A review of the dark elixir

Marmite is a dark brown, sticky paste with a powerful salty flavour. Some people adore it; others find it absolutely revolting. There seems to be no middle ground. Full disclosure: I love the stuff.

We have 19th-century German scientist Justus von Liebig to thank, or curse, for the existence of Marmite. Apparently, he was fiddling about with brewer’s yeast when he accidentally discovered that it could be concentrated, eaten, and not cause a slow, agonizing death.

A company in Burton-on-Trent, Staffordshire, England got to hear of von Liebig’s culinary breakthrough. In 1902, the Marmite Food Extract Company in that noble town set out to make, bottle, and sell a yeast extract spread.

By happy coincidence, Burton was a beer-brewing centre, with more than 30 such establishments in action in 1881. So, the Marmite people had a plentiful supply of raw material for their concoction. According to the BBC: “The original recipe contained salt, spices, and celery. Later folic acid, vitamin B12, thiamin, and riboflavin―vitamins which occur naturally in some foods―were added in high concentrations.”

The manufacturers keep the production method secret but some pointy-headed folk have figured out the general principles. Words such as hypertonic and autolysis are bandied about, so it’s not for mere mortals to understand.

The Marmite Company spent a couple of years perfecting their product before unleashing it on the unsuspecting British public. It didn’t take long for the country to divide into two camps; those who loved it and those who can’t appreciate a good thing when it’s offered to them.

By 1907, the demand from connoisseurs of the gustatory arts was such that the Burton factory could not produce enough to satisfy demand. A second plant was opened in south London. A resident recalled in a history blog from the area “When I was a kid we lived near the Marmite factory at Vauxhall. The smell from the factory was disgusting! People living close by applied to have their rates (municipal taxes) reduced because of the stench (they failed of course).”

Needless to say, the Marmite haters would never admit that the product helped Britain win World War One. Okay, that’s a bit of a stretch. However, there was a problem of thiamine (B1) deficiency among soldiers causing beri-beri, creating a swift heartbeat, shortness of breath, and swollen legs. So, the catering corps started shovelling Marmite into the lads in the trenches so they were fit enough to go over the top and get mowed down by the withering fire of German machine-guns.

Inmates in British prisons love Marmite; the guards not so much. It seems some old lags figured out that if Marmite is mixed with fermented fruit a quite acceptable moonshine is produced. It’s not Château Lafitte Rothschild but when you’re in the hoosegow you can’t be too fussy about your hooch. It’s marketed behind bars under the brand Marmite Mule. Lucy Willis was an English scientist working in Bombay in the 1930s. She used Marmite to treat mill workers suffering from a form of anemia. The Australians have a version they call Vegemite. They claim it’s superior, to which the only appropriate response is “Go jump in a billabong cobber.”

Several British newspapers, such as The Guardian and The Daily Telegraph, say Marmite repels mosquitoes, not applied topically you understand but internally. Supposedly, it’s the vitamin B the mozzies don’t like. Unproven says Snopes, or they would if they took the time to investigate.

It is good for you. So says British nutritionist Melanie Brown: “Marmite plays such a useful part in many people’s diet, and it’s incredibly useful for older people who are short in vitamin B-12. It’s full of folic acid, and there’s lots of evidence that many women, young women of child-bearing age, are deficient in folic acid.”

Delish