One of my strongest childhood memories is of my grandmother’s daily breakfast: a cup of black coffee with saccharine (this was before Stevia and Sugarfree came into our lives) and a slice of toast smeared with Marmite. The Marmite jar looked exactly the same back then, in 83 or so, as it does today—yellow lid, distinctive squat shape, and the name written in bold, eye-catching font. This column is about two ingredients, both of which were invented by chemists. One I love—perhaps the most mispronounced condiment ever, Worcestershire sauce. The other, Marmite, I have slowly grown to appreciate. As a child, Marmite baffled me. It smelled strange, looked like black petroleum, and had a viscous consistency. Much like Campari –– which I’ve never acquired a taste for –– I couldn’t understand why Marmite lovers were so fanatical about it. Made with yeast extract, Marmite has an intense umami flavour—just a spoonful can change the profile of a dish, much like Worcestershire sauce. Although it is now considered a British staple, Marmite was actually invented by a German chemist, Baron Justus von Liebig. While brewing beer, he discovered that leftover brewer’s yeast could be turned into a high-protein byproduct. The Marmite Extract Company began selling it in England in 1902. The classic way of eating Marmite is to spread it on buttered toast. A variation, “Marmite toasties,” involves topping butter-and-Marmite bread with cheese and grilling it. Lately, I’ve been experimenting with Marmite in recipes—stews, casseroles, even bakes—and it adds a lovely meaty savouriness. I’ve also tasted brownies and cookies made with Marmite, much like desserts enhanced with sea salt or tahini. If Marmite divides people, Worcestershire sauce unites them. Pronounced “Woostersheer,” it has long been a favourite of mine. I remember spotting bottles of Lea & Perrins in my kitchen when I was only eating and never cooking. Dark and tangy, with the consistency of soy sauce, Worcestershire sauce is intensely umami. A teaspoon can elevate a stew, roast, or bake. A few drops in Marie Rose sauce transform a simple prawn cocktail. Few British recipes are complete without it. The sauce has a fascinating backstory. Though created in 1838 by two Worcester-based chemists, John Wheeley Lea and William Henry Perrins, its origin story traces back to India. Legend has it that Lord Marcus Sandys, a former governor of Bengal, asked Lea and Perrins to recreate a sauce he’d tasted in India. The recipe is believed to have included vinegar, jaggery, tamarind extract, fermented anchovies, onion, garlic, cloves, chillies, pepper, and other spices. The first batch was so pungent it was abandoned in a cellar, only to be rediscovered months later, by which time fermentation had mellowed the flavours into something delicious. Thus was born Worcestershire sauce, which has since found a permanent place in kitchens worldwide. While there’s no record of Lord Sandys ever being governor of Bengal, the ingredients—imli (tamarind), anchovies, sun-dried fish (shutki maach), jaggery, and spices—do point unmistakably to Bengal and South Indian culinary traditions. In truth, Worcestershire sauce is another example of how Britain borrowed, repackaged, and globalised Indian flavours. Let’s not forget that the “very British” custom of afternoon tea originated directly from India and China. In the same way, Worcestershire sauce remains a bottled reminder of Indian spices and ingredients rebranded as quintessentially British. And now, of course, the world is sipping turmeric lattes. Next week, I’ll be writing about some odd and unique vegetables –from Jimikand/Elephant Foot Yam to Thor/Banana Stem, Lotus Root and more delicacies.
