When readers send me emails, they often ask me for one of my favorite recipes.
OK, so they don't.
Usually when readers send me emails, they call me a "filthy communist," suggest that I move to another country, or sometimes offer to shoot me in case I'm too scared of guns to shoot myself.
But it's a luxurious life being a columnist, and I rise above the insults and open another bribery check from the Russians. Then I call up a recently-arrived-in-America model and suggest that we "make boom-boom." You gotta keep the English simple when you talk to the recently arrived. Sometimes I call a remarkably square-jawed porn star and have her spank me with my last paycheck, which is too small to leave a mark.
OK, so I don't do that stuff, either.
But I do find time to cook, and even though I'm never asked for recipes, I'm enough of an obstructionist reporter to offer one anyway.
Here is my recipe for Spam a la Columniste.
You will need one can of bacon-flavored Spam, one can of Campbell's baked beans, a bottle of store brand barbecue sauce and a bottle of hot sauce.
First, open the can of Spam and turn it upside down over a plate. Briskly spank the saucy bottom of the Spam can until the rectangular hunk of pink, glistening pork slides out and plops onto the plate. When it hits the plate, the Spam should make the same noise a human kidney makes when it's dropped on an operating room floor by a slightly drunk surgeon who was lucky to get a job at the VA hospital.
Cut the Spam into half-inch-wide slices. Place the two end slices into a frying pan. Take the other slices and cut them into small cubes the size of dice — the big dice they use in Vegas, not the little dice you get with a Monopoly game. Then, place the cubed Spam into the frying pan with the two slices of Spam.
Fry the Spam until lightly brown on both sides.
Remove the two slices of Spam from the pan and set them aside. You'll need them for your lunchtime sandwich at work tomorrow. Despite the recent working-class tax cut you received, you're still not in a position to go out for lunch and buy one of those fancy $9 steak sandwiches they sell at the chain joints.
Open the can of beans, and drain off the bean juice into the sink. Turn on the water and rinse the bean juice down the drain. If you do not, your wife will pull out of any peace talks you had planned for later in the evening, and you will have to eat your dinner in silence, like the child of an illegal immigrant eating beans in solitary confinement.
Dump the beans on top of the Spam. Add about three shot glasses of the barbecue sauce and approximately seven shakes of hot sauce.
Heat the resulting hard-to-stir brown and hot pink mixture until it steams, dump it into a shallow faux-ceramic bowl your wife bought at the dollar store, and eat. Suggested drink pairing with this dish is a cup of hot black coffee, no sugar. Some diner waitresses call coffee served black-no-sugar a "John Wayne," so you'll be standing up for fictional America even as you eat poverty's dinner.
The maintenance of the fiction of America demands poverty and poor dietary habits.
Stay tuned for my next recipe column in which I remind you that only weak-minded people bury the family pet after it dies. Real Americans just open another can of beans.
To find out more about Marc Munroe Dion and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit www.creators.com. Dion's latest book, a collection of his columns, is called "The Land of Trumpin'" and is a story of the months before, during and after the most recent indigestible presidential election. It is available in paperback from Amazon.com, and for Nook, iBooks, Kindle and GooglePlay.