"SPAM? Are you freaking kidding me, Dixon? I'd rather suck quarters out of an old man's ass!" * Yeah, I hear ya. Well, you're wrong, my friends. Consider this your permission slip to not only purchase a can (or four) of the tasty, beautifully pressed loaf of hog parts unknown, but delight in the consumption of it, MSG and God-know's-what else, be damned. I re-discovered this American delicacy on a pilgrimage to the SPAM Museum in Austin, MN back in 2003. My college roommate Mickey & I were returning to Des Moines from attending a wedding in Wisconsin, and saw the signs as we made our way west down Interstate 90 in southeast Minnesota. We determined instantly that this was a must-see. From then on, I vowed that I would never again frown upon the regular (yet in moderation, of course) consumption of this feigned food. It was a typical weeknight, with no real plan in place for a quick dinner. A scan of the cupboards can usually yield some sort of "Iron ...