Okay, so this one’s really going to separate the kids from the grown-ups, the wheat from the chaff, the Transformers from the GoBots.  There’s probably no greater litmus test for food loves and loathes than Marmite. If you’re not familiar with this foreboding brown spread, Marmite is a strong-flavoured spread for toast and sandwiches first produced in 1902, taking advantage of German chemist Justus Liebig’s discovery that the cells of brewer’s yeast could be extracted and concentrated. Using these techniques the Marmite Food Extract Company set about creating something that would have turned Robert Oppenheimer into a Buddhist monk.

The company, understandably, set up their factory in Burton-on-Trent, a town in Britain that every beer-lover knows is the Mecca of beer. In fact, it surprises me that beer drinkers don’t hold an annual pilgrimage to Burton akin to the Muslim Hajj. I myself have never visited the town, although I do turn to face Staffordshire when I sip my first pint. A great little snippet of fact I often regurgitate is that brewers in Bavaria and elsewhere treat their water with minerals and salts to mimic the properties of Burton’s mineral water, a process known as ‘Burtonization.’ But it was, of course, the perfect place for Marmite to set up their brewer’s yeast-based base of operations.

And so, for more than 100 years, Marmite have given us a product that has firmly cemented itself on the British psyche, despite people’s opinions of it truly ranging to the polar opposites. Marmite themselves ran an advertising campaign over several years declaring that we will either love it or hate it. You might imagine that a company declaring that 50% of people will hate their product is commercial suicide but in Marmite’s case it is very shrewd thinking, being true beyond argument.

One of my oldest friends, Bowlhead, (not his real name, you understand) delivered me a Marmite recipe. He swears that a diamond cubic zirconium in the rough was served up to him by his grandparents on Merseyside, back then a part of Lancashire. A dish, very aptly titled, ‘Cheesy Frizzles,’ might well resemble Cheese & Marmite Eggy Bread, which is essentially what it is. No matter what the name, I gave it a go by sandwiching a slice of cheddar cheese between two slices of white bread, a thin pellicle of Marmite smeared upon one, cut into neat triangles and dipped into beaten egg and cream before pan frying on both sides until golden brown. What the hey, a perfectly decent snack. Actually, I think I overestimated my manliness by spreading both slices of bread with Marmite making the whole thing a little too, Marmitey?

I’m sure I’ve managed to wholly throw the dogs off the scent with this post, so I’ll leave you with Paul Martin of the BBC smash hit, ‘Flog It!’ to tidy things up for me. He takes us to the Burton factory and has a very interesting discussion with Robert Opie, an expert on brand history. It took me an eternity to figure out how to edit and upload a video to Youtube, so you will bloody-well enjoy it!

Nutritional info: Marmite is not gluten-free and may contain traces of evil.

GDave

Back on food, and I hadn’t sampled Patum Peperium before the beginning of this year. Plenty of people in this country remember it as a store cupboard staple when they were growing up, whether they liked it or not. Sadly, it wasn’t an item on me old Ma’s shopping list. Saying that, it’s not particularly widely available now and I don’t have any perception of it being more so when I was a kid.

So I had very little idea of what to expect when my delivery arrived from an online deli other than Gentleman’s Relish was a fermented, spiced anchovy paste whose secret recipe dates back astonishingly to 1828 and whose perfect partner is hot, buttered toast. Deciding to do it the traditional way I popped the top off the small, white plastic pot and spread a little on the corner of a sippet of toast. Wow! This stuff is potent. The saltiness hits you straight away, but the intensity of the fermented anchovy creeps up and keeps creeping up, similar to a first Marmite experience (which in turn is like a near-death experience). But this crescendo peaked and I began to find myself enjoying it thoroughly. Yes, these are very strong flavours but not severe. The intensity of its fishiness is comparable with that of Thai shrimp paste (if you’ve ever sampled that straight from the tub) and the spice is well balanced. On texture, well it is exceptionally salty to the extent of being grainy, but Patum Peperium is good, ballsy stuff, befitting of any gentleman’s breakfast table.

Actually, I think that’s what might entertain me the most, that in a world where peasant foods have become that of the elite, (oysters, monkfish, cassoulet, etc) Gentleman’s Relish has done the reverse. Originally designed for the bow-tied hoi polloi, Patum Peperium is ours for a couple of quid a pot. Although, it is still best served with the morning broadsheet, ironed by one’s butler.

GDave