I have found my calling!!!

Local cable access.  Yes, I said local cable access.  Hey, the air and studio time is free as well as all of the equipment use.  Free.  Let me say that again, FREE!!!  And you all know how I am about free stuff.  This has my name written all over it!!!

I have decided to give all of those pissy, self-important little panty wastes on the Food Network a run for their buns.  Bobby, Rachael, Paula...  watch your backs.  Mama Donn's kitchen is hitting the airwaves!!!

I have decided to call the program "Cooking With Beefcakes" and I'm now interviewing some of the hottest, ripped nibbly bits I can find to serve as my "assistants".  I want these guys to be smoking fine.  Of course, they will wear nothing but aprons.  Because I tend to deep fry way too many things.  And you know how I can be with bacon...  Bacon can be so unforgiving when you're at the stove naked.  Men tend to scream like little 5 year old girls when they've just been FULL frontally scared with a bacon grease splatter.  Trust me, it's true.  I sadly speak from experience.

I'm sure SubZero and Viking will get behind this for all of the top end major appliances that I will need.  I also hope to talk Menard's into donating all of the cabinets, counter tops and fixtures my little dream kitchen requires.  I have already emailed KitchenAid and Cuisinart about all the counter top electrics and cookware that I'll be needing.  From there it's just "lights, camera, action" and I'm on my way.  If all else fails I may have to film this thing "remote" in my own kitchen.  And considering that my kitchen is barely big enough for me and a postage stamp it could make for some very interesting moments.  What with three little studpuppies wearing nothing more than aprons, a smile on their faces and me armed with a bamboo spatula to keep them all in line.  

I'm already working on the recipes I want to bring to the world in a whole new light all my own.  Beanie-Weinies.  Hot crossed buns.  Stuffed rump roast. Bacon wrapped sausages. A glazed loin. Pigs in a blanket. Tongue.  LOTS of tongue.  Maybe I can even feature a foreign guest chef every so often.  I've always loved a little foreign tongue!!!

Yeah, I'm thinking it's probably best to air this program well after midnight...

He should have seen it coming...

Oh yeah, that sweet little sea squirt, my other half has finally realized that the post about me wanting to be a clown was actually true.  Totally, completely true.  He is so shocked it hurts.  Now, suddenly, I make sense to him.  He thought it was illness, or at the very least under medication.  Or perhaps over medication.  I'm known for that...  Now he realizes it is just clown madness.  Gone horridly array.  He has begun to count up those strange wigs in the closet, most of them rainbow colored, the odd clothing and those really BIG shoes....

Yes, after several hours of conversation he has finally began to accept the fact that he has married a clown without a county.  Yes,  I really was accepted at Ring-Ling  Brothers clown college.  Yes, Loretta was to be my new name.  And yes, Mom shot than one down.  It all makes sense to him now....  Scarey and strange as that seems.

Adios, "Bambi", happy trails to you..

To say that I am shocked is an understatement.  I have just seen online that one of Wisconsin's most famous folk heroines  has passed away today at a hospice in Portland, OR of liver and kidney failure.  I can't imagine a more piss poor horse shit ass way to die!!!  Laurie "Bambi" Bembenek.  OMG, this poor woman had enough baggage to move to Mars with.  And Wisconsin has seemed to have the weirdest love/hate relationship with her imaginable.  A former Playboy club waitress, former Milwaukee police officer that was fired under questionable circumstances, a twice convicted murderess, a prison escapee that accomplished international flight to Canada and the subject of two movies, she both enraptured and enraged the citizens of Wisconsin.

Shortly after being fired from the Milwaukee police department (and in the process of suing their shorts off) she was accused, arrested, charged and eventually convicted of murdering her husbands ex-wife.  On the hinkiest evidence imaginable.  With his police revolver.  Somehow disguised as man twice her size.  Her trial was like something out of a Quentin  Tarantino movie at best.  Milwaukee has a police department as corrupt as New Orleans.  And they played their part to a degree that would win an award at Sundance!!!!

As a model prisoner that was always vocally adamant in her innocence, she actually managed to escape from prison and live for short while in Canada, working as a waitress in a small roadside dinner in Thunder Bay, Ontario.  She was recognized by a traveler from the States, again arrested and brought back here.   Again, things got hinky.  Although out on bail pending appeals, three in total, the state of Wisconsin turning all of them down, she was moving onto the Supreme Court to reopen the case and hopefully clear her name.

