Blasphemy, I know.
Ok, for starters, I'm American, a French American. So, I found myself in Australia, in Perth to be specific, at a fine breakfast buffet at a pretty fancy hotel. I had come to Perth on a US Navy ship, but I was on shore leave, sampling the local...goods...and I came down to have breakfast.
There were all of the usual things there, and there was this thing called "Vegemite". Now, I had heard OF it, but never had it. It was right next to the bread, so it looked like I should spread it on bread.
So, I took a piece of white bread, and the jar of Vegemite, and I proceeded to slather it on thick, like a great big schmear of peanut butter or cream cheese. I went back to the jar and got more. By the time I was done, I had four tablespoons of Vegemite piled up on that piece of bread, like a pile of peanut butter - as much weight in Vegemite as bread, maybe more.
The stuff looked rich and interesting, a very dark brown. I remember my delight at tasting Nutella for the first time. And Cream Cheese. Such delightful things that we smear on bread: Peanut Butter, Nutella, Cream Cheese...and now, a quarter of a cup of Vegemite lathered onto a piece of bread a half-inch thick. Surely this would be paradaisical.
So, I opened my watering mouth to admit this paradaisical delight, and bit down.
And I vomited.
Back home, when the Alewives first came into the Great Lakes as eggs in the ballast tanks of seagoing ships, they spawned without natural predators, and grew into such huge fish balls that vast quantities of them died of natural causes and washed up on the beach, where they were piled by bulldozers into great smelly heaps of rotting fish. If you stepped on one, it sort of mushed down like a brown squashed banana, and produced a very specific stench.
That stench of rotten alewife, and that squishy consistency - THAT is what filled up my senses as my mouth filled with a tablespoon full of pure Vegemite. OH MY GOD.
It was enough to gag a maggot, and it DID cause me to hurl, to projectile vomit, right there on the floor right in front of the buffet line in one of Perth's finest hotels.
And then the taste stuck with me, like [bless and do not curse][bless and do not curse][bless and do not curse][bless and do not curse] on a shoe.
SO VERY NASTY.
I knew instinctively how they make it. There's a factory assembly line conveyor belt that comes up out of a fiery volcano in the Outback called Mt. Doom, whose glowing caldera is a tunnel leading straight down to the sixth circle of Hell. There, twisted, evil demons that have feasted on zombie flesh squat over the jars to defecate. Then the jars are capped, sealed and shipped right out of Mt. Doom to Australian nurseries and convenience stores. Truly infernal stuff. The jars should be marked "Hell Droppings"
Many years later, I was at another buffet, in London, with an English chap. They had Marmite there. It looked just like Vegemite. It, too, was in a little jar. An English chap, colleague of mine, saw me pull out my cruficix, garlic and holy water and start performing the exorcism in the vile substance's general direction and he assured me that, no, no, this was positively DELIGHTFUL stuff.
I recall thinking "Well, you ARE English..." confirming what everybody in France already knows: the English eat out of garbage cans.
But he ASSURED me, and he even prepared a "tartine" of Marmite to prove it. He suggested that there was something deficient about my manhood if I would not even take a bite (and it is very GALLING for a Frenchman to have his manhood questioned by an Englishman, because we ALL know they're poofs). So I had to try it.
Now, I noticed that there was quite a bit different about this Marmite Tartine in London than my Vegemite pile in Perth. For one thing, the Brit had TOASTED the bread. I guess if you're going to smear rotten fish on bread, it's slightly less revolting if you remove the nauseating sponginess from it.
Second, he had spread a pretty thick bed of butter on the toast, and the butter was from Normandie (ah, Europe), so here were two good things: toast and French butter. And then I noticed that the Marmite was VERY thinly spread. It was about a molecule thick, perhaps a half of teaspoon on the whole piece of toast (contrasted with the 12 full teaspoons - 4 tablespoons - a quarter of a cup of Vegemite I had slathered on the raw bread down in Perth).
Gingerly, and Ah! Slowly!, I brought the [bless and do not curse][bless and do not curse][bless and do not curse][bless and do not curse] Slime on Toast up to my face. I did not sniff it. I knew if I felt that heady scent of demon anus like a stinky fist right in my center of conscience, I'd never even get one bite down, and then this English Poof would have beaten the Frenchman. Unacceptable.
So I bit down, and...it wasn't so bad. It was salty. I tasted the toast, I tasted the butter. The Marmite just added this saltiness to it, a yeasty saltiness.
I told him about the Vegemite and he almost blew his coffee out his nose laughing. "Mate, you can't eat Marmite out of a jar like Peanut spread. Who would ever DO such a thing. Ha ha ha."
So, my final judgment is that if Vegemite is anything like Marmite, it is the Australian equivalent of Fugu, that poisonous fish that will absolutely kill you unless it's prepared by an expert Japanese sushi chef. Non-natives should only attempt to eat a Vegemite sandwich that has been prepared by a native Aussie or Brit.
It's actually pretty good in single-molecule doses. Eaten like peanut butter, it could be a very cruel execution method.