“There are two kinds of people in this world.” I say, exaggerating my hand gestures, to emphasise complete certainty, in front of my five-year-old nephew. “Those who like marmite and those who don’t, and,” (dramatic pause) “you can’t tell which, just by looking. I think it’s in your DNA. Your uncle hates kissing me bye if I’m eating this.”
His little face lights up at this new, vitally crucial information and he spends the next half-hour interrogating everyone who enters the dining room about whether they like marmite. His cheerfulness catches them off-guard. Their unashamed reactions of revulsion and horror, are an absolute treat for the boy. Wide-eyed in wonder at the adults in his life, repulsed and showing fear for the very first time. Taking centre stage, he is the star of his very own Roald Dahl book played out in real life.
“No, it’s blah. How anyone can eat that… that GUNGE, is beyond me.”
“I’m completely addicted. I love it. I have to take a little jar with me on holiday.”
“I’ll find you that YouTube video of Japanese people eating it for the first time. They’re being polite but you can tell they hate it. Their faces!”
“Marmite is banned in Denmark because it’s so disgusting. No lie. You can google it if you don’t believe me. It’s only a matter of time before we come to our senses and catch up.”
“Me and you have to stick together, kid. Like BTS fans. There’s not many of us out there.”
Between giggles at their utter contempt, he boldly crunches his toast, hamming it up with “mmmmmms”, looks them right in the eye and licks the butter knife, and even once kisses the jar. Relishing with glee the power he has to effortlessly own the room.
My other half walks in, starts to greet us, halts, wrinkles his nose and sighs “oh god, not another convert.”
I nearly forgot…
Come on England!🏴 🦁 🦁 🦁