The Honest Courtesan

We had a guest at Sunset last week, a friend from Australia.  And when he asked me what he could bring, I half-jokingly suggested a large jar of Vegemite (since we can only get small jars here in the States).  I say “half-jokingly” because, though I certainly would like a larger jar than usual, I wasn’t really expecting him to actually do it.  But he did, all right, and in fact trumped my joke by bringing me this (as he called it) “meme-sized” container; I left the butter dish in the picture to give y’all a sense of scale, since I doubt many people outside of Australia have ever seen one this large.  Honestly, I doubt many people inside of Australia have seen one this large; it seems unlikely most families can go through almost a kilogram of Vegemite in an amount of time that would make an institutional-size container worthwhile.  I’m certainly going to try, though, because I love the stuff.  A lot of people think I’m a picky eater because I despise green, leafy vegetables, but outside of those I actually have a pretty broad palate and will try just about anything at least once (unless its smell stops me).  And a few things I’ve tried on my travels have become favorites, among them Vegemite, Stornoway black pudding and St. Louis gooey butter cake (which I am realizing I could probably make at home).  It’s true that I was a picky eater as a child, but that was mostly because so many things made me sick I preferred to err on the side of caution.  Then as I got older I resolved to keep trying things so as to broaden my tastes, and didn’t stop with what most Americans consider palatable.  But despite enjoying lots of things a lot of Americans won’t even try (such as haggis), I still can’t get near any of the brassicas without feeling nauseous.