Rate My Meat: The Tinned Meat Taste Test
Which is the world's worst-tasting meat in a can?

Let's say The Apocalpyse happens next week, and we're all stuck in fallout shelters eating tinned meat for the next twenty years. How do you guarantee you stock up on only the best?

In ZUG's Tinned Meat Taste Test, I've sampled and rated the most popular tinned meats for you, making your Apocalpytic Doomsday purchase-making decision much easier.

TINNED MEAT TASTE TEST #1: SPAM

Our first installment is dedicated to the tried-and-tested brand that everyone associates with bad tinned meat and lonely white-trash Thanksgivings. And Hawaiians. Hawaiians eat, this is true, 6 million cans of Spam a year. They love Spam so much that even Burger King and McDonald's offer Spam on the islands.

The first thing you notice when cracking open a can of Spam is the smell. It immediately expands and fills the room, permeating your clothes and skin. I have smelled worse smells, but this is not an odor I want to associate with any food item.

This makes me think of wet cat food. Not the fancy kind you see them serving in a martini glass in the commercials, either. This is low-end cat food smell. The smell suggests whatever's inside that can might TECHNICALLY not spoil until 2011, but it's really already begun.

SMELL: 3/10 ("Honey, how long has this leftover tuna been in the back of the fridge?")

I've never bought Spam before, so I didn't realize it comes out as one big cube. I guess I was a little naive to think it'd come out sliced or something, but the brick slamming against my decorative plate was a little unnerving and, again, reminded me of something I should feed to pets. The can dares you: "Ready to Eat - Cold or Hot!" But the clear, slimy film coating the block o' meat suggests disinfection may be in order.

APPEARANCE: 4/10 ("Fancy Feast!")

I decide that if I can't trust Hormel's Marketing department, I can't trust anyone. I dig in.

Holy hell. The film on the outside literally made me gag. I begin to wonder if this might have actually spoiled. The exterior is slightly tougher and must have picked up something from the metal of the can because it is absolutely tongue-scrubbing disgusting. I can feel the putrid pork juice clinging to my teeth and gums.

Once you start chewing, though, the Spam rind dissipates and you're left with a soft, meat-like texture and salty overtones that you could almost mistake for ham, assuming you're in a nuclear winter and it's been several years since you last had ham. Not my first choice for any protein source, but I could eat this if I had to. Although despite purchasing the "Low Sodium" variety I can already feel my heartbeat in my ears.

TASTE: 5/10 ("Peel and eat. Just like shrimp.")

I decided to use my remaining Spam in a more creative way. Anyone can just fry it up, and I doubt the average denizen of post-apocalyptic Los Angeles will have the time to roll a musubi, so I decided to make myself a Spam smoothie.

I loaded up my food processor but realized I needed something more than just "liquefied meat." I had to punch it up. I threw in some raisins, making sure to scream "BAM!" as I did so. I fired up the food processor and ... was immediately hit with the sound of grinding metal and the smell of burning plastic. After about two seconds of actual processing, the whirling blades shot craps. Spam, the most processed food of all time, had killed my food processor.

DURABILITY: 10/10 ("Adamantium claws are needed.")

I did have enough smoothie concoction for a taste test, though. And it wasn't bad. Not bad at all, actually. I might be on to something. It has the classic pairing of sweet and savory; the raisins actually balance the Spam nicely, and the texture was much more palatable than the slimy hunk of meat I'd chewed on earlier. I found my Spam-Raisin Smoothie to be by far the best Spam experience of my life.

SMOOTHIEABILITY: 8/10 ("I'm calling those Atkins people right now.")

Is Spam your fallout shelter's tastiest bet? I was just getting warmed up.

Next: Potted Meat! >>