Yul Brynner step aside. You lost your reign years ago. Indeed, on the day my father stepped onto your Siamese turf!

It all began in 1965 when Gene and Margaret McLaughlin, my parents, embarked upon a trip to Tokyo where I was living at the time. A couple who primarily traveled on their stomachs, they both felt they were already sufficiently initiated into the world of Asian foods for, after all, they had been eating canned Chung King Chow Mein for years. And in preparation for the trip, Gene had added another oriental delicacy to his menu — suki yaki, only he unintentionally pronounced it “suki yucki.” It was with unflinching hearts and this broad base of knowledge that they set out to meet The East, the far one. It would be the longest journey of their lives and Gene had readied himself to the fullest.

There is no question that preparedness was the core of my father’s being as he was both an Eagle Scout and a grocer. I grew up in a home on 10th Street, Northwest where, in addition to our grocery store on Main Street, we also had what looked like a fully stocked Mom and Pop grocery in our basement. As a child I thought it really was a store and wondered why we never had any customers. Then one day I realized the bountiful stash was meant as an emergency backup only for us!

Cans, boxes and jars of food were stacked on shelves going from floor to ceiling and encircling the walls. My family might miss out on everything else in this world, but it sure wouldn’t be dinner!

Of course Gene brought this very mindset into the packing of his suitcase, for ultimately they were headed for the outer edge of the world, a distant place where he was unsure of the plenitudinous of foodstuffs. To be sure, one half of his suitcase contained a neatly folded stack of his more becoming Austin fashions, but more importantly, the other half was dedicated to only food.

It was as if Gene expected famine to strike at any time and when it did, he and Margaret would not be affected. His laid-in stash of Hormel Vienna Sausages and Spam would see to that. And to make any threatening famine complete, he included boxes of crackers — a nice added touch to assure the trauma of it would be more festive … more like Happy Hour.

It mattered not a single iota that my folks would be staying with me, a loving daughter who would generously feed them three times a day — and then some — if it came to that. And to demonstrate my commitment, no time during their stay in Tokyo did any privation of food occur. And it must be further stated that not even when we decided to travel to Hong Kong did hunger strike. Gene was somehow — and on schedule — always fully fed, his Hormel products remaining securely intact in his suitcase.

It wasn’t until we added on a trip to Thailand that Gene began to see the folly of his cache. Really now, was there any point in continuing to lug around that heavy tin-can-laden suitcase, he pondered? By now it was clear that starvation was being held at bay and besides, once we returned to Tokyo (where his daughter had already demonstrated her commitment to their satiation), he’d soon be returning to Austin, the very breadbasket of food and a place where he could restock Vienna Sausages and Spam any old day of the week from his own grocery shelves!

On our last morning in Thailand, Dad awoke to the realization that things thus far had gone remarkably well, neither he nor Margaret never knowing even a moment of hunger-induced weakness. Perhaps it was time to release himself from his load. Thereby, he began to formulate a plan. While Mom and I slept, he bundled his Vienna sausages and Spam into a bag and tip-toeing out of our hotel, set off for the nearest market.

Even though Gene was a highly professional merchant he had never in his entire life purchased anything without actual money. Cash was the way his commercial world worked. But, now he wasn’t in Austin anymore. Instead he was in a place that was … well … different. Yes, he, Gene McLaughlin, was standing on the threshold of another marketing world: the World of Bartering.

Feeling edgy — as if a colony of ants were crawling up his legs — he entered the first shop he saw. On a shelf immediately to his right was a resplendent carved wooden elephant. Never having given much thought to carved wooden elephants — even the resplendent kind — he suddenly realized it was just the thing he needed to perk up his basement recreation room back in Austin. (It just showed you how a trip to Siam could get a fellow in the decorating mood!)

Picking up the large, bedazzling elephant, he carried it over to the counter laying down both it and his heavy laden bag while making sure to get the proprietor’s attention. Then reaching into his satchel, Gene dramatically pulled out a single can of Spam making certain the picture on the side of the can displayed its hammy contents. Next, like a seasoned stripper, Gene began tempting the man by very, very slowly pulling out a second can. Of course Dad knew how delectable the contents were, but did the Siamese?

Little did Dad know that Spam, that provocative pink palette of potted pork, was known and loved the world over. The owner took one look at the cans and negotiations — fierce, but friendly — began at once. Two bartered Spam cans later, Dad walked out of the shop with a big smile on his face and a large teak pachyderm under his arm!

With a skip now in his step (for this bartering business was fun!), Gene rejoiced that his Hormel stash was suddenly markedly lighter. Looking around him, his eyes were next drawn to a shop across the street. Brass cutlery! Within moments he owned a full set of fruit forks and hors d’oeuvre knives — and no Vienna sausages. Then, a mere fifteen minutes later, the remaining Spam cans had found a new home in a marble statue shop.

Oh, what a day! Oh, what deals! And what stories to tell at the next Austin Rotary meeting. Rock on, Gene!

That evening at three dinner tables across Bangkok, platters of Spam and Vienna sausages were eagerly devoured as three foxy merchants regaled their families with three different versions of how cleverly they had taken advantage of a lame-brained foreigner. Copiously they patted their own backs while laughing mockingly at the ignorant, pale-faced blockhead. What a schmuck he was to think that the value of these masterfully bartered, ambrosial, gourmet delicacies could be in the same monetary ball park as their paltry teak elephants, brass cutlery and marble statues.

As the same time Mom and I sat around our hotel table listening to Dad’s version of the same story. Copiously patting his own back, Dad boasted how wily he was in bamboozling those merchants with his own shrewd negotiating tactics. Heaven help those unsophisticated peasants who actually thought their rare, exquisite, one-of-a-kind handmade treasures were equal in value to his inexpensive, commonplace, ubiquitous canned meats. What smucks!

The good news is that as the men crowed and preened, the prowess of each was significantly elevated in the eyes of his wife and children, always a good thing. But, in the end it must be said that inasmuch as the three Thai families consumed their ordinary plebian meat products in one gulp, fifty years later I still have the ignorant American’s exquisitely carved teak elephant, lovely brass cutlery and captivating marble statue.

Who, indeed, was the fox?

Peggy Keener of Austin is the author of two books: “Potato In A Rice Bowl” and “Wondahful Mammaries.” Peggy Keener invites readers to share their memories with her by emailing pggyknr@yahoo.com. Memories shared with Keener may be shared or referenced in subsequent editions of “Full Circle.”