And then  a couple of years ago she faced her biggest battle.   Her body declared war on her.   Multiple organ  failure.  Liver and kidneys.   Three strikes and you're out!!!   She died today at  the age of 52  while under  hospice care.   Her name still unredeemed,  her  charges still  unreversed, her case still pending  and  her  legacy still tainted.  I have never believed she was guilty of what she was convicted of and tried so hard to overcome.  What the hell happened to our "Kinder and Gentler Nation"???  We have pardoned some of the lowest forms of life imaginable in my memory.  For crimes of mind-boggling scope.  This is a travesty...

"Bambi", go quietly into that good night and know that many of us here are sorry for this injustice.  Y'know what is truly strange about this whole thing?  She died on the first day of deer hunting season here in Wisconsin.  Odd, yes.  But true...

So, I rang up the Pope today...

Seriously, I did.  We're really close.  He's German and I'm a Jew.  How much closer can you get than that without him being a Pharaoh with a huge desert and me being lost???  Fortunately, he was "in" so the call went straight through.  One ringy-dingy.  Two ringy-dingy.  Hello, is the Pope that I am speaking to???

"So, Benny," I say, "what's up with this condom thing you just issued?  Sounds a bit convoluted to me.  Revolutionary?  Yes!!!  But a bit  awkward as well.  By the way, do you even know what those things look like???"  And I meant, condoms, NOT gay prostitutes!!!  But that may be  a whole other Blog...  Of course with the way his Pope-ness dresses I may have to keep that one under the radar.

Benny responds in his wonderfully heavily German-accented Italian/ broken English and fills me in on the 411.  Condoms:  Bad.  Birth Control: Bad.  Male prostitutes using  condoms:  Good.  But only if they are HIV-positive. (WHAT???)  And have a gay clientele. (WHAT???)  It's a "moral" issue in his (Their) eyes.  OK, so  Benny just said male prostitute, HIV-positive, gay, condom use and moral in the same sentence.   I immediately put him on hold and go mix a pitcher of margaritas so I can steel myself up for the rest of this conversation and get my seatbelt securely fastened.  I know I'm going to need it.

"Hey, Benny," I say, "I'm back.  Continue..." .

He proceeds to tell me that since gay prostitutes with a gay clientele can't have babies (which are gods angels) they should do everything in their power to stop the spread of AIDS.  (OMG, Benny just said the 'A' word!!!).  Again, a "moral" thing which he (They) view as their duty.  Then he tells me that this announcement is limited  solely to HIV-infected gay prostitutes and NOT to straight married couples where one of the partners is HIV-infected (that would be birth control) which would prevent the birth of one of gods little angles and be completely immoral in his (Their) eyes.  WHAT???  I'm drinking out of the pitcher at this point...

"Benny, honey," I ask, "how much of that wine have you been drinking???  Is there an adult anywhere near you that I can speak to???  Anyone will do.  A maid?  That new junior Cardinal that changes your Nazi-sympathizing  diapers?  Anyone!!!  We have to loosen the tension on your miter!!!  You're starting to sound like Berniece Clifton  And you know what happened to her.  She actually wore a Christmas tree skirt as a FREAKING  skirt!!!"  Yes, great episode but she was full blown, bat shit fucking crazy!!!

Benny continues to ramble on about condoms (not a word I take lightly being said by the Pope for a number of reasons) and has apparently mistaken the Papal slipper as cell phone.  The connection got very weak at that point so I can only suppose what was going on...  Suddenly, I hear what I can only imagine is the College of Cardinals come rushing in and wrestle him down into submission.  I love cardinals.  They're very pretty birds.  And I love to hear them sing in the spring.  What a lovely call they have.  But, why do they need their own college???   Are they from out of state and pay higher tuitions???   Are they a gated community of some sort???  Or, are they Nazis too???  They're such pretty birds, how can they possibly be National Socialists???

But I digress....  By the time I got back form mixing up the second batch of margaritas I was hearing a recording that said all lines were currently busy and I should try to complete my call later.  When the hell has 1-800- IMA-POPE ever been busy???

Be a clown, be a clown, be a clown...

OK, it's time for an admission.  And perhaps a bit of absolution.  In my heart, I am a clown.  No, seriously, I mean it.  A clown...

