Help, I'm a fallen man.
I am becoming increasingly worried about certain aspects of my behaviour. Well, one aspect. I did something today that I can honestly say I've never done before in my life. It was something of such staggering import that I don't know whether my life will ever be the same again. Over 44 years of resistance and I've finally succumbed although I haven't fully committed myself, the deed isn't fully complete as I still have the final, unthinkable and depraved act to perform. I'm girding myself; steadying myself for the crossover into uncharted territory and quite frankly, I'm worried.
I bought (jeez, I'm shaking just thinking about it) a pot (the very smallest one Mr Tesco's emporium sells as I must at this point stress because I don't want to get ahead of myself), a pot of...Marmite. Sorry. I have until now been of the opinion that not only is Marmite the favoured nourishment of the children of Beelzebub but that it was made from fermented monkey jism and wee. So what caused this change?
A couple of weeks ago I was at my Mum and Dad's and I opened a door to a cupboard, the contents of which have not changed much for 40 years or so. I went to put the salt and pepper pots back and there, lurking in the corner was a tiny yellow-lidded pot. I was shocked. When I was a child there used to be one there too but it had never been used as far as I know. I can vaguely remember Marmite soldiers but I can't ever remember eating them myself. I do recall asking my mother what it was and to this day (ha - how wierd, I've got the OU on telly and as I wrote "to this day" the same phrase was uttered on screen. Do I win something?) I was under the impression that the pot was a throwback to when my great-grandparents lived there. Or something. Either way, it was never used.
I asked her why she had Marmite? Was it for my little nephews she baby-sits during the week? This I couldn't believe because Luke only eats pasta and Adam although less fussy...no. Not possible.
"No, it's for my sandwiches."
"What sandwiches? You don't like Marmite!"
"I do. I have Marmite and beetroot sandwiches."
"Get out, woman. You're having me on!"
"No, really. Every day."
Now I'm stuck. You see, I love beetroot. I don't eat it a lot but it's a grand food and there's some in the fridge now. I'm also very curious.
Step forward a week and a bit to when Beloved is in hospital. The trolly comes round for afternoon tea during visiting and she asks whether I want one. I fancy and order a Bovril. I like Bovril. It's a comforting drink, very tasty and a bit of an occasional treat. Now I've always been under the impression that Bovril was made from melted cow parts, like a very thick gravy hence the "Bov" bit of the name. But no, it's yeast extract, just like Marmite and bugger of all buggers, I like it. Suddenly, Mum's sandwiches are looking ever more intriguing.
Not only did I buy a pot of marmite today, I got Bovril too. I removed the lids of both and took a deep draught of the vapours from each. Identical. There was no longer any excuse. The threat of a mighty attack of heartburn from my hiatus hernia this evening has postponed the experiment until tomorrow, but try it I will. There's no way back. Doomed, doomed, I tell you. This is the end. I'll let you know.
I bought (jeez, I'm shaking just thinking about it) a pot (the very smallest one Mr Tesco's emporium sells as I must at this point stress because I don't want to get ahead of myself), a pot of...Marmite. Sorry. I have until now been of the opinion that not only is Marmite the favoured nourishment of the children of Beelzebub but that it was made from fermented monkey jism and wee. So what caused this change?
A couple of weeks ago I was at my Mum and Dad's and I opened a door to a cupboard, the contents of which have not changed much for 40 years or so. I went to put the salt and pepper pots back and there, lurking in the corner was a tiny yellow-lidded pot. I was shocked. When I was a child there used to be one there too but it had never been used as far as I know. I can vaguely remember Marmite soldiers but I can't ever remember eating them myself. I do recall asking my mother what it was and to this day (ha - how wierd, I've got the OU on telly and as I wrote "to this day" the same phrase was uttered on screen. Do I win something?) I was under the impression that the pot was a throwback to when my great-grandparents lived there. Or something. Either way, it was never used.
I asked her why she had Marmite? Was it for my little nephews she baby-sits during the week? This I couldn't believe because Luke only eats pasta and Adam although less fussy...no. Not possible.
"No, it's for my sandwiches."
"What sandwiches? You don't like Marmite!"
"I do. I have Marmite and beetroot sandwiches."
"Get out, woman. You're having me on!"
"No, really. Every day."
Now I'm stuck. You see, I love beetroot. I don't eat it a lot but it's a grand food and there's some in the fridge now. I'm also very curious.
Step forward a week and a bit to when Beloved is in hospital. The trolly comes round for afternoon tea during visiting and she asks whether I want one. I fancy and order a Bovril. I like Bovril. It's a comforting drink, very tasty and a bit of an occasional treat. Now I've always been under the impression that Bovril was made from melted cow parts, like a very thick gravy hence the "Bov" bit of the name. But no, it's yeast extract, just like Marmite and bugger of all buggers, I like it. Suddenly, Mum's sandwiches are looking ever more intriguing.
Not only did I buy a pot of marmite today, I got Bovril too. I removed the lids of both and took a deep draught of the vapours from each. Identical. There was no longer any excuse. The threat of a mighty attack of heartburn from my hiatus hernia this evening has postponed the experiment until tomorrow, but try it I will. There's no way back. Doomed, doomed, I tell you. This is the end. I'll let you know.
posted by Richard at 12:33 am
5 Vegetable peelings:
I am sorry to be so un-Continetal I have no idea what these three food stuffs are: marmite, beetroot and bovril. I am going to the wikipedia site after this comment to educate myself a bit. I would gamble that many of your U.S. readers are in the same quandry.
I hope your beloved is doing better.
Did you find out, Jed?
Yes! Sounds yeasty except the beets do you folks eat them raw with that yeast spread? Does the marmite and bovril have a sweet taste? The wikipedia examples look like popular well designed and marketed products. Why do we not see them here if they are fairly popular there?...I mean the fair skinned folks here are from there a few generations ago. One would assume that our taste buds would delight in similar ways being kin and all.
Jed, I wimped out so I can't say. I was in a meeting most of the day, consuming tomato and lentil soup to keep warm so the test has been held over until tomorrow. Certainly Bovril makes a fine drink although not as beefy as it used to be. I suspect you should be able to get some mail order from an ex-pat shop in them thar United of States. If you really want to try, I can always send you some.
I'm a good-ol girl myself, and I never heard of Marmite, but my daughter went to camp with some Aussie counselors, and they had Vegemite. My daughter liked it, but when she brought the jar home, I couldn't get that sucker past my nose. Imagine you fine folks in the UK might feel the same about pickled pigs' feet.
This is a nice blog, and since I'm a goat judge, I'll be interested in any shop talk you want to share.
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