Crispy Spam fritters, a fried egg with a perfectly runny yolk, big fat chips and (Heinz) baked beans embellished with HP sauce. On the side, a pile of liberally buttered super fresh squishy white bread. Before last night I had had Spam once before in my life, and both times, it made me feel dirty in the glorious, naughty and satisfied way that junk food does. On a dark Autumnal evening where it's constantly on the cusp of a downpour, greasy and convenient comfort food really hits the spot.
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