A few days ago, I was scrolling through TikTok looking for #DinnerInspo and stopped on an 'easy and delicious' recipe with 2.2 million hits. It did look tempting: crispy fried rice, sticky gochujang sauce, and a gooey fried egg. The star of the dish? Generous hunks of crispy, fried meat — specifically, Gen Z's new favourite protein: Spam.
Take a look at TikTok and you'll find thousands of recipes built around the iconic tinned meat. We're not talking Spam sandwiches (WW2 vibes), but honey and soy Spam, spicy Spam ramen, and 'sexy' grated Spam crisped up in the air fryer. One post with 18.7 million views celebrates the 'delicacy' that is Spam musubi (basically, Spam sushi). TikToker Cassie Yeung, 32, describes her feed as 'a safe space for Spam lovers' and in one video says, 'it might look crazy in the can, but it's delicious'.
Until recently, my main experience with Spam was balking at the blue and yellow tins in the supermarket aisle. I didn't even know what it was, and the more I googled, the more confused I became. According to Wikipedia, 'Spam's main ingredient is a mixture of pork and ham, with salt, water, modified potato starch (as a binder), sugar and sodium nitrite (as a preservative).' Unlike most meat, it doesn't need to be refrigerated because it's thoroughly pre-cooked and vacuum-packed. This raised three questions: 1. Aren't pork and ham the same thing? 2. How do you vacuum-pack meat? and 3. Why would anybody voluntarily eat it?
Apparently, it's because the slimy, aspic-coated meat contains heaps of the only thing that excites Gen Z more than protests and matcha: protein. A 340g tin packs in 42 grams of it — roughly the same as seven eggs — making it catnip for anyone who has ever said the word 'macros' unironically. There's also the price: at £3.50 a tin, it's among the cheapest meat options going. Thanks to this, in 2025 Waitrose reported that sales rose by 48 per cent, while maker Hormel shifts a tin every 12 seconds globally. Dietitian Charlotte Foster agrees that the main driver is Gen Z's obsession with budget-friendly protein. 'We're seeing a huge rise in high-protein messaging across social media,' she says, 'particularly within fitness communities, and younger consumers are actively seeking out quick, affordable ways to increase their intake.' She also notes that canned meat is 'easy to eat on the go' — though I'd argue watching someone crack open a tin of Spam on the Tube would be sufficient grounds for moving carriages, or possibly countries.
There is bad news for Spam fans, however. As Foster points out: 'Many processed meats — including products like Spam — are typically high in salt and saturated fat and have been linked to an increased risk of certain cancers.' A 50g serving contains 6g saturated fat, around a third of the recommended daily intake for women, as well as 34 per cent of your salt allowance. So you might be winning at protein — but you're losing spectacularly at, well, everything else.
That doesn't seem to bother the restaurateurs cashing in on the Spam revival. At Huli Huli in Greenwich there's a Hawaiian Spam burger for £8.25, topped with melted cheese, crispy onions, and smoky bacon (not sure that's helping with the salt situation). Filipino spot Spoon & Rice is known for its £7.50 Spamdesal: thick layers of Spam and egg on a traditional sweet breakfast roll. The Queen's Larder in Bloomsbury, meanwhile, has become a tourist hotspot for its Spam fritters, deep-fried in golden batter and served with chips and beans. Per TripAdvisor reviews, they're the 'absolute perfect lunch'.
Now, I am nothing if not susceptible to social-media brainwashing, which is how I found myself buying a tin at my local Sainsbury's. My boyfriend and I eyed it suspiciously. It looked indistinguishable from the Lily's Kitchen Classic Wet Meat tins my dogs eat — and, honestly, the mucus-like jelly coating didn't get me going. Appearances did not deceive. Even chopped up and doused in soy sauce, it tasted like ground-up bacon that someone had regurgitated back on to the plate.
Let's face it, there are already enough bad things about living in 2026 without us needing to import the worst bits of 1946, too. And all those influencers claiming that Spam's delicious? In my opinion, they're hamming it up.
