Last week, my lovely landlady tried Marmite after I’d been banging on about it for the last few weeks. She’d invited me and Tom to dinner and we didn’t have anything to contribute (owing to not really having much in the way of kitchen facilities). So we made some Pimms – proper Pimms – after I’d just been complaining that the local English-style pub served me Pimms mixed with lemonade BUT NO FRUIT. I did get a speckled lemon wedge clinging to the side of the glass. Yes, because it really needed more lemon after the lemonade.
FYI, this is what Pimms is supposed to look like:
Ingredients for a Proper Pimms and Lemonade:
1 part Pimms
3 parts Lemonade
Full video instructions can be found here.
Arguably, the strawberries are the most important part, because they soak up so much of the cordial that by the end of the fourth or fifth drink, you get some lovely, boozy berries as part of your 5 a day.
The first aforementioned infraction was the lack of fruit. It’s a pub, so I guess you can’t expect anything beyond lukewarm, near-gone-off oranges and lemons, but if the local microbrewery can at least be bothered to have a bowl of frozen blueberries festering at the side of the bar, why can’t a pub that proudly serves Pimms get with the fruity programme?
Actually, it really didn’t matter that much. They’re quite lovely in that pub, even if you encourage the waitress to try the hottest hot sauce known to man from the burrito place next door and it makes their ears hurt. But yeah, I’m not that upset about it. Blog-writing tends to make one over-emotional. It’s just the blog talking. Also, I was homesick, even though I had only just flown back in from England about an hour ago.
Bollocks, this was supposed to be a post about Marmite.
This rather-threatening looking behemoth was ideal to bring to a first-time dinner invitation to a landlady who already admitted she’s afraid of Vegemite. Having never tried it, I couldn’t offer a comparison, but she chose to try it after the delicious dinner she’d cooked. Yes, after the organic, locally-sourced salad, dill cucumber salad and home-made basil pesto and goat cheese pizza, she decided to sully her taste buds with something that half of the British Isles literally turn their noses up at.
She sniffed it, hesitated, and recoiled a little. I tried to mask the odour of it with some Mini Cheddars but it ended up being a failed mission; she hated it. Her partner loved it, and Tom, who was also having his first go on the Marms, liked it only on the first taste.
After this fun Russian Roulette of expatriate food-tasting, everyone very much appreciated the grilled peppered peaches and vanilla ice cream, and the marmite retreated back with its yeasty tail between its legs.
Looks like I’m going to be squeezing the Big Squeeze on my own.