My time with the 'Man'
A sodium-laden relationship with canned food recipes
By Ling Ma
Published: June 18th, 2004 | 2:42pm
It was love at first sight.
I was lured by the silent, broad-shouldered demeanor, the come-hither cardboard pages, and the readily accessible illustrations of ingredients. I took it home, got out my can opener, and tried it out right then and there in my kitchen.
Before I write any further, introductions first: The name was A Man, a Can, a Plan, a cookbook affiliated with Men’s Health magazine composed of recipes relying primarily on canned products, the premise being that for men who don’t know how to cook — especially young and single ones — now they can make delicious meals with relative low-maintenance ease.
The directions are straightforward, the ingredients mostly stuff you can find in your local grocery store, and, as a plus, the easy-wipe pages are impervious to any stains. It has been somewhat of a culinary phenomenon, presumably popular enough to spawn not one, but two variations: A Man, a Can, a Grill and A Man, a Can, a Microwave, the latter of which came out early 2004.
There were, of course, signs indicating that the relationship was doomed from the start. To begin with, I was resentful as hell that the formal demographic is aimed at men. I’m not trying to do a one-upmanship of who has the lowest culinary standards; just an appeal for a more explicit consideration of the fact that I’m a young, single female and my culinary creations have been as barbaric and clueless as the next Joe Schmo’s, if not even more so (boiled-then-refried ramen noodles, anyone?).
Some might have argued that for whatever reason, I was simply not cut out for the match. As I'm browsing the book on a crowded bus, the middle-aged man next to me begins to confide boastfully about his own low-maintenance recipe involving frozen vegetables and beef. I laugh and we keep up a light chit-chat, but when I explain that I’m also doing this as an assignment, his voice is suddenly crestfallen, like he’s revealed his secret to the wrong person. “Oh,” he says, as if implying that I don’t deserve to be with such an industrious, smart, resourceful entity. We sit through the rest of the bus ride awkwardly. On that somber note, I get off the bus. Ceremoniously and with great solemnity, I take out the can opener from my kitchen drawer and begin what becomes a five-day, whirlwind relationship.
The following is an account of that relationship.
Day one: ’50s-Style Creamed Chicken
Ingredients: can of reduced-fat mushroom soup, can of chicken, can of sliced mushrooms, fat-free sour cream, yolkless egg noodles, onion, olive oil
It was a tentative beginning. This being my first foray into the canned specialty recipes, I chose something I thought was not too hard, not too easy. While being pleasantly surprised that canned chicken actually tastes like chicken, the texture of the cream sauce had a real supple creaminess that I initially found beguiling — “Wow! It looks so rich and creamy!” — but ultimately disturbing. I should have figured this out, since this dish involved both cream of mushroom soup and sour cream. A few bites into the meal, I had the vague sensation of, ahem, regretful over-lubrication.
Tastiness: * (out of four)
Day two: Drunken Corn
Ingredients: can of corn with peppers, beer, butter
Taking advantage of the five-month-old can of Old Style an ex left in the fridge, I made this recipe as a late-night snack, and was wooed by its very simplicity and its nostalgic nature. It tasted like something that came out of the mythologized American West, to be cooked over an outdoors fire after a hard day of driving the cattle. The sweetness of the corn complemented the bitterness and sourness of the beer, while the butter softened whatever rough edges left from the beer. I took the liberty of adding a pinch of freshly ground pepper. Overall, a modestly sweet and nostalgic meal.
Tastiness: ***
Day three: SpaghettiO Western
Ingredients: two cans of SpaghettiOs, can of black beans, shredded cheese, two green onions, chili powder
So I got out all the ingredients, followed all the instructions, and, in great anticipation, slurped up the first spoonful. It tasted like … SpaghettiOs. I mean, OK, maybe with onions and black beans added, but undeniably SpaghettiOs nevertheless. Which backs up the hypothesis that really, whatever you do, there is no way to glorify this childhood staple. Although admittedly the dish does taste all the more delicious after reading the accompanying helpful tip pointing out that the tomato puree found in SpaghettiOs includes “a phytochemical that may help reduce your prostate-cancer risk by up to 40%.” Super.
Tastiness: ** (unless you really, really like SpaghettiOs)
Day four: Black-Jack Quesadillas
Ingredients: can of black beans, jar of green chiles, salsa, tortillas, shredded cheese, dried oregano
There’s not much to say about this dish. It had a reassuring comfort-food quality about it: the cheesiness of the mix juxtaposed with the spiciness of the salsa was pretty nice, just as the softness of the beans and cheese mixture struck up a balance with the crispy, warmed-up tortilla. Mostly, though, it was pretty bland and made for an anticlimactic evening. See, when I actually invest in eating beans, I want it to be worth it. This wasn’t, but it wasn’t not worth it either.
Tastiness: **
Day five: Pig In a Pinwheel
Ingredients: can of ham, two cans of refrigerated crescent-roll dough, reduced-fat cream cheese, chopped onion, dried oregano
I had put off the canned ham and doing the dishes for as long as possible, and now it was inevitable that I had to do a canned ham recipe involving the last clean pan I had: the baking pan. My reaction to the canned ham was strikingly identical to the canned chicken: I was also pleasantly surprised to find that it tasted like chicken. Although they were supposed to be in the shape of pinwheels, my pastries were actually crescents, since I couldn’t figure out (the crescent-roll dough came in triangular shapes) what was referred to as the “rectangles.” So the shape was all wrong, but the taste was all there. This dish was sooooo delicious and sooooo disgusting — it was the whole ham-and-cream-cheese mixture — and while you might think that’s a contradictory thing, it was one of those rare cases when the deliciousness is actually quite reciprocal to the disgustingness of the dish. I ate four of these pastries, and regretted it much later. But, of course, that was by default of gluttony, and is not a devaluation, but a celebration, of this recipe’s fine merits.
Tastiness: ****
I’ll conclude with an interesting story.
As a testament to the amazing longevity of the canned product, the cookbook cites the story of Sir William Edward Parry’s can of veal, which had remained unopened since the 1820s. After being opened more than a century later in 1938, the contents were analyzed by scientist who found the veal to be “intact both physically and nutritionally. The veal was then fed to a cat, who had no complaints.” Although I know I’m supposed to ooh and ahh at the versatility of the canned product here, the anecdote doesn’t so much amaze me as it disturbs me.
The past five days, however, have been an exercise in the simultaneity of amazement and repulsion. Just like at the end of any relationship, the qualities I initially found attractive about A Man, a Can, a Plan eventually evolved into qualities I found repulsive. Like, for example, the easy-wipe cardboard pages stick together if you don’t wipe them. Huh, who would’ve thought. And that the brand-specific illustrations of ingredients, which I thought would be helpful in identifying products in the grocery store, I came to know as tactless product placement. And that since many ingredients are proportioned in cans, most of the recipes serve more than just one or two people, which means a lot of fridge storage space. And geez, who needs that inconvenience in life?
The experience was a bit more high-maintenance than I needed. Not to mention that the recipes in general are things any resourceful girl could figure out off the top of her head when she’s too lazy to go out or too poor to buy stuff.
Yes, it was love at first sight, but I should have recognized the relationship was doomed. Just like with any guy, I’ve eventually figured out how to do it better myself.
Issue #24
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