Almost 4 decades ago, in my Senior year of high school I decided to shoot off in my own direction and find myself.  Instead of applying to "real" colleges like my parents suggested I decided to send off an application to Clown College.  Ringling Brothers to be exact.  I figured I had nothing to lose.  After all, I came from a frighteningly dysfunctional  family with enough baggage to move to Mars with so I figured I had lots of material to draw on .  Guess what???  I actually got accepted!!!  I came home from school one day to find the letter already opened, crumpled on the dining room table  and my mother already livid.  Cocktail in hand...  Yeah, I knew this wasn't going to be pretty.

I was immediately  informed that under no circumstances whatsoever was I going to allowed to become a clown.  Was I out of my bloody mind???  A clown???  Let me repeat that:  "A CLOWN!!!???!!!".  Obviously, my parents had no clue at all as to who I really was...  I loved really small cars with way too many people in them.  And polka dots.  And silly hats with an odd flower or two poking out from them.  And wigs.  Lord, did I love wigs!!!  I still do.  And flowers that squirted some sort of liquid.  Any liquid.  Just as long as it came out of a flower.  And baby pigs in strollers.  That were smoking cigars.

To be honest, I had been working on this idea since I was a Sophomore.  I had my character down pat.  She was to be wonderful, the best clown in the center ring in fact.  The center of attention.  Her name was Loretta and she was to be magnificent.   She was HUGE with lots of padding, enormous nay-nays and lots of "back" if you know what I mean.  Her dress was awash in polka dots, her stockings were striped, her shoes were the size of water skis, her purse was full of confetti and her wig was the size of a Volkswagen.  The hat I can't even describe, it would take too long...  The makeup?  Completely garish, even for a clown in drag.  Yet subtle in a center ring kind of way.  For those of you who have had the privilege of seeing me in a foam nose (think Halloween in Mexico) you may have an idea what exit I was planning on taking.  And Loretta was proper, almost elegant.  Up until the time her triplet pigs escaped from the stroller and ran amok amidst the elephants and that really whorey chick riding on the back of that horse wearing  WAY too many sequins for her own good.  Fuck her, she's a bitch.  And she only has that solo act because she's sleeping with the Ring Master.  I can't wait to tell her that he's really gay-er than me!!!  SO much gay-er than me.  Just a lot more closeted...

I was born to mix-match patterns, wear rainbow wigs, drive cars the size of peach pits , throw confetti in elevators, embarrass the shit out of you at every possible public opportunity and carry horns that go "AH-OOO-GAH"!!!  I want to run full blast through saw dust, throw buckets of dry water at you, squirt water out of my corsage, do pratfalls, sit on your lap, hug you and lick your face while my hat explodes.  THAT, my friends, is ENTERTAINMENT with my name written all over it!!!  Loretta wanted to juggle mangoes, chain saws and monkeys.   And the occasional grenade launcher.   Maybe  a small nuclear device as well.  My god, I could have been a contender!!!  Stella???

So, who has some money they don't need???

Yeah, I need some cash.  Preferably yours and not mine.  My business plan doesn't factor mine in.  You see, I am reopening my catering agency.  Or a soup kitchen.  Perhaps a portable lunch wagon that goes from construction site to construction site.  At the very least one of those highly dangerous/flammable bicycle based elote things with the 5-gallon vat of boiling water and corn balancing precariously on the handle bars that I see all over Mexico.  Lord knows, I have to do something...

Why, you ask?  My kitchen has just officially exploded.  I'm not kidding...  At last count (at least until yesterday) I had a set of cookware that numbered approximately 45 pieces.  Hard anodized, Calphalon, KitchenAid, Faberware, stainless steel, cast iron, Food Network  and some stolen shit.  It's wonderful.  I love it.  And that is just the "cookware".  Don't even get me started on the French White (enough to open my own store at an Outlet Mall), the Fiesta Ware (WAY too freaking much), the Bobby Flay terra cotta (hell, I don't even like him) or the Pyrex stuff (why do I have an antique 8 fucking cup measuring cup????).  For christ's sake, I only have 4 burners and stove the size of a Nigerian postage stamp!!!  Who do I think I'm cooking for here, the bloody last supper???  Then there is the "counter top electric" stuff.  Pannini  makers (yes, plural), the crock pots (again, plural),  the electric skillet (only one), the deep fryer and that damned toaster oven from a previous post.  Did I mention the multiple food processors???  How about the digital toaster...  God, I really do covet single use kitchen appliances.  Help me!!!

