Green Eggs and Spoiled Ham

As lady luck would have it, I recently became the recipient of a ham. Now this wasn’t just any ham, this was a special ham — a raffle ham. What is, you must be wondering, a raffle ham? Well, that’s a silly question. Are you stupid or something? Everybody already knows a raffle ham is any ham (or ham-like product) awarded to any individual participating in a raffle where ham is a door prize.

You might not realize this, but I’m a big fan of hams. Be they dry- or wet-cured, country or canned, shank or spiral-sliced, smoked, salty or sugared, bone in or out. From black forests to bradenhams, these things matter not to a true ham lover. I’ve tried ham so many ways that the only way left to try it is to take a bite out of a live pig. I’ve heard it’s delicious, but I don’t want worms.

But I like those exotic hams, too, from your traditional cottages to Smithfields. Why, I’ve even been known to enjoy an occasional picnic ham or two in my day, even though any ham connoisseur reading this already knows picnic hams don’t technically qualify as a member of the ham family per se.

However, I don’t like honey hams. The mere thought of honey repulses me. I will speak of this honey ham hatred no further. Let us move on.

So, this raffle ham I’m jabbering about has me in a pickle (which reminds me, pickled ham also tastes especially delectable). A few hours ago, I walked in the door and sat the ham on the countertop. One look in the freezer all but confirmed the fact I have nowhere to adequately preserve a ham without becoming a card-carrying member of the salmonella society.

The ham is still on the countertop at this very moment because I don’t think it will keep in the cupboard. It’s been on the countertop for going on three hours now. When I crane my neck around from where I write this now, I can see the ham from here. It’s rather unnerving and starting to make me feel paranoid. I could be wrong, but I think the raffle ham is watching me, and I swear I thought I saw it move on its own. Nevertheless, if I don’t make a decision soon, I should probably give it a name. I’m thinking of calling it Sam the Ham.

I know what you must be thinking: Why doesn’t this idiot just have ham for supper tonight? I suppose that would solve the raffle ham problem I’m having, but I’m not in the mood for some ham at the moment — much less an entire boneless ham that weighs 6 pounds. While I’m not exactly on a strict dietary regiment, I try not to consume more than 5 pounds of meat in one sitting. I don’t know many people who can pig-out and eat an entire ham themselves anyway, and I believe any doctor would agree that digesting a whole ham is ill-advised, if not potentially fatal.

This happens to me every time I win meat, which is surprisingly often believe it or not (it’s the second raffle ham that I’ve won this year). I never have a place to keep large chunks of meat. I almost wish hams were redeemable for cash, but mostly because it would give “bringing home the bacon” an all new meaning.

Great! Now my some of my cats are messing with the raffle ham. Hold on. All right, sorry about that. Sometimes I think my five cats enjoy ham more than I do. They tore the plastic a little bit, but I think Sam’s going to pull through if I jury-rig the contents of my freezer without something falling on my toe, including two other hams already crammed in there.

Too bad tomorrow isn’t Easter. Easter ham, problem solved. The problem is since the next ham holiday is Easter, I don’t think the ham can stay on the countertop for much longer without me getting a really bad case of tapeworms. And Christmas is way too far away — fugetaboutit. Come December, this thing is liable to be leather.

But in case you never hear from me again, just assume I ate the entire ham in one sitting. Heck, maybe with some green eggs, too. After all, I do so like green eggs and ham! Thank you! Thank you, Sam the Ham.

Enhanced by Zemanta

Chuck Briese, Oak Ridge Now

[avatar user="cbriese" size="thumbnail" align="left"] Chuck Briese has been a resident of South Montgomery County since 1988. He and his lovely and patient wife, Leslie, have six sons, with only one left to finish high school. Chuck has been a Cub Scout leader, a Little League baseball coach, a church youth leader, and a general troublemaker over the course of the past 25 years. He is obsessed with his lawn, and likes restaurants that serve food that fills up the plate. He has a tendency to tilt at windmills, which may explain why he started Oak Ridge Now.

More Posts - Website