and went to work.
SPAM(R) is better pan-fried to medium-well or darker. It looks better, that’s for sure, and searing it gives the exterior, at least, a little bit of snap.
When I fried more later, I did so in French fry-like strips, roughly the size of sidewalk chalk. My theory, that a greater ratio of crisp, sizzled surface to soft, hammy mousse would prove more palatable, proved sound. I wouldn’t go back for a plate of these, but I think fans of SPAM(R) (or pâté) just might.
I drizzled on a bit of brandy barrel-aged maple syrup. Even better.
When the batch was done, I cooked them directly into scratch-made pancakes, which I layered — in the style of Hormel’s own SPAM(R) Pumpkin Spice Topped Waffle recipe — with syrup and whipped cream. I diced a bit of the SPAM(R) up for a topping, as well.
The dish was a good use of the product; the Pumpkin Spice was well complemented and this time the salt was balanced out by the sugar, cake and cream.
Even so, two bites in I found myself eating around the SPAM(R), but that’s more about me than the product. If you dig SPAM(R), there’s no reason you won’t dig this SPAM(R). Odd as it may sound, the addition of pumpkin spice is a reasonable enhancer.
Wanna give it a try?
Beginning Sept. 23, SPAM(R) Pumpkin Spice will be available for purchase, for a limited time only and while supplies last, on Walmart.com and SPAM.com.
