Spam Musubi for the Revolution

I never said I was the perfect Dad.

Photo by Maxime on Unsplash

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I make my high schooler lunch a few times a week. He can eat out or get something at school but a homemade lunch is a way of making him feel cared for. It’s not easy growing up without a Mom. Comfort food matters.

Today I’m making him something horrible, likely toxic: Spam Musubi.

For those of you not familiar with this rare indelicacy it’s a comfort food born of the influence of Japanese culture on post WW2 Hawaii. According to this article, “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.”

I thank you Barbara, even as my arteries curse you.

I don’t have to get up at 5 a.m. to make his lunch, I could make it the night before; covering it with a heavy pot on the counter top, then adding a stack of books large enough to prevent every single pet in our house from attacking it. That would probably work.

It wouldn’t be as comforting. The warmth of the rice would be gone. It wouldn’t fill his belly like a cozy blanket on a cold night. It might not say “I love you” as loudly, reminding him that good things wait for him when he gets home.

The toughest part of making it early is cooling the freshly cooked rice quickly enough to handle before he has to go. The rice has to be shaped by hand into the musubi (rice cake) while it’s warm. I don’t like putting a steaming bowl of rice in the fridge, so I take advantage of the sub freezing temperatures outside. Our dog Dandelion steps out back with me, thinking I’m about to serve her a great bowl of hot rice.

Tossing rice in freezing winter pre-dawn darkness, with my dog beside me while our culture is taking a hard turn to the right, feels strangely perfect. I’ve always felt safest in the cold darkness of winter. Making comfort food for my beloveds is the best way to start this day.

When my Dad died, all of us kids managed to get back home to be with our Mom by the end of the same day of his passing. We huddled together for a few days, comforting each other, making plans, calling a lifetime of his friends, grabbing take-out for main meals. I knew I was finding my footing three or four days in when I cooked dinner for everyone. I’m pretty sure it sucked, but it felt so grounding to cook for people again.

Cooking food for someone is my love language. {Yes I know it’s supposed to work the other way around.}

I like making the teriyaki sauce from scratch. It’s a simple recipe I got from a Hawaiian family on youtube. It adds to that feeling that I’m communicating love in what I’m making. My son knows how to make it too. He’s pretty good. As far as critics go he’s very direct but kind when he gives me feedback. I demand honesty. Why make food for someone you love if it doesn’t taste good and feel good to eat?

Tossing the rice in my bowl in the cold, watching the steam rise, I have time to sort through some of my feelings. I’m most upset for my trans/queer friends. We now have a national commitment to two genders only, an agenda that is deeply anti-queer. I take that change very personally. As an artist who has felt like an outsider in different ways throughout my life, I know who my people are. It’s not the guys in suits talking about the small version of God they’re propping up, it’s the wonderful people they’re all afraid of.

Assembling the Musubi is my weakest skill. I’m a good cook, sometimes a really good cook, but I’ve never been tidy…at anything. I’m getting better though. The spam slides into place after I sprinkle Furikake seasoning on the rice. I’m not a fan of plastic wrap {yes, it’s ridiculous to object to plastic wrap when eating Spam} so I bring it all together by rolling it up in wax paper. There’s enough for several lunches and for him to grab one on his way out the door this morning. Yes he will have black tea and Spam Musubi for breakfast this morning. I never said I was the perfect Dad.

If I follow my feelings deeper and deeper I can trace them back though high school all the way to grade school. The outsiders were always bullied. It was the status quo. It felt like that changed over last few decades. We seemed to be on the edge of realizing villainizing the “other” was toxic, really villainizing parts of ourselves. Of course there would be backlash. Our collective disdain for those who are different comes from a deeply wounded place. It won’t be healed easily.

But we are not all the way back to where we were when I was a young person. Losing a few steps forward is inevitable. It’s just time to remember that a lot of people fought and risked mightily to get as far as we have. It’s time for us to step up again. That’s probably a good thing. I have a lot of Spam calories to work off.

Whatever the future holds, know I’ll be making sure the revolution is tasty.