(with apologies to Spaced.)

I actually intended to write this post yesterday, but instead became embroiled in the unpleasantness I describe in yesterday’s post. If you would like to read yesterday’s post, which you have probably noticed is password-protected now, please contact me via some other means than this website so I know who you are and I will happily furnish you with it assuming I am happy that I actually know who you are.

Regardless, here is a blog post about Bovril.

For those who are unaware — which is probably most of you who aren’t from the United Kingdom or the Antipodean lands — Bovril is a thick, sticky, black-brown substance that looks like you could probably use it to tar roads with. It comes in small, distinctively-shaped jars with red lids, and is sometimes grouped in the same category as Marmite, which comes in the same shape of jar but with a yellow lid. The key difference between Marmite and Bovril — which are fairly similar in many ways — is that Marmite is made of yeast extract, while Bovril is something to do with beef. (I’ve never asked exactly what to do with beef it is, as I figured given how little it seems to taste of beef, I’m probably better off not knowing.)

There is another key difference between Marmite and Bovril, however, and that is the fact that you can make Bovril into a drink. Yes indeed; plop a dollop of the black goop into a cup, add boiling water, stir until it turns as black as a moonless midnight sky and then enjoy a… weirdly salty, not particularly pleasant hot beverage that certainly doesn’t really taste of beef. (Besides, as I memorably once commented to my former housemate Claire — so memorably that she actually made a note of it, as I recall — “any drink that is beef is just wrong”.)

I actually don’t know whether or not it’s possible to make Marmite into a drink. I guess technically there’s no reason why it shouldn’t work, but if any drink that is beef is just wrong then surely any drink that is yeast is just even wronger. Except for various alcoholic beverages. Although those tend not to be made of nothing but yeast. Anyway, fuck Marmite. (Not literally.)

You know what is a far better use of Bovril than turning it into a weirdly salty, not particularly pleasant hot beverage that certainly doesn’t really taste of beef? Spreading it lavishly on toast. That way you end up with toast that would stick to a wall if you threw it at a wall (but then you wouldn’t be able to eat it), and which tastes of something weirdly salty, peculiarly spicy and not at all beefy. It’s worth noting at this juncture that amateurs should take care when spreading Bovril on toast because the application of too much Bovril to a single slice of toast when inadequately prepared will lead to that curious feeling where you feel like you don’t have a roof on your mouth any more. Once you eat it, obviously. Just spreading too much Bovril onto a piece of toast doesn’t magically strip off the roof of your mouth. That’d be weird.

You know what is an even better use of Bovril than turning it into a weirdly salty, not particularly pleasant hot beverage that certainly doesn’t taste of beef, or spreading it lavishly on toast and ending up with something that tastes weirdly salty, peculiarly spicy and not at all beefy that would stick to a wall if you threw it at a wall (but then you wouldn’t be able to eat it)? Spreading it lavishly on toast and then dipping said black goo-encrusted toast into a piping hot bowl of Heinz cream of tomato soup. (It has to be Heinz, otherwise the magic doesn’t work.) What you end up with is a piece of toast that tastes weirdly salty, peculiarly spicy and not at all beefy covered in tomato soup, which makes everything involved in that equation taste approximately 4,000% better through reasons only known to the Food Wizards.

So anyway. That’s Bovril. It’s weird but sort of awesome, but like Marmite, you will either, as they say, love it or hate it. Try the tomato soup thing before you declare your feelings one way or another, however.