Flat and seemingly endless farmland gives way to the rustic town of Austin, Minn., population 24,800, just north of the Iowa border.

The sign near the freeway off­ramp says, "Where Hawaiians go for vacation. Exit Now! Spam Museum."

We obey.

Just off Main Street, near a bend in the lazy Cedar River, rises a brick-and-mortar monument to one of mankind’s most versatile foods, long a staple in the islands: Spam. The 16,500-square-foot Spam Museum is particularly popular among visitors from Hawaii, the state that boasts the highest per capita consumption of the meat at more than 7 million cans per year.

Every now and then, says Jim Larson, one of our docents or "Spambassadors," a tour bus will roll up and unleash dozens of Hawaii tourists, many with a list of must-haves.

"They enjoy the museum a lot," says Larson. "They buy things in the gift shop. And everybody has to have a Spam T-shirt, of course. Sometimes they’ll come with a list from friends that want something from the gift shop."

The free tour begins with a glance up at the Great Wall of Spam, just above the entryway, made from 3,500 cans.

Factoid: This wall could feed an individual for 10 years, assuming he ate only Spam, a prospect too stark to fully imagine. (And assuming the person survived the full 10 years.)

The museum’s 42-seat theater offers a short film, "Spam: A Love Story," on the history of Spam, created by Jay Hormel, son of George Hormel, who founded the company here in Austin in 1891.

The company initially specialized in fresh pork products statewide, but Hormel began to expand nationally and even internationally in 1910. At the heart of its distribution were a fleet of "sausage trucks" driven by salesmen, which gave them wider access and more flexibility than shipments by rail.

The year 1926 brought the world’s first canned ham.

The next year Jay Hormel, known for his innovative thinking, took over daily operations of the company and by 1935 had developed Dinty Moore beef stew and Hormel chili.

Then, in 1937, came Spam, a blend of pork shoulder and ham, water, salt and sodium nitrate as a preservative.

The canned product was almost instantly popular, but it was World War II that really saw Spam skyrocket.

"During World War II, of course, I ate my share of SPAM along with millions of other soldiers," former allied commander (and President) Dwight Eisenhower wrote to Hormel in 1966 as the company marked its 75th anniversary. "I’ll even confess to a few unkind words about it — uttered during the strain of battle, you understand. But as former Commander in Chief, I believe I can still officially forgive you your only sin: sending us so much of it."

The letter is on prominent display next to a nearly full-size cutout of Ike in his Army uniform.

After the war, troops brought their tastes home to Hawaii, where the craze remains alive today.

Chef Sam Choy’s Spam Musubi is one of five recipes featured at the museum, along with Spam Fritters from Great Britain, Goya Champlu from Japan, Kimchi-Junghol from Korea and Barbecued Queensland Steak and Marinated Spam Classic with Tropical Fruit Sauce from Australia.

In a short video, Choy shows how to prepare his musubi with furikake-seasoned white rice and sweet ginger sesame sauce.

The museum also describes the evolution of Spam cans — they once had their own opener — and marketing, from the Hormel Girls, a traveling troupe of 60 female entertainers launched in 1949, to radio pitches by George Burns and Gracie Allen.

In 1959 Spam made the cover of Life Magazine as the company produced its 1 billionth can.

Then, in 1970, Monty Python took on Spam, portraying it as inescapable in a sketch set in a greasy-spoon diner. That association led to the term "spam" for unwanted email.

The three-minute, 30-second sketch is shown repeatedly, in fact endlessly, at the museum.

The last stop, naturally, is the gift shop, where you can buy clothing, hats, slippers, oven mitts and a wide array of other items emblazoned with the Spam logo.

One of the more popular items: an air-freshener bob that hangs from your rearview mirror. Sales have been hot, says the staff, since one was used as a prop on an episode of "Hawaii Five-0."

The tour, taken by 100,000 people a year from every state and overseas, is a pleasant experience for a number of reasons. You can make it as long or as short as you want. The, ahem, pro-pig-anda never takes itself too seriously.

And the staff seems to enjoy what they do.

"It’s fun," says Spambassador Julie Stevenson, a former nursing home administrator who puts in one day a week. "You meet tons and tons and tons of people."