East meets west

After all the elk and moose in dark and spicy ginger sauces, special-cooked General's Chicken, lo mein, fish soup, duck head soup, all the fantastic employee meals, today's was off-brand processed lunch meat.
Not to be elitist--I'm a big fan of, say, Spam in bean stews, or baked in a frittata, but this was no such thing.

At the bottom of the cooker, grains of rice meld solid and turn into paddle-sized ridges on a plate. It's exciting to use the nice plates because it looks like dragons chase each other around once-rice mountains.
Now, instead of a nice, saucy wok-load of something complex and full of complementary contrasting colors and textures running through the valleys--I really dig playing god with such platescapes--picture slabs of Spam, wok-fried to golden brown, unadulterated by sauce or vegetables, flopped awkwardly over the rice valleys like the not-yet dead trying to fall off a cart.

Here's the question: if Spam is wok-fried in residual soybean oil, served on rice, and eaten with chopsticks, is it Chinese food?

Question the second: why is a salmon eyesocket an hour after wakeup easier to eat than a can of thick-sliced generic processed lunch meat? (Really: an entire can, all for me.)

And when I say that I ate the entire damn thing, is it with pride, amazement, shame, or should I invent a Chinese caligraphic figure to represent the holistic experience?