Chicken
This British Pantry Staple Reinvented My Weeknight Chicken
A new recipe for your dinner repertoire.
I’ve heard it all my life, the British staple statement: “You either hate it or you love it.”
I’ve never really known where I stood with Marmite. It’s never been more than a foreign condiment with which I had no relationship. I do know that there aren’t many flavors for which I’d use the word "hate." There are very few foods I don’t at the very least "like" when they’re prepared in the right way. Peppers, for example, can only be used in their truest form and not meddled into another dish; same goes for olives. Anchovies, on the other hand, must be in something else and no longer in their truest form—unless they’re fresh, floured, and deep-fried like I once had them in a tiny fish restaurant floating in the middle of the Italian sea.
Hating a food, however, has never come naturally to me. I find it a dramatic word to use for the very material that nourishes both our bodies and our lives. Even as a child I’d eat whatever was on my mom’s plate (I imagine to her dismay). It took me until I was all grown up, 29 years old and in the peak of pregnancy morning sickness to finally find myself truly hating food. To be blunt, ground beef—the base of so many frequented family favorites—was less desirable than the juice that drips out of a garbage bag, and protein was generally no longer considered a food group for me at all. This was around the same time I had a desperate hankering for the ambiguous dark gunk they call Marmite, and I found that I belonged with the side of the country that in fact loves it.
I must disclaim that once whatever life form that is possessing me to purchase four varieties of salt and vinegar potato chips for breakfast is finally released from my womb’s clutches, I could turn on this condiment at any point. But for now, I really love it. I know where I stand with Marmite—and for now, I am here to stay.
I’ve never favored sweets, but I’ve always appreciated the hypnotizing effect that chocolate being tempered or a cake being iced had on me. Marmite holds the posture of a pourable caramel and sends those same endorphins of satisfaction through me when I see it being decanted. Opening a fresh jar for that first dunk of a knife or teaspoon feels almost mystical. Its flavors have so much more of an umami richness than anything ever. Right now, I want to put it on everything, especially hot, over-buttered white toast, the first vehicle I ever tried it on. A friend’s husband made it his hangover cure of choice on a holiday weekend away, and as I watched with wonderment and curiosity, he proceeded to butter-and-Marmite my very own piece of toast for me, assertively handed it to me plate-less, and said: “Try it”. For that, I’m forever grateful.
But truthfully, the sticky elixir is worth more than just a spread for toast and a common topic of cultural debate.
Now that I’m free from the shackles of first-trimester blues (or greens, the color of my complexion most mornings until recently), I’ve been experimenting. Marmite is so concentrated that, unlike peanut butter, butter, or Nutella, even a teaspoon is overkill, which to me is a bit of a shame. I feel that its powerful flavor needs to be put to better use—and that’s where this recipe comes into play.
Heat and patience bring out Marmite's true capacity as an ingredient in cooking. I marinate my blank canvases (chicken thighs or drumsticks) in a mixture of Marmite, honey, vinegar, and olive oil and roast them atop lemony potatoes that cut the richness of the glaze. The result is crispy, full-flavored, and down-right miraculous.
| 300 | grams baby potatoes, cut lengthways into 3/4-cm slices |
| Juice of 2 lemons, divided | |
| Zest of 1 lemon | |
| 8 | chicken thighs or legs (a combination is fine, too) |
| 1 | yellow onion, sliced |
| 3 | tablespoons Marmite |
| 3 | tablespoons honey |
| 2 | tablespoons white wine vinegar |
| 6 | tablespoons olive oil, divided |
| Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper | |
| 4 | sprigs fresh thyme |
| 300 | grams baby potatoes, cut lengthways into 3/4-cm slices |
| Juice of 2 lemons, divided | |
| Zest of 1 lemon | |
| 8 | chicken thighs or legs (a combination is fine, too) |
| 1 | yellow onion, sliced |
| 3 | tablespoons Marmite |
| 3 | tablespoons honey |
| 2 | tablespoons white wine vinegar |
| 6 | tablespoons olive oil, divided |
| Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper | |
| 4 | sprigs fresh thyme |
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Written by: Emanuelle Lee
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14 Comments
Someone once swore to me that marmite and honey sandwiches were the bomb - fan as I am of marmite that thought just made me shudder. It probably tastes fine but no.
That said, the idea of adding some sweetness to marmite's ultimate umami flavour does have its appeal when offered up as a marinade come glaze for chicken. So yeah, into the recipe box it goes.
I also add a spoonful to gravies or beef broth to give it some extra depth.
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