This is a blast from the past for me. Spam fritters. I used to love Spam fritters. They were the best thing––and I mean, the best thing––that our school canteen ever served. A Spam fritter day was a good day. Nowadays, since Jamie Oliver has stuck his nose into school meals, they are probably banned from inhabiting anywhere within a radius of half a mile of any school premises. Spam fritters come with an ASBO warning.
Since leaving school, though, Spam fritters disappeared off my radar. I might have occasionally bought myself the odd tin of Spam, but I had no capacity for fritterising it in the same way that they had done at school. Spam fritters, like quadratic equations and the dates of the English Civil War seemed destined to belong to a period of my history forever locked off behind the school gate.
Last week, I spotted a box sporting the familiar blue and yellow logo in the freezer department at Morrisons. Frozen fritters. It seemed like manna from heaven. Although a savoury version.
It is perhaps something of a misnomer to describe my subsequent cooking of these Spam fritters as a recipe. In truth, the steps involved were nothing more complicated than opening up the box, whacking them on a baking tray, and bunging them in the oven. But, hey! If it works for Nigella, it works for me.
Twenty minutes later, and it was with a certain trepidation that I took my first mouthful. I was mindful of the old adage that you should never meet your heroes. Would my memories of childhood epicurean perfection be spoilt by the modern-day reality?
If I am being honest. A little bit. The Spam fritters from Morrisons were no longer the best thing that I had ever eaten––there were those freshly-caught anchovies on the seafront in Vernazza, when the sun was just beginning to set and the waves were lapping seductively against the shore, which might have given them a run for their money––but they were still not bad. A little bit bland, maybe. But, what would be the best word to describe them…? Substantial.
And, after all, hungry, returning from the pub, what is it that you really want? A mouthful of Mediterranean whimsy or something swift and substantial. Give me substantial any time.
© Beery Sue
Beery Sue comes with her own ASBO warning.