Vegemite: A Brief and Unfortunate History

Much like the United States, Australia is a former British colony home to many immigrants, with a culture composed of borrowed food, symbols, and practices. Thus, it is difficult to come up with many items that are solely “Australian.”

The first thing that comes to mind would probably be the kangaroo, followed by maybe Uggs (which I just found out are no longer made in Australia *gasp*), the iconic Sydney Opera House, and the late, great Steve Irwin.

Lamingtons

Somewhere during this thought process, one’s ideas may trail over to food. Sure, they have the savory “shrimp on the barbie,” meat pies, bangers and mash (sausages and potatoes), and a very strong obsession with barbecue sauce. Their realm of sweets is ruled by Tim Tams (think Keebler Fudge Grahams), Lamingtons (sponge cake with a chocolate-coconut coating), and fairy bread (buttered bread with LOTS of rainbow sprinkles). Yet, one must not forget the most intriguing, outlandish, and (in my own opinion) offensive Australian concoction of them all: Vegemite.

February 7th, 2019 marks the day when I lost my Vegemite virginity, and in order to honor this occasion, I thought that I may make a special post to educate you about this strange spread while I’m busy hiking my way through New Zealand.

So, who is at fault for Vegemite?

As I mentioned previously, Australia was founded by the British, and along with cricket, WHSmith, and Her Royal Highness the Queen, the new settlers brought a peculiar topping affectionately known as Marmite.

This smelly paste was invented inadvertently by not a British, but a German scientist who discovered the edibility of concentrated brewer’s yeast. As its popularity spread, it soon became incorporated into the British diet, often served on bread with margarine, snuck into a grilled cheese, or, most horrifically, stirred into hot water, as one may do with ovaltine. About a decade after its discovery, scientists found that it was a rich source of vitamin B, making it an essential ration for World War I soldiers.

Although World War I was a boon for British Marmite consumption, Australians were cut off from the spread, with exports from England disrupted by the conflict. Intent on creating a replacement, an Australian company, named Fred Walker & Co., challenged one of their employees, named Cyril Callister, to replicate Marmite. Within a year, Callister had succeeded, concentrating waste from the Carlton & United brewery with salt, celery and onion (which explains the “Vege”) extracts to form a similar dark brown paste. Within a few decades, Vegemite made it into every pantry Down Under, with the company airing its first commercial in the mid-1950s, featuring the jingle “We’re happy little Vegemites.”

Today, this deceptive yellow jar has achieved worldwide fame, in every nation except the United States, that is. In 2011, an American singer-songwriter released a song titled “Vegemite (The Black Death),” a plea to her lover that culminates with “Put down the Vegemite, you f***er, or I’ll leave.” In the same year, during a visit with the Australian Prime Minister, former President Barack Obama described the spread by saying, “It’s horrible.” When talk show host Steve Harvey was offered it on his show in 2013, he concluded, “Vegemite sounds like a pesticide. That’s about damn near what it tastes like” (wikipedia.com).

Conflicted by Australians’ eternal love and Americans’ undying hate for Vegemite, I thought that it would only be appropriate for me, at some time, to try this unusual food  during my stay in its land of origin. I only wish that that time didn’t come so soon.

The Day of Reckoning

Centennial Park

It had started off as an extraordinary Thursday, the 7th day of the second (and best) month of the year. The weather was finally mild, so I had decided to spend the morning at Centennial Park studying for my final exam and reading my newest library find, “Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine.” After eating a delicious, homemade falafel, spinach and tzatziki salad, I biked over to campus to find out that my last Intro to Artificial Intelligence class of the semester had been cancelled, giving me even more time to look over material for my test. It was hard to focus, though, because I was too busy thinking about the “Welcome to Sydney” party that the Arc (UNSW’s student union) had planned for that night.

Just before six o’clock, a few of my friends and I headed over to the Roundhouse, one of the many on-campus bars where the party was already hopping. The local band on stage was pumping the best party hits; the reptile petting zoo was crowded with people (although I gave that a hard pass); and the line for free sausage and falafel rolls was out the door.

After waiting patiently for dinner, and eating it in a fraction of the time (studying makes your stomach a bottomless pit), Emily and I bee-lined it for the authentic Australian dessert table. Passing over the Lamingtons, Tim Tams, and Anzac cookies, our eyes were drawn to a rather large bowl of travel-sized Vegemite packages; what better way to celebrate our “Welcome to Sydney” than trying the infamous spread?

Upon recommendation of Emily’s Australian friend Indi, we dipped our fingers into the plastic container, coming up with what looked like a little dab of chocolate fudge. Oh if only…

I allowed the Vegemite to sit for less than a second on my tongue before instantly flicking it off. While I knew that it had a bad reputation, I did not expect the taste that entered my mouth. A strange combination of soy sauce and vegetable broth, the level of salinity destroyed my appetite and made me pine for any kind of liquid to flush the flavor away.

This doesn’t even mention the smell, which could clear a room better than a bag of mid-season football pads.

Unfortunately, this was not my last encounter with Vegemite, as my roommate Britt had happened to purchase some at the store a few days before and decided that she wanted to ruin a perfectly nice Friday night by making everyone in the house, including our new roommate Sophie, try it.

I will admit, it was a little more tolerable on a slice of bread with lots and lots of butter and a whole group of girls suffering and laughing alongside me, but that will, in no way, convince me to buy my own $8 bottle anytime soon.

So, in short, you’re welcome. After graciously sacrificing my taste buds to finally discover the taste of this monstrosity, you will never have to experience it for yourself; unless, if you already have, then I give my sincerest apologies.