Even though you’re growing up, you should never stop having fun.
~Nina Dobrev
For about thirty years, our family has had a love/hate relationship with a culinary wonder known as Potted Meat Product. One can find it in the Spam and Vienna sausage section of the supermarket. The ingredients appear to be meat by-products and various animal parts.
In my family, Potted Meat Product, known as PMP, became the proverbial fruitcake — the gift that keeps on being re-gifted. In the early years of our PMP days, this little can would be disguised under the Christmas tree, wrapped exquisitely as though it was an item of great desire, a package that made us wonder what treasure lay within. It has been festooned with ribbons and hung on the tree as an ornament until it was noticed. It was also found in Easter baskets, under chocolate bunnies and Cadbury eggs. Birthdays were not complete without a PMP sighting, disguised in socks or underwear.
The (un)lucky recipient of the can of PMP was then charged with passing it on to the next unsuspecting family member. We were always aware that the PMP would rear its ugly head at some point in the festivities. The burning questions were: Who would get stuck with the PMP? Which package would it be hidden in?
PMP could be wrapped in a series of smaller boxes inside a big box. It could be hidden inside a Crock-Pot or a new backpack. But as the teenage years came around, the stakes got higher. My older son, Jeff, and I were determined to outdo each other in the PMP Pass-Off.
Being a rookie at creativity and technology, I settled for inserting a can of Potted Meat Product in the center of Jeff’s birthday cake. Angel food cake is especially good for this purpose.
Jeff, much more technically advanced than I was, strung up a very elaborate pulley system in my bathroom. When I opened the door, the pulley system lowered the PMP down over the toilet. We had mirrored walls in the bathroom. As I walked in, it appeared that there was PMP everywhere being lowered on pulleys, a frightening scene indeed. I screamed.
But I was not to be outdone.
I gave the PMP to a friend of Jeff’s. Their class was flying to Washington, D.C. for a field trip, and she agreed to have the flight attendant serve it to Jeff as his lunch aboard the plane. Unfortunately, she forgot. She did, however, ask her dad to take the PMP with him on a business trip, and he mailed it back to Jeff from Chicago. Nice touch!
Another of my brilliant plans deserves mention. One of the secretaries from the guidance office at Jeff’s school was in my bowling league. I enlisted her help and passed off the PMP to her during bowling one night. The next day, Jeff was called out of chemistry class to report to the office, causing some concern on his part and a bit of teasing from the class.
He hurried to the office at the other end of campus and was handed the PMP. He was pretty annoyed to have to walk all the way back to class and face the curiosity of the other students. Unfortunately, it was a short-lived victory. By the time I left work and got to my car, Jeff had walked from his school to my car and rigged up the PMP to my steering wheel. There it sat taunting and waiting for me.
One day, the three of us went for ice cream. As I got out of the car, I noticed some trash on the ground. Unbelievably, there was an open can of PMP among it. It had a plastic spoon in it, and a bite of the PMP was missing from the can. To this day, my boys think I arranged for it to be there, that perhaps I staged that PMP for them to see.
Over the years, our PMP days have slowed down a bit. Every once in a while, it makes a rare appearance. Not too long ago, my husband and I slipped it in an overnight bag to put it in my son’s car as he and his wife left to go home after a visit with us. Unfortunately, they became suspicious and discovered the PMP before they drove out of the driveway. He put the car in reverse, stuffed the PMP in our mailbox, and roared off.
In all these years, we never opened up the can of PMP. I think we were afraid to after all the years of passing it back and forth.
The can of Potted Meat Product is currently residing in my kitchen cabinet. I am waiting for that perfect opportunity to pass it off to an unsuspecting family member. The glory of the deed is short-lived. Once it leaves my hand, I know the PMP will be back to darken my doorstep before long.
~Jeanne Kraus