So.... what do I do?  I just got some more.  Yeah, what was I thinking...  I had a ton of travel miles that were about to expire so I had to do something with them quick.  I do a bit of online redemption and the next thing you  know I have myself a brand new, 19 piece set of Cuisinart Chef's Classic stainless steel cookware that just totally rocks.  It's gorgeous, it's quality, it's cool.  And I have absolutely nowhere to put the damned shit.  Some of this stuff is freaking immense.  Even if I hung this  from the ceiling I still  couldn't open some of the cupboards and my other half, a short little sea squirt at best, would still hit his head.  And he's short!!!   Really short.  C'mone, you know him...  One thing is a 4 gallon stock pot/steamer thing.  Three pieces.  My god, it's the size of my car!!!  What am I, a Mexican funeral???

Yes, this IS a sickness.  A support group is in order.  QUICKLY!!!  How about some medications???  LOTS of them!!!  A telethon???  Is Jerry Lewis still alive???  Perhaps electroshock therapy???  Hey, I kind of like the sound of that one...  Please, hold my hand while I go through that one, I just love sharing a good "buzz".

BTW, I am making baked macaroni and cheese at the moment.  In the new Cuisinart roaster.  About an acre of it.  I swear to god, there are countries in Eastern Europe that are smaller than this thing.  I have tripled the amount of Velveeta that it calls for, added two pounds of Canadian bacon and am baking the hell out of it.  This SOB has got to weigh about 50 pounds.    Hell, I hurt my back just trying to get it into the oven.  Monte's Blue Plate ain't got nothing on me.  What we don't eat tonight I am donating to something Mother Theresa has put her name behind!!!  Oh, hell, I think she may have actually weighed less that this thing...

So, PayPal is happily awaiting your generous "donations" to my new found adventure.  "Mama Donn's Kitchen" is here and weighting....

It has come to my attention...

...that some of you out there actually believe the shit that I post on this Blog.  Are you out of your minds???  Hell, I don't even believe this crap.  I don't put two-cents worth of believability into anything that comes out of my mouth so why should you???  Are you all having some sort of "Lasagna Moment"???

Ah, yes, a "lasagna moment".   I remember it well.  It was the best 5 year long prank I ever played.  I damned near got the stuffing kicked out of me when it all came to light.  It all began in 1980.  I grabbed my partner at the time in the kitchen and began to polka with him (yes, I know how to polka) and broke into a rousing song that went something like "Lasagna, lasagna, lasagna... In Polish it means I love you".  It was one of my sillier moments but he actually BELIEVED me.  And he was  Polish!!!  What a rube...

So, 5 years later he comes back from a family reunion in Pittsburgh and has discovered that lasagna doesn't really mean "I love you" in Polish.  He's devastated. And quite embarrassed.  It seems that Aunt Pierogi had informed him that he had been been duped.  By a Jew.  He walked off that plane and damned near wrestled me to the tiles at Gate 15 on Concourse B.  Holy shit, was he pissed!!!  We separated but eventually reestablished a cordial and somewhat workable friendship.  But my credibility with him was totally douched forever.  Oh well...  He eventually went on to become a Chicago based, ass kissing snob and I attained fabulosity,  so I guess it all worked out in the end.  I win!!!

But, again, people still believe me when I say something.  I can't imagine why.  Yes, some of it actually sounds believable (rarely) and some of it is so damned strange that even I don't believe I just said it.  I don't know where this shit comes from.  Head injury?  Blunt force trauma?  Dropped (or thrown) as a baby?  The deer that came through the windshield of dad's 1969 Chrysler Town & Country station wagon as I careened into the ditch and flipped it over?  The 70's???  Probably the 70's.  I don't remember a second of them so I know that I must have been having a REALLY good time.  I do however vaguely remember that Deep Purple concert.  Sort of.  I was on a half an ounce of VERY good mushrooms and didn't get most of my hearing back for almost a week and a half.  I can't believe I'm not on the no fly list.  What country in their right mind would keep renewing my passport???  OK, America.  But that's a whole other Blog...

That wonderful little sea squirt, my other half, actually has pictures of me dancing naked in the snow wearing nothing but a rainbow clown wig and a smile.  Hell, he's walked into the living rooming thinking we had a house full of guests only to find me there just talking to myself.  In different voices.   And genders.   All of you get the privilege of only having to read my tripe, that little dude actually has to LIVE with me.  Talk about the patience of Job!!!   I suspect he's been looking for a heavy, blunt object for years  just to put me out of his misery...

