I’ve been having a detrimental dependence on luncheon meat since yesterday. Not Spam, not Tulip but the old school orange and light blue can one. Ham made half a can for dinner yesterday and I’ve been hooked since. Two hours after dinner an invisible rope with a noose around my neck tugged me toward to the refrigerator and gleefully I took out the rest of the luncheon meat, sliced them thinly with tender loving care and proceeded to fry them to perfection.
See Ham has this way of making them that they are crunchy but not too crunchy to lose its flavor and absolutely scrumptious.
My first try wasn’t much of a success but it’ll do. Not as crunchy as I would like, a bit squishy in the middle. I grumbled about it and he said “Maybe you didn’t fry them long enough.”
Past midnight, the longing returned. I couldn’t get enough of them salty bastards. I opened another can and sliced half the can. Soon my hair and hands were greasy and my face, well, my face could be the next priority on Bush’s list. But I couldn’t care less. There isn’t anything else as blissful as having good food in your mouth and a good book in your hands. (After cradling a baby of course)
When I got home from class today I felt compelled to fry the leftover luncheon meat in the fridge. I felt I had to, or the world would come to an end. What to do, the fate of the world in my hands, of course sacrifice and eat la right.
Again I carefully sliced them thin and determined to get it right this time I left them in the oil longer than usual. When they were really brown and crispy looking, I removed them from the oil and waited three seconds for them to cool.
Oh my goodness.. it tasted like pure salt, with a dash of sawdust and a pinch of ash. It didn’t lose its flavor; it took on a complete new one. It wasn’t crunchy or crispy, it was burnt. It was metallic on the tongue and gelatinous down the throat. Deep-fried salted floorboards anyone?
Still, had to save the world, so I finished all ten slices like the good girl I am.