How Spam took over Asia—and why we’re all the better for it
In 1937, American food producer Hormel Foods introduced Spam, a shelf-stable blend of pork shoulder and ham stuffed in a tin can designed to move surplus meat. It was an unlikely invention destined for ubiquity. When World War II began, the United States government purchased millions of pounds of Spam to feed Allied troops, turning it into a military staple. Its durability and lack of refrigeration made it ideal for deployment, and soon, tins of Spam were travelling wherever American soldiers went, from the Pacific, into the Philippines, across Korea and later into Japan.
As the war and subsequent conflicts reshaped the map of Asia, Spam became an uninvited guest that never left. Local populations, first exposed to the canned meat through military distribution, began adapting it into their own food cultures. What started as a wartime necessity evolved into a culinary identity, a humble tin of meat that found itself at the intersection of hunger, innovation and nostalgia.
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In South Korea, Spam went from a food scarcity solution to a sophisticated comfort food
Spam adds a touch of umami to one-pot noodles (Photo: Instagram / @bayarea.foodies)
No country embraced Spam more fervently—or creatively—than South Korea. The devastation of the Korean War in the early 1950s left the country with severe food shortages and little access to fresh meat. Near US army bases, enterprising locals began to barter for rations or scavenge surplus canned goods, such as sausages, beans and especially Spam. Out of this mix of desperation and ingenuity came one of Korea’s most iconic dishes: budae jjigae or Army Base Stew.
The dish combined the foreign with the familiar: slices of Spam and hot dogs simmered alongside kimchi, tofu and gochujang in a bubbling, spicy broth. What began as survival food evolved into a beloved comfort dish, emblematic of resilience. Today, budae jjigae is served in restaurants nationwide, often as a communal, convivial experience. Rather a far cry from its postwar origins.
In modern Korea, Spam occupies an entirely different social space. Once smuggled or bartered, it is now sold in sleek, gold-trimmed gift boxes, considered an appropriate and even luxurious present during holidays like Chuseok (Korean Thanksgiving) and Seolnal (Lunar New Year). Spam, improbably, became a symbol of prosperity.
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In the Philippines, Spam is an everyday staple and a cultural icon
Spam has been embraced by Filipinos and even included in their favourite breakfast format: silog (Photo: Kenneth Surillo / Pexels)
The Philippines, meanwhile, had a head start. American military bases had long dotted the archipelago, and Spam had been part of the local diet since World War II. Introduced first through rations, the canned meat quickly found favour for its convenience, shelf stability and the savoury-salty flavour that suited the Filipino palate. In a country where refrigeration was unreliable and imported meat expensive, Spam was not just food; it was a practical solution.
Over time, Filipinos made it their own. The now-iconic spamsilog—fried Spam served with sinangag, or garlic rice, and itlog, which is egg—became a breakfast classic across generations and income levels. Like many culinary imports, Spam was Filipinised: enjoyed at home, served in cafeterias and reinvented by chefs who have since introduced gourmet and local variants like a tocino variety. What began as a colonial hand-me-down has become an emblem of everyday comfort, celebrated with the same affection as adobo or longganisa.
How Spam found its footing in Hong Kong
Hong Kong gives extra oomph to noodles with a few slices of Spam (Photo: Kent Ng/Pexels)
In Hong Kong’s cha chaan tengs, Spam isn’t kitsch; it’s comfort. Born from postwar scarcity and British colonial imports, canned luncheon meat became a mainstay of the Hong Kong breakfast set, often fried crisp and served with softly scrambled or a sunny side-up egg, with instant noodles or in a sandwich, and washed down with milk tea. The salty, fatty richness of Spam fit neatly into Hong Kong’s taste for bold contrasts and quick pleasures.
Today, whether you’re at Australia Dairy Company or a Kowloon backstreet café, the Spam-and-egg combo endures as a nostalgic shorthand for the city’s working-class grit and culinary adaptability.
The Okinawan love story with Spam
Spam musubi is a perfect demonstration of culinary acclimatisation (Photo: Jamie Saw/Pexels)
Japan is often associated with Spam musubi, a slice of grilled Spam atop rice, wrapped with nori, but it is actually a Hawaiian creation. Similar to the Philippines, Spam became a household name in the Aloha State through the US military presence during World War II. The local adaptation, Spam musubi, reflects a seamless blend of Japanese and American influences, and today it’s as ubiquitous in Honolulu as poke bowls.
Japan has its own Spam culture. Spam’s Japanese chapter unfolds in Okinawa, where American military presence after World War II left both cultural and culinary imprints. Locals, initially wary of this mysterious pink meat, soon found ways to make it their own, combining it with tofu, egg and bitter melon in the now-iconic Goya Chanpurū, a hearty stir-fry that remains a cornerstone of Okinawan home cooking.
The legacy of this classic canned good
Nearly 90 years after its invention, Spam remains a culinary paradox: all at once humble and prestigious, nostalgic and modern. Its journey across Asia illustrates the strange alchemy of food culture: how something born from military logistics could become a cultural mainstay, even a symbol of identity. In Seoul, a deluxe Spam gift set can cost upward of US$75. In Manila, limited-edition flavours sell out instantly. Across Asia, chefs have begun reimagining Spam with the same reverence they give heritage ingredients, grilling it, glazing it and plating it alongside artisanal rice and house-made pickles.
Spam’s story, then, isn’t just about canned meat. It’s about adaptability, cultural synthesis and how food travels—not by marketing, but by migration, survival and taste. When you bite into a slice of spamsilog or spoon up bubbling budae jjigae, you’re tasting history: a recipe forged from shortage, sustained by memory and celebrated by generations who made it their own.
Why Spam is a cultural fit in Asia
Spam’s success in Asia isn’t just a matter of exposure. It’s a story of adaptation. Its flavour profile—salty, umami-rich, slightly fatty—dovetailed neatly with Asian tastes that already prized intensity and balance. Korean and Filipino cooks didn’t just adopt Spam; they gave it context. In Korea, it became an ingredient of spice and heat, a meaty anchor in soups and stews. In the Philippines, it was fried crisp, served with rice and vinegar, its savoriness cut by acid and starch. What was once wartime rations transformed into comfort food through cultural intuition.
But flavour isn’t the whole story. Spam’s staying power speaks to its symbolic heft, a product born of scarcity that became associated with resilience and even aspiration. In postwar Korea, Spam represented access to American abundance. In the Philippines, it signified modernity and connection to the global. Asian culture just managed to turn necessity into creativity.
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