Panic Over: Marmite Not Banned In Denmark

It was a publicity stunt. Marmite isn't banned. Instead, its manufacturers have opted not to submit it for approval by the Danish food authorities.

Neither Marmite nor Vegemite and similar products have been banned by the Danish Food And Veterinary Administration. However, fortified foods with added vitamins, minerals or other substances can not be marketed in Denmark unless approved by Danish food authorities.

According to the Danish Order on food additives, addition of vitamins, minerals and other substances need to be approved by the Danish Veterinary and Food Administration before the product can be marketed in Denmark.

The Danish Food and Veterinary Administration has not received an application for marketing in Denmark of Marmite or similar products with added vitamins or minerals.

Other fortified food products  have been approved by Danish food authorities and are being marketed in Denmark.

Given that sales there are minimal, I assume all this publicity was a stunt by Unilever, and one I should have spotted immediately. I am a fool.

Something Rotten in the State of Denmark

Given that Denmark has just banned Marmite, it becomes increasingly clear that the mysterious mission to England on which Hamlet, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are sent was in fact a Marmite smuggling operation.

If you're a Dane or living in Denmark, and desperate for supplies, I'm sure we can organise an air-drop or charitable shipment. In return for you sending some fine Carlsberg Stout instead of that mucky lager you export.

The sun sets on 2010

A few more pictures - click to enlarge. Rest here.

Thanks to my mother, sisters and brother, I'm now the proud possessor of a Thai mat (stunningly comfortable), socks and bathroom stuff, some posh cheese knives, a Marmite toast rack and butter dish, and rather stunningly, a Benedictaphone Pope-shaped voice recorder and a block of Marmite chocolate. Yes, you heard me, Marmite chocolate.

I seem to have a reputation as a Marmite fan.

Yeast infectious

Well, almost. For St. Patrick's Day, Emma presented me with a jar of Marmite XO, because she has a finely-developed sense of irony.

It's a revelation. Despite my well-founded suspicion of marketing stunts, this stuff is astonishing. Richer, darker, more lingering than standard Marmite. I had a large spoonful of it this morning and I can still taste it. I'm already mourning the eventual depletion of the jar.

Marmite XO - The Holy Grail

Champagne Marmite was fun. I missed Guinness Marmite. Now here comes Marmite XO. It's a long way from a beer waste product…


Marmite XO – The ebony elixir of life from Nathan Pask on Vimeo.

Festive gifts

Thanks to all the friends who've showered me in gifts. Laura gave me a Marmite teapot, but unfortunately, it was cracked - I'll get a replacement soon. It's very cool.

(Overseas readers: Marmite is a wonderful delicacy. Import some today). Don't listen to the naysayers who'll inevitably pop up in the comments section. They probably read the Daily Mail.

Thanks to Polly also. I have a bit of a confession on that score. She gave me a Build Your Own Gingerbread House kit. Slabs of gingerbread, icing mix, stick-on biscuits and all sorts of things. I didn't build it. I sat at my desk, guzzling gingerbread like Homer in The Land of Chocolate. It was a low point, and I'm sorry.

Sssshhhh…

The Guardian has a piece today on how to arrange your book collection. They're very scornful of my chosen method: alphabetical. Actually, mine's alphabetical for anything bought more than two years ago. They go from floor to ceiling on all four walls, including the 20,000+ vinyl records, but not the CDs, which are stored here and there. Everything else is piled in any space on top of properly shelved books. Then there are vertical columns of books behind the wardrobe, a 1m x 1m x 1m cube of unread books on the floor, then some piled randomly, then a stuffed bookcase at work and a few piles on my desk.

One of the wittily contentious things this article proposes is how to arrange your library to attract people.

The "I'm desperate for a shag', female version

Doesn't really require books – it's the last thing a man will notice. But on the off-chance you bring someone home who can read, it might be an idea temporarily to lose anything too intimidating by Andrea Dworkin.

Unless you're a lesbian, in which case you might like to put it on the coffee table.

Ladies: do not listen to this at all. Should I ever enter your house (that isn't entendre, by the way), I'll go straight for your bookshelves. I may well read a book or two right then and there. Or I'll leave in high dudgeon having seen Dan Brown, Coelho, or others of that ilk. Critical theory particularly appreciated.

What systems do you use? One or two of you, I know, will say that one's piled on top of the other one, but this is for the rest of you. Size? Genre? Degree of affection? Mark uses the Dewey Decimal system, which I respect. I'll use it when I finally get a place with enough room. I'd like a poetry corner, though that smacks of ghettoisation a little. A proper library in dark wood with a rolltop escritoire, ladders on runners, a wood fire, squashy armchairs and a card index. Someone snoozing in one corner as rain beats on the windows, a marmoset nibbling on a Jeffrey Archer in the other (my version of a shredder). A clock ticks, Radio 4 mumbles warmly from concealed speakers, a violin case sits on a side table and on another Marmite on crumpets await. I of course will be wearing a dark, three-piece tweed suit and a tie knitted by Anne Shirley, who's finally dumped that awful Gilbert cad (he turned out to have been a devotee of 'Hunnish practices').

Or, an ultra-modern German/Scandinavian-style glass and steel building, zero-carbon, naturally-ventilated, Passivhaus machine for reading in, perched on a cliff overlooking one of Norway's fjords.

Well, it beats Whitmore Reans: my place look's like Bernard's back room in Black Books, which is funny because he's right about everything as much as David Mitchell

Nun better

Laura's been in: more lovely presents, along the theme of The Culture, Cheese and Pineapple (which you're all joining, aren't you?). As well as a copy of John Burrow's wonderful A History of Histories, she gave me some miniature Marmite-flavoured cheeses, a French Scrabble birthday card, a tin of pineapple chunks and, in honour of my school days, miniature Nun Bowling, with nun-shaped skittles. These will be making an appearance in the pub later. Thanks!