They Call Me Hamela

Usually Nina makes the Easter Dinner but this year I was in charge.

“How does ham sound?” I asked the troops.

“We don’t like ham,” was the general consensus.

What I heard was, “Ham sounds great!”

Since we had 10 people coming for Easter, I bought a 20-pound ham.

Two pounds per person sounds about right.

Remember, my family LOVES ham.

Which is why it was so puzzling, when at Easter dinner, hardly anyone touched the ham.

And mind you, it was a fine Costco Ham, prepared perfectly.

I even remembered to remove the plastic ham thumbtack.

“Have more ham!” I said, passing around some slabs.

“Mom, we’ve already told you,” my daughter Parker said. “We don’t like ham.”

Well, this is the first I’m hearing of this.

Also, there’s something wrong with my family.

EVERYBODY LOVES HAM!

That’s why I doubled down and served ham to our friends, who were visiting a few days later.

Nothing says, “I love you,” like a pile of reheated ham.

“I hope everyone’s hungry,” I announced, pulling the ham out of the oven.

“I’m going to be honest,” our friend Victor said, eyeing the mound of meat. “We don’t really like ham.”

Hmmm.

When I had texted his wife, Juliana, that we were having ham, she had replied, “Great.”

Was she just being polite?

Or maybe she meant “Great,” the way Wordle says “Great” when it takes me five tries.

“I have a pineapple glaze to go with the ham,” I added. 

Silence.

“Ham AND pineapple glaze!” I said louder.

Nothing.

It’s not like I expected “oohs” and “ahhs.”

A smattering of applause would have been nice.

Steve sighed and took the pan from me.

He gave Victor a “My-Wife-Has-A-Ham-Problem” look.

You know the look.

The ham was put away, we ordered a pizza, and everyone was happy.

Except me.

But if you think I let those ham haters stop me, you’re crazy.

I was not giving up on that hunk of ham.

Quiches, scrambles, soups.

So many fun ways to integrate ham!

I handed Steve a smoothie.

He eyed the glass. “Strawberries?” 

I shrugged. “Sure.”

And when I wasn’t cooking ham, I was talking about ham.

You haven’t lived until you’ve attended my “Hooray for Ham!” Seminar. 

Of course, this resulted in my family giving me nicknames such as Hamelot, MC Hammer, and Hamela Lee Anderson.

But then last week, I opened the refrigerator, and discovered a Hamtastrophe!

That big beautiful slab of nitrates…

Gone!

“Who took my ham?” I yelled.

The Hamburglars were silent.

“Fine,” I said, folding my arms. “I WAS going to make you all Hamsicles…”

They left the room.

“Good luck keeping your sodium levels up!” I called out.

Then, two weeks later, I had an epiphany…

EVERYBODY HATES HAM!

My apologies to my family and friends. 

I may have gone a little overboard and said some things I regret.

(It was the ham talking.)

The good news is now you don’t have to be afraid to come over for dinner.

We are a ham-free home!

Until next Easter.