It's amazing what you can do with an open mind and a ham can. Wahy, you might even...

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Before I explain the particulars on how you can build your very own playable, attractive, almost-one-of-a-kind mandolin out of a ham can (I call it a hamdolin, naturally), I'd like to tell you how I came to tackle such an unlikely project in the first place.

Five or six years ago, I was rooting around in a wrecking yard near my home, searching amidst a sea of abandoned cars for an exhaust manifold for my old Dodge van. Call it fate (or just outright compulsive curiosity), but for some reason I happened to peer through the window of an old truck, and I spotted two empty ham cans sitting peacefully on the seat.

Well, right off, those pear-shaped tins reminded me of mandolins (we musicians tend to see music in almost everything), and that got me to thinking about the banjo-like instrument I'd once made out of a plastic milk jug, and that got me to cogitating on the possibilities presented by the pair of lonely-looking castoffs on the seat of the truck. Hmmmmm . . .

I left the junkyard that day with an exhaust manifold . . . and two adopted ham cans.

Of course, inspiration is one thing, and motivation is another. Since the manifold meant mobility, I installed it right away. But I only recently, as a result of an unanticipated burst of energy, picked up one of the containers I'd rescued, brushed at least five years' worth of dust off it, and decided maybe it was time to make a mandolin.

Not being one to do things the easy way (which in this case would've been to walk into a store and buy a mandolin, or at least the parts for one), I also figured I'd saddle myself with a small handicap. I'd do this thing strictly on the cheap, and I'd stick to a design that anybody with some ingenuity, a ham can, and access to a hardware store could more or less duplicate. I wouldn't spoil my concept by relying on fancy woodworking tools, either. I'd make do with whatever humble implements I had on hand.

In other words, I didn't build my hamdolin so much as I improvised it. That's why, instead of giving you step-by-step instructions for this project, I'm just going to tell you how I put mine together, to give you the general drift of the way it was constructed. Then you can let your own ideas run wild, based on whatever tools and materials you have. This is in the finest tradition of hamdolin makers everywhere. What we lack in tangible resources, we make up for in wit, cunning, and a sense of the charming absurdity of our art.

Ready? Here goes.

THE BODY

Obviously, the ham can saved me the work of building a body for the instrument. When it came to choosing which can to use for my hamdolin, I selected the three-pound-size Wilson Masterpiece brand, which appealed to me because the name was close enough to Gibson Mastertone (a classic mandolin) to invite comparison. My choice had other alluring attributes, too: Cooking directions were printed on the side, so while I practiced I could read how to bake, glaze, broil, skillet-grill, and barbecue. It was nice to know, too, that my instrument would be "boneless and fully cooked," and that satisfaction was guaranteed. And I figured I wouldn't have to worry about anyone walking up to me, pointing at my instrument, and asking, "What's that," since the can is clearly labeled and even carries its original price sticker. There is beauty in the unambiguity of an instrument made from a ham can.