Marmite Breakfast Biscuits

A Review in Cuisine - 09/10/2022


Marmite. It can be the salty tar that bonds kings and paupers together in harmony or the unbreachable wall between love and hate. A savoury sludge that hits all the right notes like a seasoned jazz musician playing a solo straight from the heart...but that's only if you like jazz. For those that don't, it's the awful noise of some escaped mental patient slapping a piano like a wilding until the whitecoats burst through the door and capture them.

During a trip to the 'big Tesco' at my birthplace, I noticed that the mighty Marmite machine was seeping into different brands and products; Marmite cashews, Marmite crisps, and Marmite shower gel (reviews soon), among others. But the one that did tickle my at-the-time fancy was the Marmite Breakfast Biscuits. I partake in breakfast when I have the time, I eat biscuits when I don't have the time, and if I want to stop time I'll have Marmite (lightly spread upon buttered toast). So to combine all three could be a dream come true, or a mind-bending time crisis where the only escape would be swallowing my tongue...and after the first bite of these things, I felt as if I did.

After opening the box, I was presented with a stunning amount of plastic. I'd expect brands to show a little more compassion and thought behind their packaging options, especially in 2022, but this takes a biscuit. Pun intended. I get the unfortunate need for plastic wrapping, but this shit looked like slabs of brittle bones found in a desert that has seen not a molecule of moisture for 1000 years - it wouldn't go soft and can't possibly be any dryer so paper packaging would absolutely do the job. Then again, I know nothing about foodstuff logistics/preservation/hygiene. But soon enough, a sweet smell of cheap dog biscuits elbowed its way through my nose and into my stomach like an unwanted visitor wearing a Hawaiian shirt at a sombre gathering. What struck me was how stale the air became around the product; I get that you don't open a packet of biscuits and remark on how fresh they smell, but I'd never thought 'this is what they probably smell when they push open a sarcophagus' before opening these. Like the tomb raiders of old, I became cursed by venturing down a path I where thought riches would wait.

Biting into these biscuits was like biting into oven-baked balsa wood, the kind of break-away boards they use at karate demonstrations but dipped in a very thin Marmite mixture. With my head dully ringing like the sound of a bottle factory being trodden on by the Iron Giant being played through a bassy speaker wrapped in 8 blankets with each bone-rattlingly crunchy bite, I grew impatient with the product. It boldly proclaimed to be 'perfect for snacking' but I, for one, clearly wasn't invited to partake in the survey as I would've disagreed with their claim with the strength of many lions. It tasted so bitter that, according to my notes, 'made my face fold in on itself.' Remember, I love Marmite - I fly the banners wherever I may be where Marmite comes up in conversation (which has never ever happened thus far), but this was just a whole new world of shite.

I, with my 2 whole months of meditation practice, closed my eyes and envisioned every single version of myself residing in infinite universes to see what the overall outcome was, yet I couldn't see a reality where I'd ever enjoy these biscuits.

Like the tomb raiders of old, I became cursed by venturing down a path I where thought riches would wait