A COMPLAINT: : Spam Cones

My despair did not begin with the “Spam Salad Cones,” but my spirits certainly plunged to greater depths with their arrival.

How else could I react? The folks at Hormel--makers of culinary Americana such as hot dogs and canned chili--were advising that I roll flour tortillas into tiny megaphones and stuff them with diced Spam. And eat them.

Granted, this wasn’t a personal invitation urging me to defile the staple of my ancestors. The recipe for Spam Salad Cones--which included pickle relish and slivered almonds--came with some coupons offering discounts on that most mysterious of luncheon meats. I just stumbled across the recipe by accident.

And what an accident. It followed another recent and haunting discovery, also in the coupon section, of a tortilla recipe for snacks billed as “cheese sandwiches.” In my family we called them quesadillas. Recent years also have seen the introduction of whole wheat, vegetarian and even honey-and-cinnamon tortillas.

It was clear that the tortilla was under siege.

Tortillas, you see, play a leading role in any Mexican household, regardless of how many generations have passed since a family left Juarez or Abasolo for Palmdale or Chatsworth. A family may forget its Spanish and never return to the homeland, but tortillas are forever.

Ask Mexican-Americans living in states where tortillas are in short supply. They grow desperate. I certainly did while living in Connecticut 10 years ago and once was reduced to buying tortillas that came in a can. They were like coasters.

I haven’t seen canned tortillas since and assume they are produced, perhaps as an inside joke by a sly tortilla manufacturer, for East Coast consumption.

I later spent three years in Washington, and the unwritten rule among Mexican-Americans was to bring back tortillas for your friends when returning from vacations in the Southwest. I observed this rule faithfully. One time at LAX a baggage handler practically threw out his back when he grabbed my unusually heavy suitcase.

“What have you got in here, boy?” he asked, wide-eyed.

“Tortillas,” I said sheepishly.

Perhaps it’s their distinctive shape, not to mention their pivotal role in Mexican cuisine, that sets tortillas apart and reminds a Mexican-American that he has roots, however far removed. They are unmistakable. You don’t have to taste them to know you’re not dealing with Wonder bread.

Not that I’m an unreasonable purist. I’ve been known to spread peanut butter on corn tortillas and a friend says she likes them with ketchup. Hot dogs fit snugly in their folds, and a friend told me of a family--half Jewish, half Mexican--that occasionally serves up brisket tacos.

So what’s the problem with Spam cones? It’s a question of attitude.

The recipe calls for rolling a tortilla into the shape of an ice cream cone, securing the funnel with toothpicks. Insert a piece of foil to help the cone retain its shape and broil on a cookie sheet. After a few minutes, rescue the cone, remove the foil and stuff with a mixture of Spam and other condiments, including the pickle relish. Enjoy.

The “cone” part bothers me even more than the relish. It reduces the Mexican antecedents to the foodstuff equivalent of a Madison Avenue jingle. And that, I suppose, is my greatest fear--that the connections to Mexico will be forgotten, or worse, denied.

Perhaps even the word tortilla will disappear. Imagine the snappy Americanized names some savvy ad man could coin-- Flat Wraps or Fold ‘Ems. And, of course, they would be Fun to Eat!

Then there’s the matter of Spam cone preparation. Securing them with foil forms and broiling them on a cookie sheet? The best way, the way the gods intended, is to heat them directly over an open flame, a neat trick that always astounded non-Latino friends when I was young.

Granted, some variation is allowable.

My wife and a college friend found a unique way to make quesadillas in a dorm that prohibited cooking. They used a steam iron. Light steam, no starch. The ironing method, however, was born of necessity. And their improvised creations were not called cheese sandwiches.

Cultural mixing is inevitable, of course. And that’s good. But let’s not blot out the past completely.

Stuff your tortillas with meatloaf, if you like. But don’t forget you’re using a tortilla, a food from antiquity.

And if you must use Spam, call them, dare I say it, Spam burritos.