Before the Can: The Way Things Were
Long before Spam ever existed — long before Hormel, before Minnesota, before any of it — people across the Pacific already knew how to preserve meat. They didn't need a factory for that.
Pre-colonial Filipinos were masters of working with what the islands gave them. The earliest recorded cooking methods among Filipinos were boiling, roasting over open fires, and steaming. Fermentation was the primary method for food preservation. The Visayas had a whole culinary philosophy wrapped up in one word: sutukil — a portmanteau of three precolonial cooking methods: sugba (roasting over live coals), kilaw (eating meat raw with vinegar and spices), and tuwa, or cooking with liquid.
Meat was cured and dried into what we still call tapa today. Filipinos prepared tapa by using thin slices of meat and curing them with salt and spices as a preservation method. Fish was smoked into tinapa. And the dish the whole world would come to know as adobo? That wasn't something the Spanish invented — pre-colonial Filipinos were marinating food in vinegar as a way to preserve it. When the Spanish arrived, they saw this traditional way of cooking and decided to slap a Spanish name on it. In the late 16th century, the Spanish referred to it as adobo due to its superficial similarity to their own preservation technique — though the Filipino method developed completely independently.
This is the foundation. Salt. Vinegar. Fire. Fermentation. A deep, indigenous intelligence about food, flavor, and survival — centuries before anyone in Austin, Minnesota had a single idea.
The Can is Born: Depression-Era America, 1937
On the other side of the world, in the middle of the Great Depression, a different kind of food preservation story was being written.
Jay Hormel became president of his father's company in the late 1920s, and he had some big ideas — one of which was turning the waste leftover from butchering pork into a brand new type of food. Though it's a desirable cut of meat today, pig shoulder was widely considered garbage food at that time in America. The processors at Hormel removed the meat from the bone, ground it into a paste, and added flavorings and preservatives. The mixture was then vacuum-sealed and cooked in its container.
SPAM was introduced on July 5, 1937 by Hormel Foods. It was affordable, self-contained processed meat in a square can. It could be opened with an attached metal key instead of a can opener. SPAM needed no refrigeration — unique for a meat product at the time — and had a long shelf life.
Jay Hormel didn't even know what to call it at first. He set up a contest at a New Year's party in 1936, promising $100 to the winner. According to the company's Spam Museum, Ken Digneau, the brother of a Hormel executive, came up with the name — a portmanteau for "spiced ham" — and got $100 as a reward.
Spam was born from scraps, ingenuity, and economic desperation. Sound familiar? That's a very Pacific spirit, actually.
The War Changes Everything
Here's where the story gets complicated — and where Spam's global footprint begins.
Beginning in 1941, SPAM was sent around the world to feed Allied troops during World War II. Since the meat is pre-cooked and tinned, it is shelf-stable and ideal for shipping long distances. Over 100 million pounds of SPAM were sent to feed the troops.
Soldiers in the Pacific ate SPAM the most frequently, mostly due to environmental factors. The Pacific Theater's climate caused food to spoil at a much quicker rate. This led to food being sent there that was heavily processed to have a longer shelf life. SPAM was relied upon specifically for this quality.
Supply depots became so overrun with the stuff that they were nicknamed "SPAM Canyons," and Uncle Sam was sometimes called "Uncle SPAM." The 125th Fighter Squadron named their base in the Pacific "SPAMville."
American GIs mostly hated it. Soldiers grew so weary of the repetitive meals that they sent "scurrilous" hate mail to Jay Hormel, who kept a file of their complaints. Despite this, Spam's utility proved itself: soldiers used its grease to lubricate guns and its empty cans for scrap metal.
But the people who received it? They saw something else entirely.
In many colonies, SPAM was a remedy or buffer for cases of starvation due to years of continuous wars and regime changes. The prevalence of SPAM in different foods during this time showcases the discrepancies between how Americans treated their own citizens and those seen as foreign. The resulting meals have a complicated history of both suffering and survival.
Wherever American boots landed, Spam followed. And it stayed long after the soldiers left.
The Philippines: From Survival Food to Cultural Soul
In the Philippines, people were fleeing from Japanese invasion and resisting its occupation from 1941 to 1945, when they were first introduced to Spam. Because the Japanese took over the Philippine islands, Filipinos were constantly running away, which meant they had to leave their crops and animals behind. American soldiers stationed there were able to give their surplus food rations to fleeing Filipinos who were forced to abandon their homes. And thus the Spam sensation began.
