Birthday Marmite

It felt like the right time to give Marmite another go. I get asked about my feelings for this slick salty mess fairly often and I generally say that I simply don't know, that it's been a while since I tried it.

In truth I always assumed that I hated it, but as it last touched my tongue many, many years ago, there was always a chance that my taste buds had matured (or deadened) and would now accept this condiment. So to be sure, I had an early morning fling with Marmite once again in recognition of a special day.

Today is my stepmother's birthday and she was the person who first brought Marmite into my life. My stepmother is made from strong stuff and generally starts the day with a potent smear of something smelly on hot toast. Marmite, anchovette, stinky cheese.  She is not one for fruit cascading delicately over granola. That's a breakfast for those of us who are weak in the morning. For those of us who would probably choose to survive on cake alone before 11 am. I've had cake and fruit for breakfast twice this week already. 

But I can be tough now and then, especially when it reminds me of home and of a person I miss.

This is what I prepared for myself this morning:

It's a deconstructed cheese and marmite toasted sandwich (obviously).  It was important to have two halves because I needed a safe space to run to in the event of a Marmite apocalypse in my mouth. I needed to have some strong cheddar (one of my oldest friends) within close biting distance.

What you can't see in this picture are the deep pools of butter that the Marmite is resting on. This was the key, my British friends told me, of gradual Marmite acceptance. A great deal of butter and a thin smear of Marmite. The ratio can then slowly balance as you become accustomed to ingesting black sodium paste.

What you can see is Marmite's little trick of looking like chocolate spread. Asshole.

Before I tell you how I felt about this breakfast, let me tell you a few things that I like about Marmite:

• the packaging, especially the bright colours and dark, ominous glass
• the B vitamins it's supposed to contain
• the glossy, thick, smooth texture that looks like printing ink

But here are my feelings about Marmite on toast:

Still revolting after all these years. Still like sucking on a bouillon cube. I couldn't taste the butter underneath. I was crying out for the butter! The Marmite just masked everything with it's aggressive vegetably salt. I ate half of the piece of toast. I tried to eat it all, but my jaw would not open to accept it. I had no control over my body's reaction.

There has been a salty taste in my mouth all day.

Is this the end for me and Marmite? I'm not sure. In the past I've had some success with learning to love things I hate by repeatedly trying them. Hating them, hating them, hating them and then suddenly, one day, getting a little urge to try again.  A little craving that can be nurtured into full-blown acceptance. You never know.

So my darling stepmom, please see this masochistic act as a way of remembering you today when we are so far apart. I'm sorry that Marmite is still not a shared love. I'll have some cake for you tonight instead. And maybe tomorrow morning as well. Happy Birthday!

Comments

[RiRi]

Cake is every bit as excellent (and possibly moreso). love you so....
xoxo