Tar in a jar?
This morning dawned dark, wet and windy. And thanks to the howling gale that used our bedroom chimney as a kind of…er…wind instrument throughout the small hours, not much sleep was to be had. We live on a hill so we can watch the plain below getting flooded, but the downside is that we are buffeted by the virtual hurricane that continues as I write.
It was a morning for a comforting breakfast, so I cooked the first batch of porridge of the Winter: pinhead oatmeal, water and a bit of salt, cooked and then eaten with a drop of milk. I resisted the temptation to add a splash of cream, something that translates this humble and cheap brekkie into the realms of luxury while, at the same time, taking some of the good and the virtue out of eating porridge in the first place.
For some, there is comfort to be had, too, from Marmite, the love-it-or-hate it yeast extract which has been described as “tar in a jar”. My own Marmite history is unusual in that I acquired a taste for the stuff quite late in life. I think I was pushing forty by the time I embraced (rather a sticky business) the black, viscous stuff that was invented by Baron von Liebig, the man who did much to develop artificial fertilisers if I’m thinking of the right man.
I gather from a straw poll that Marmite is not generally regarded as an acquired taste, i.e. one that you develop with persistence (like drinking Guinness; how many people think, on first draught of this other black stuff, “that’s like mother’s milk’?) The general feeling amongst those whom I asked about it was Marmite enthusiasm is essentially genetic.
Although I steered very clear of the stuff for decades, I do remember a substance called Gye (which stood for Guinness Yeast Extract) and which was still around when I was just about learning how to sleep through the night. I remember having it on toast, and my mother putting into stews and soups. I have a feeling that it was a bit like the rather mild Vegemite from Australia and I suppose, having developed a taste for it, Marmite was just de trop.
Fans will be glad to know that Unilever, who now own the brand, are producing The Bumper Book of Marmite in time for Christmas. Equally, they will be displeased to hear that Peter York, “the style guru” (I wonder is that what it says on his passport?), has declared that Marmite is not an iconic brand. Oh, come on Peter! How much more iconic can a brand be?
Anyway, my mission (should I decide to accept it - and I’m afraid there’s not much choice in the matter) is to go out to our woods and use a shovel to divert an impromptu stream which is moistening a neighbour’s winter barley to an unacceptable degree. I shall return, wet and windswept, and tuck into toast and Marmite. Then I’ll tackle the slow-roast shoulder of lamb (I got the joint for a fiver this morning) and get back to my real work.