What happened next is one of the most remarkable cultural reversals in food history.
While SPAM became associated with poverty and unrefinement in the US, the very fact that it was an American product ironically elevated SPAM to a foreign delicacy in the Philippines, satisfying consumers spanning the working class to the wealthy. This wasn't just about hunger being the best seasoning. It was about perceived prestige. American goods carried status in the post-colonial Philippines, and Spam — with its gleaming blue and yellow can — arrived wearing that status like a crown.
There is a stigma in the minds of Filipinos that any imported product from the United States should taste really good. Spam is considered one of those products, especially where balikbayan boxes are concerned — giving it a prestige level all its own.
The balikbayan box is the perfect symbol of this. SPAM is almost always included in the balikbayan box, the unique cultural practice among the Filipino diaspora where overseas Filipinos send packages to their families back home. It's not just food inside that box. It's love. It's proof that someone far away is thinking of you. It's the taste of family reunion.
Spam adapted to Filipino palates in ways it never did anywhere else. It is most commonly eaten in Spamsilog, a twist on a traditional Filipino breakfast composed of rice — usually garlic fried rice — a sunny-side up egg, and Spam. Though commonly sliced and fried, it is also used in sandwiches, burgers, and spaghetti. In the Philippines, Spam transcends social class and is extremely popular across all walks of life. There are at least 10 varieties of Spam sold in the Philippines that mimic the flavors of traditional meats. It's estimated that 1.25 million kilos of Spam is sold annually in the Philippines.
In 2004, a fast food chain dedicated to Spam emerged in Makati City, Philippines. The chain, called SpamJam, offered a menu based completely on the canned processed meat — Spam burgers, Spam spaghetti, Spam poppers, and more.
The fact that Hormel made a tocino flavor variant of SPAM cements it as part of Filipino culture. Tocino — sweet cured pork that has been Filipino breakfast royalty long before colonization — now exists inside a Spam can. That's not appropriation. That's integration. That's a culture saying: we see you, now you become us.
Spam might be a hangover from American colonialism, but it's also a symbol of the resilience of a people who rode out centuries of Spanish and American colonial rule, taking what they liked and making it their own.
Hawaii: Five Cans Per Person, Per Year
Hawaii's relationship with Spam is legendary — and it has a different flavor than the Philippines. Not about prestige. About home.
Spam erupted in the Hawaiian islands during World War II. Because of the islands' location in the middle of the Pacific, off-shore fishing became a perceived security threat subject to heavy restrictions. Fresh protein sources were suddenly restricted for island communities that had depended on the ocean for millennia. Spam filled that gap.
As the war ended, many Hawaiian residents — particularly those of Japanese, Chinese, Filipino, and Hawaiian descent — continued incorporating Spam into their diets. For plantation workers and local families, Spam was an affordable, versatile protein that could be used in a variety of dishes. By the 1950s, Spam had become deeply embedded in Hawaiian cuisine and culture.
What came next was pure Hawaiian genius: the musubi.
Barbara Funamura, a Japanese-American woman from Hawaii, is credited with having invented Spam musubi — a slice of grilled Spam on top of a block of rice, wrapped together with nori. It's the meeting point of the Japanese onigiri tradition — a convenient, portable meal for travelers and workers — and the American wartime staple that had become part of island life.
The musubi became Hawaii. Chains like L&L Hawaiian Barbecue boast about selling over 15,000 Spam musubis per day. McDonald's breakfast platters in Hawaii include Spam, Portuguese sausage, eggs, and rice. Musubi is sold everywhere on the island — from gas stations to fine dining establishments. It's a favorite of former Hawaiian resident President Barack Obama, who reportedly seeks it out whenever he vacations there.
Today, Hawaiians are the greatest consumers of SPAM products in the world per capita, eating 7 million cans a year — five cans for every man, woman, and child living in the islands.
The annual Waikiki Spam Jam Festival is the exclamation point on all of it. This lively street event features live music, food vendors, and Spam musubi-making contests. Local restaurants serve up gourmet Spam dishes — Spam tacos, Spam sliders, Spam sushi rolls, and even Spam cheesecake. Kalakaua Avenue — the heart of Waikiki — closes to traffic for it.
