Get a life with Spam *
By Sheryl-Lee Kerr
(*a favourite column)
We have just celebrated the 30th anniversary in Australia of that
endearing shoulder and pressed ham delicacy, Spam.
I highlight this glorious moment not because Spam manufacturers are, as we speak, backing their 10-wheeler Spammobile up to The Advertiser, big-haired publicists pushing canned porcine product into my trembling arms
(enticing though that picture is).
Actually I just like saying the word Spam. Spam. Ahh. Top word. Almost as good as the word “Harradine’’, but without the giddy thrill.
When last I visited Spam land, it was to report someone in the
United States had discovered that Spam smeared on one’s table made it
dazzlingly shine like, well, Spam on a table. And this impressed
them.
But that’s what you might expect from someone cleaning under the
influence of Spam.
Upon hearing of this anniversary, and in the fine tradition of
journalistic boredom, I went on a prowl to see what our library
archives reveal about Spam’s glorious past.
It may shock you to hear this but there was a time when Spam was the
butt of some jokes. No, really. The source of this appears to be
World War II where laughs were far and few between, so pointing and
giggling at a can of Spam must have filled a gap.
Seriously though, the American GIs who got Spam in their ration
packs liked to joke about the long Spam shelf-life (use by 2170). This
shelf-life, I can now reveal, is scientifically proven as being even
longer than that of its closest ham-in-a-can rival, the original
Star Trek crew.
This longevity is so impressive, frankly, it should be a selling point on every can: Spam - if you don’t eat it, bequeath it to your next of kin.
But this raises an interesting question. How does one sell Spam?
Well, in Britain home of the official Spam fan club (200 members and
shrinking) they decided there are some tides you can’t swim against.
Thus, they ran an ad campaign with the novel line: “I can’t believe
I’ve just eaten Spam.’’ I can’t report what it did for sales.
But perhaps the most intriguing chapter in Spam world history came
when it tried to sue the Muppets. I swear I am not making this up.
The makers of Spam Hormel sued the makers of the Muppet movie Treasure Island when a suspiciously named evil pig called Spa’am appeared on the silver screen.
However Judge Kimba (yes, an actual judge’s name) ruled that Hormel “cannot use federal trademark laws to enjoin what is obviously a joke at its expense’’.
In layman’s terms, and drawing on my extensive, one week’s work
experience at a law firm, I have interpreted this ruling to mean:
“Get a life.’’
But it wasn’t all bad press for Spam. I can report there is now a
Spam cookbook, cryptically called The Spam Cookbook, by Linda Eggers. And Spam-loving Hawaiians in 1995 even held a Spam-sculpting
competition.
Competitors were armed with a plastic knife and had to sculpt farm
animals from Spam. This tells me two vital things: one, some
glorious souls are out there, keeping the Spam faith for us all.
And two, Hawaiians have way too much time on their hands.
© Sheryl-Lee Kerr & The Advertiser, 25 May 1999