AFP, 2002-03-15

The simple thing is that, light of my life, Marmite is ikky. Marmite is a blot on the spec of a culinary horizon of spreads that rises over the mountains of “It’s All Mine” Real Chocolate spread, though the wastelands of peanut butter, around the small puddles of sandwich spread[1] and flooding the valleys with a sheen of golden syrup glinting lightly in the sunset. Somewhere out in this metaphorical landscape is a pit of thick brown liquid that occasionally goes “gloop” horribly, it’s only claim to fame being a brief appearance in a movie staring David Bowie. Marmite is the anti-spread, a single gram of it dropped into half a kilo of butter will render the entire pat useless for consumption by all those with more than one single properly functioning taste bud. Marmite is the very definition of evil, it’s very colour a signal to nature to stay the hell away from it, nothing edible can be that colour. It’s smell can drive grown men out of a house, it’s taste causes ducks to swim *away* from bread. Even it’s makers admit that you can make circus-freaks of the people who eat the stuff. It is Wrong, purely and simply. And the fact that you, darling, eat the stuff just confirms how good your taste in things is.

Now, if you excuse me, I think I’d better start running.

Yours in total sincerity,

Aquarion

(Lonecat’s worst, or at least other, half)

[1] Sandwich spread was used in a great many TV dramas for when a character needed to throw something up. This is all you need to know about it.