So, for those of you out there that for some unforeseen still give me a shred of cred... Yes, I take PayPal.  Your credit card numbers, personal information and especially your Social Security Numbers will all be held in the STRICTEST of confidence.  Please, call now, operators are waiting!!!  Two for two on Tuesday!!!  Almost free mi amigo!!!

Voyage of The Damned....

OK, nobody panic, we're fine.  And back on dry land again.  At last!!!  What the bloody hell was I thinking???  A cruise???  You know me and water.  It's just not a pretty combination.  I've been known to shower with a life preserver on.

So, last week I'm online a find a totally sweet deal on very last minute accommodations on a 7-day cruise to Mexico.  I figured what the hell.  All the lobsters I could eat for a week and a day to spend visiting with two good friends down in Bucerias.  This deal was so sweet we even got a free upgrade to a mini-suite so I just had to have it.  You know me and bargains.  The next thing you know, the other half and I are on a Greyhound to Long Beach to embark on our luxury, yet steeply discounted Carnival cruise.  On the brand new "Splendor".  Anything with a name like that has my name written all over it

The ship was pretty.  And BIG.  Hell, she dwarfed an aircraft carrier!!!  The suite was amazing and I had half a tray of Jell-O shots in me before we even left port.  Ah, life was good.  So, a bit after midnight I'm up the Lido deck knocking down lobsters and some more Jell-O shots when I smell smoke.  Hmm, I think to myself, are they firing up the grills for a 2 AM rib fest?  So I commandeered another tray of Jell-O shots and went looking for the baby backs.  About that time pandemonium broke out.  Smoke freaking everywhere and the ship felt like it had the hic-cups.  Then the lights went out.  Everywhere.  I'm on open water, 50 miles from shore and in the dark.  Jell-O shots be damned, I was totally screwed!!!  All I could think of was the Titanic.  And that did not have a happy ending in my opinion!!!

Shortly, the "Emergency Lights" came on.  Yes, we all took out our BIC lighters.  Then the panic started as the Captain announced over the intercom that the ship was on fire.  On fire???  Oh lovely, yet another one of my favorite things.  All I was thinking at that  point was Muster Station!!!  And that insane maritime tradition of  women and children first.  So I had the good sense to break into the first cabin I came to, rummage through the closet and find an evening gown in my size.  Within minutes I'm at the Muster Station, looking like Ginger Grant, with a couple of lobsters under my arm and a really cheap looking knock-off evening bag full of Jell-O shots.  As god is my witness, I was not about to go to watery grave hungry, sober or under dressed!!!  Cheap handbag be damned.  I was hoping with all of my heart that Kathy Gifford was on that damned ship somewhere because I was going to use her skinny little ass as a flotation device...

Then, in the darkness, we hear the Captain make another announcement.  Fortunately there would be no need to abandon ship.  Because they were flooding the engine compartment to put out the fire.  WHAT???  This is a ship, you stupid turd!!!  Even I know that you NEVER,  EVER willingly flood any part of one of these things!!!  Why the bloody hell are you letting that crazed bunch of illegal Pakistani's down in the engine room do this???  I just made my peace and drank my purse...

Morning finally came and we all began to realize the severity of the situation.  We were adrift at sea on a 1.2 billion dollar Edsel.  Nothing was working on this piece of crap.  No toilets, no water,  no AC, no elevators, no bars, no pools, no phones, no lights, no motorcars, not a single luxury!!!  Now I really was starting to feel like Ginger Grant.  And no food.  Luckily I stashed the lobsters I had into by purse after the Jell-O shots were gone.  So I at least had a few nibblies in case I started feeling a bit peckish.

OK, so for three days we're all living in the 5th ring of Hell.  It was like Dante on the brown acid.  The US Navy and Coast Guard eventually showed up and began to ferry over "supplies".   Yeah, yummy stuff like SPAM and canned crab meat.  That's a combination I just don't want to think about ever again.  On the second day, the kitchen managed to wrangle up some "sandwiches" for us.  Made of canned beets and the last of the cheese that had not liquified in the heat.  Again, yummy stuff.  But at least the beer was free.  And warm...  It got bad, I tell you, really bad.  I  witnessed a young boy who had such an aversion to beets that he actually ate his own foot to survive.  I suppose I should have offered him that last lobster claw I still had in my purse but had no idea how long this ordeal was going to continue...  The truly annoying part of the whole thing was that we had a convention of 250 magicians on board for the cruise so for 3 days they kept us "entertained".  If I see one more long string of colorful scarves or fake flowers being pulled out of gloved hand, another bloody rabbit in a hat or dove being pulled out of handkerchief so help me god, I'll arm myself to the teeth and take out a show room in Vegas!!!

