The toast was ready, the butter spread upon it. All I needed was that salty, savoury Marmite kick to start my day off to perfection. But the measly 125g Marmite jar (the biggest you can get in Canada) was not in its usual place. A frantic, fruitless search of all the food cupboards ensued, but no luck. I had to resort to marmalade instead. On toast which had become cold. There's nothing wrong with marmalade, of course, but when your taste buds are primed to expect Marmite, it just doesn't cut the mustard (and I see that even Paddington Bear has been converted to this point of view).
The suspect in the Mystery of the Missing Marmite was sitting in the kitchen watching my increasingly irritated search. My mother-in-law. A lovely woman, with a helpful habit of putting things away. Often in unexpected places. She maintained a steady silence throughout my traumatic breakfast and I was fairly sure that she had secreted the sticky brown substance somewhere. Interrogation was pointless, as by now she had no recollection of ever having touched it, but it was a dangerous five minutes. If I could only have found where she'd put the sharp knives, she might have been in mortal danger.I later found the missing jar in the fridge. My mother-in-law is now on her way back to England. Well, not because of the Marmite incident, but perhaps it was fortunate timing. She is with her son, who will soon be returning with an ENORMOUS jar of Marmite for me. Which will be hard to miss, wherever it gets hidden.
