Play It Again, Spam by Tamar Myers Read Free Book Online Page B

long, of course, seeing as how we are both wary of intimacy.
    "So what do you think of this group of English?" I asked when it was time for us to stop laughing. "They're not like that
    Hollywood crowd, are they?"
    "Yah, not the same." Freni sighed. No doubt she was thinking of Mel Gibson. She had never been to a movie, never even
    watched television, so she had no idea her precious Mel has been a killer on screen.
    Leaving well enough alone seems like a waste of potential to me. "Did you know that in the movie Braveheart your precious
    Mel hacked people to death with a sword?"
    "So did Moses and Joshua," Freni said, without batting an eye.
    I can stop and turn on a dime, if that means I get to pick it up. "Exactly, dear. So the fact that our guests may have blown a
    few German tanks into oblivion is no big deal, right?"
    "Ach!" She looked like Miss Muffet when she realized that not only was a there a spider beside her, but there had been one in
    her whey as well.
    "Give me a break, Freni. It's hard to imagine these gray-haired men as killers, isn't it?"
    She nodded reluctantly. "Yah, they're just old, like me. But they're very strange, Magdalena. Maybe they're spies."
    "Spies?"
    "Did you know they locked themselves in the parlor this morning?"
    "I gave them permission to use it, Freni. It's their conference room."
    "But they wouldn't even come out for lunch. I had to leave a tray outside the door!"
    Confidentially, that hiked my hackles as well. I'd had to run into Bedford to do some banking and had grabbed a bite there.
    But normally I eat with my guests, and the meals are at fixed times.
    "They'll come out for dinner," I growled. "And they'll be there on time, or they'll do without."
    Freni smiled approvingly. Our ancestors are Swiss, after all. We eat on time, we sleep on time, we even go to the bathroom
    on time. It was the good Lord who invented schedules when He created the world in six days, and it is our Christian duty to follow
    his example.
    "You go, girl," she said, demonstrating that I had hosted one too many Hollywood guests. "But I need you to do me a favor,
    Magdalena."
    I frowned. "I will not talk Barbara into giving her triplets up for adoption. You're too old to be their mother. I thought I made
    that perfectly clear the last time you brought it up."
    My kinswoman colored. "Ach, not that! I just need you to run to the market for me. I decided to serve this SPAM® luncheon
    meat for dinner."
    "But I just came back from town," I wailed. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"
    "I hadn't tasted it then, that's why. So, what do you want - fried calves liver or SPAM® Jambalaya?"
    That was a no-brainer, as Susannah is fond of saying. I high-tailed it off to Hernia in search of SPAM®.
     
    5
    SPAM® Jambalaya
    1 (12-ounce) can SPAM® Lite luncheon meat, cubed
    1 cup chopped onion
    2/3 cup chopped green bell pepper
    ½ cup chopped celery
    2 cloves garlic, minced
    1 (14 ½ ounce) can tomatoes, cut up
    1 (10 ¾ ounce) can lower-sodium chicken broth
    ½ teaspoon dried leaf thyme
    6 to 8 drops hot pepper sauce
    1 bay leaf
    1 cup long-grain rice
    2 tablespoons chopped parsley
     
    In large nonstick skillet or 3-quart nonstick saucepan, sauté SPAM®, onion, green pepper,
    celery, and garlic until vegetables are tender. Add tomatoes, chicken broth, thyme, hot pepper
    sauce, and bay leaf. Bring to a boil; stir in rice. Cover. Reduce heat and simmer 20 minutes or
    until rice is tender. Discard bay leaf. Sprinkle with parsley. Serves 6.
     
    NUTRITIONAL INFORMATION PER SERVING:
    Calories: 261; Protein 13g; Carbohydrate 32g; Fat 8g; Cholesterol 45mg; Sodium 850mg
     
    6
    Before high-tailing it into town I did the polite thing and checked on my guests in the parlor. Okay, so I didn't knock, but what's the
    big deal? It is my inn, after all. "You gentlemen need anything?" I asked graciously. Four elderly men stared at me, their
    expressions every bit as frozen as the figures on Mt. Rushmore.
    "You know, pencils, paper, breath mints"