They finally got a small armada of tug boats out to us and got us towed back in San Diego.  They initially told us we were going to port in Ensanada and they would bus us back to San Diego.  BUS US BACK TO SAN DIEGO???  That's when the mutiny started.  Luckily for the Captain, he had a change of heart (and fearing that we may cut his out) decided American soil made a bit more sense.  By the time we got back to land the ship was starting to smell just a bit gamey between the smell of 5,400 really sweaty passengers, all of the Black Angus filets rotting in the dead refrigerators and the toilets which had not been flushed in 3 days.  Let alone the algae blooms that had started to appear in the pools.

Of course, Carnival gave us full refunds and a voucher good for 25 percent off of our next cruise.  Sure, guys, just let us know when the S.S. Minnow is up and running again.  Can't wait to do this again!!!  They're also putting us up in a hotel here in San Diego for a few nights.  It's a lovely  place.  It's called the Hindenburg Resort and Spa.  We've got a room in the tower section...

Spam! Oh wonderful Spam!

There's no happy medium on this one.  You either love it or you wouldn't even consider feeding it to a starving dog.  OK, I admit, it's a bit hinky when you think about it but then so is most of the other food that we eat.  Think hot dogs, bologna (and can anyone give me a reasonable explanation why we pronounce it "ba-low-nee"?) and liverwurst.  All of which are American culinary icons.  Say Spam and most peoples' faces turn inside-out.  Say you like Spam and you'll likely be reduced to a public stoning.  And most of the folks casting the first stones will happily wake up in morning and pull their overweight asses up to the table for a platter of eggs, bacon and a big glass of milk...  What the fuck???  Yeah, think about what those three things are for a second...  Uh-huh...  A chickens reproductive cells that they shoot out of their ass, the underside of a pigs belly that has spent most of it's life covered in mud and shit and an incredibly fatty liquid that comes out of a cows tits.  OK, "teats".  Whatever!  If you'll eat that shit at 7:00 AM then you have no right whatsoever to turn your refined nose up at something as simple as "recycled" meat.

Yes, the thought of eating something that is clearly labeled with the first ingredient as being "mechanically separated pork" is a bit frightening.  I can only imagine that what the machines are given to separate is so totally gross that human hands and psyches  just refuse to do it.  Or they just can't pay someone enough money to take that exit.  I understand completely.  Yet, I still eat the stuff with abandon.  I grill it, I fry it, I bake it into stuff.  Hell, I've even eaten it cold out of the can.  FYI, I don't recommend that one.  That gelatinous goo that Spam is packed in IS a bit overpowering.  I think that may just be a marketing ploy for the homeless...  Although it might come in handy if you've managed to overdose your mouth on way too many chili peppers and are out of milk or butter to cut the burn.  Been there, done that...  Or for sinners trying to grease their way past the Pearly Gates.

I used to live in Minnesota, the "Birthplace of Spam".  And yes, they are proud of it.  I have been to the factory where they make Spam.  It's truly frightening.  It's like a theme park of heart attacks.  It has a museum.  Which I think is sort of odd because Spam really doesn't have an expiration date so how could any of it be "old"?  And it has a gift shop, of course you know I went nuts in that place.  I bought the Spam Cookbook.  That thing would put Paula Dean to shame!!!  The weirdness on those pages is completly mind-boggling.  Beer battered, deep fried Spam with a creme of mushroom soup consumme???  In a fondue??? Just how cold, dark and snowy is Minnesota???  Oh hell, they eat lutefisk.  Enough said...

Then, there is an alternative.  Treet.  I think of it as Spam Lite.  Or perhaps Spam-esque is a better term.  It's cheaper, a lot more salty and has "chicken" in the mix.  Also mechanically separated.  What the bloody hell is going on in THAT factory???  Again, I am ALL over that one too.  How can you not be???  "Recycled" meat and enough salt to start your own ocean!!!  I know it is nothing but feathers, beaks, bones and the occasional foot but by god, this stuff just floats my boat.  In my world, Spam is for company and Treet is for me.  Eating it off my chest.  Naked and in the dark.  While I watch porn.  OK, let's not take that exit...