. . . A NATIONAL TREASURE
Salty
and pungent, it has the appearance and consistency of axle grease, and smells
and tastes like no other food on earth. The few Americans who have tried this
British savory spread think it looks and tastes disgusting. Yet in Britain and
many of its former territories, despite its unappealing appearance, it’s held
in high esteem.
They
call it Marmite, and it would be true to say that it’s as much a national
institution as roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, or fish and chips. Babies love
it, usually spread on finger-size strips of toast that are, for some reason,
called 'soldiers', and kids take sandwiches spread with it to school in their
Spider Man lunchboxes. I recently dug up a whole collection of recipes using
the stuff. They include commonplace
snacks such as Marmite, Sausage and Baked Beans, Marmite and Hummus Crumpets,
Marmite and Carrot Soup, and also more ambitious if not exactly haute cuisine dishes like Marmite
Chicken, Marmite and Banana Grill and – no, I’m not making it up – Marmite and
Rice Crispies.
There's a
national affection for Marmite in Britain that Americans, especially the ones
who were brave enough to sample it, simply can’t fathom. Earlier this Year the New York Times quoted an American
literary agent who recalled, “In 1961, I was on the deck of the Queen Mary when
they came around with Marmite sandwiches. I literally gagged on one, and I
think I even threw it overboard.”
But to millions
of Britons the product’s very name conjures up homey scenes of winter teatimes
with the drapes (well, we call them curtains) drawn closed. They hear the rain
pelting down outside, see a roaring coal fire in the grate, and a plate of
Marmite sandwiches alongside the teapot with its floral tea cozy, and willow
pattern cups and saucers. Those with longer memories may recall breakfasts in
the kitchen with the nanny or a maid in their early years, dipping their
‘soldiers’ into soft-boiled eggs, while Daddy sat with Mummy in the dining room
and read The Daily Telegraph, tucking into tea and eggs and bacon.
The Australians have their own version of Marmite that
they call Vegemite. I once tried both in a blind tasting down-under, and
confess I couldn’t tell the difference.
Down there they’ll swear blind that there's no comparison between the
two, that Vegemite is the true product, and that Marmite is for the birds. The
Aussies eat their imitative version in much the same way as we Brits do our own
original product, and they regard it with equal respect.
Even at home on
its own hallowed ground, Marmite is not so sacred a national treasure that it’s
immune to a little caustic comment, even from the BBC. In a radio program this
year, a commentator dared to say that, “viscous in consistency, Marmite is
deceptively like crude oil in appearance. Indeed, this is what many would
believe it to be, were it not for its list of ingredients. After all, the main
ingredient in Marmite is spent brewers yeast. How on earth the inventor decided
that spreading fungus on a piece of toast may in fact taste quite nice is a
mystery. However, considering that it’s
a by-product of the fermentation of sugars into alcohol, one theory is that the
inventor was drunk, and that it probably seemed like the right thing to do at
the time."
But disregard
this beastly blasphemy. The important point is that Marmite tastes delicious
and that, more importantly, it’s so full of good things that it must be good
for you. Look at the ingredients listed on the little pot-bellied brown bottle:
yeast extract, vegetable extract, niacin, thiamin and salt, which means it
contains five kinds of B vitamins, including B12.
In wartime,
Marmite made an important contribution to preventing vitamin deficiency
diseases such as beri-beri among the armed forces, civilians and
prisoners-of-war, especially in Europe, North Africa and Asia.
A while ago,
along with the late Queen Mum’s, the makers of Marmite celebrated the spread’s
100th birthday amid a deluge of press coverage and hype that would
have astonished but gratified their long dead founders. At about the same time,
Britain’s once notorious insularity and standoffishness came to the fore when a
former government minister, Tony Banks, drew the anniversary to the attention
of his fellow members in the House of Commons. “We take intense satisfaction,”
Banks said, “from the essential Britishness of the product, and its lack of
appeal for the majority of the world’s population.”
All
right, then. We may no longer be a superpower, but you have to admit that we
can still tell a good thing when we see it.
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