I regressed yesterday. In the absence of the French Food Police, and out of sight of other, potentially-cringing, South Beach Success Story, family members, I made myself a toasted spam sandwich for lunch. My side salad was made with organic baby greens, balsamic vinegar and a boutique olive oil, so maybe it still qualifies as California Cuisine? It reminded me of the Spam Fritters which my Mother used to make. A pure, greasy, crispy, salty, comfort-food memory. Sometimes she put a slice of pineapple on top and with a colorful dollop of ketchup on the side I was in culinary heaven.