Spam holds a sense of nostalgia for many locals in Hawaii, evoking memories of family gatherings, beach picnics, and backyard barbecues. For many, Spam is a link to simpler times, reminding them of their grandparents or parents who prepared it in traditional recipes. That's not just a food. That's a feeling. That's what every culture's comfort food is — a time machine.
The Rest of the World: Spam's Global Footprint
The Philippines and Hawaii are Spam's most passionate homes, but they're far from alone.
South Korea: From Survival to Luxury
No country embraced Spam more fervently — or creatively — than South Korea. The devastation of the Korean War in the early 1950s left the country with severe food shortages and little access to fresh meat. Near US army bases, enterprising locals began to barter for rations or scavenge surplus canned goods, combining them with what they had.
Out of that desperation came budae jjigae — army base stew, whose bubbling broth fuses traditional Korean flavors — the spice of gochugaru, the earthiness of mushrooms, the pungency of kimchi — with Spam. SPAM was only made legally available for sale in South Korea in 1987, around the time the country democratized. The dish literally outlived its own illegality.
Then something remarkable happened. South Korea didn't just accept Spam — it elevated it. During major holidays like Chuseok and Seollal, retailers pull out all the stops to display Spam gift sets for Koreans to take home. Box sets containing multiple tins of Spam can sell for up to $80, sometimes paired with cooking oil. In Korea, Spam is considered a premium brand. A premium Black Label hamper — Andalucia Olive Oil and nine tins of Spam — runs about $75. "Spam has a premium image in Korea," says the brand manager. "It's probably the most desirable gift one could receive."
According to Hormel, Koreans eat more Spam than people in any other country outside the US. The canned meat that American GIs hated is now a coveted holiday gift in Seoul.
Okinawa: Chanpurū and the Long Occupation
Residents of the southern Japanese island of Okinawa became particularly ardent Spam enthusiasts — using it in onigiri and chanpurū (stir fry) as a consequence of US military occupation until 1972. Locals initially wary of this mysterious pink meat found ways to make it their own, combining it with tofu, egg, and bitter melon in the now-iconic Goya Chanpurū, a hearty stir-fry that remains a cornerstone of Okinawan home cooking.
Hong Kong: The Only Meat Available
In Hong Kong, Spam was the only meat available immediately after World War II, and it continues to be served in noodles, sandwiches, and rice dishes to this day. Walk into a Hong Kong cha chaan teng — a traditional diner — and you'll likely find Spam fried rice or Spam macaroni soup on the menu. It's not a throwback. It's the menu.
Guam: Colonialism's Constant Companion
Like Hawaii and the Philippines, Guam experienced prolonged American military presence, and Spam followed. For Pacific Island communities with limited access to refrigeration and expensive imported fresh meat, shelf-stable protein isn't a compromise — it's a lifeline.
What It All Means
There's a through-line in every one of these stories that deserves to be said plainly.
Spam arrived everywhere it's beloved under brutal circumstances — war, occupation, displacement, food scarcity, colonialism. It was not a gift given out of generosity. It was military surplus. It was survival rations distributed to people who had been stripped of their own food systems by conflict and colonial power.
And yet.
Every single culture that received it looked at this pink rectangle in a blue can and thought: how do we make this ours? Filipinos turned it into Spamsilog, into tocino flavor, into the most coveted item in a balikbayan box. Hawaiians turned it into musubi — now sold at every 7-Eleven on the island and sought out by presidents. Koreans turned it into budae jjigae and then into a luxury holiday gift worth more than a nice dinner. Okinawans made chanpurū. Hong Kong made macaroni soup.
80 years later, Spam no longer feels American to the people who love it most. It is now a staple Filipino food: a beloved emblem of Filipino identity. The same is true in Hawaii. In South Korea. Across the Pacific.
That's the real story of Spam. Not the factory in Minnesota. Not Jay Hormel's pork shoulder problem. The real story is what happens when a people refuse to be defined by what was handed to them — when they take the scraps of someone else's war and cook something extraordinary.
Island people have always known how to do more with less. This is just the canned version.
The Rice Files | Spam Loves Rice spamlovesrice.com
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