Ask a Brit for their opinion on something and they might say: “It’s marmite.”
That’s code for “you’ll love it or hate it.” So-called because people tend to have polarised opinions on the thick, black, salty spread made from yeast extract sold under the brand ‘Marmite’. On paper not that appealing, it’s true. But I’m firmly in the “love it” camp. As, apparently, are many expats the world over. Because Marmite, along with Branston Pickle, Bisto gravy granules and Robertson’s orange (or lime) marmalade, is never difficult to buy overseas.

“The English Shop”
I’ve lived in a few countries, sometimes in small towns, sometimes big cities. But no matter the location, I’ve never been far from (what’s usually referred to as) ‘the English shop’. Or at least the shop with a shelf of British products. They’re a boon when you get a hankering for a taste of home. And in the run up to Christmas they also stock traditional treats like mincemeat and brightly-wrapped Christmas puddings.
I adore Christmas cake and the sharp-sweet taste of home-made spiced Christmas chutney with a slice of baked ham, but there’s nothing quite the same as the fruity, spicy, nutty, stodgy Christmas pudding. My mum always made ours by hand, a tradition I have adopted. While I no longer pop a sixpence (or even a 50 pence) in the mixture (cracking a tooth and seeking emergency dental work on Christmas Day strangely doesn’t appeal), we uphold the tradition where every member of the household stirs the pudding mixture and makes a wish.
That first year out of the UK, I flirted with the idea of just buying a Christmas pudding. Easy and quick. But it felt like such a cop-out I decided to go for it. In hindsight would I have made the same decision? Let me see …

What on earth is suet?
Things started well. I managed to source a traditionally-shaped pudding bowl and track down currants (as opposed to sultanas or raisins), but then I hit a major snag. The recipe called for shredded suet. This was readily obtainable in UK supermarkets under the brand name ‘Atora’, but alas ‘the English shop’ couldn’t help. No problem. I would source suet locally. I mean how hard could it be?
At this point you might be asking what on earth is suet? Nope, I had no clue either. According to my dictionary (this was pre-Internet) it’s the fat that surrounds the kidneys. OK that helped. So the next day I trotted along to the village butcher and con fidently made my request.

He looked as though I’d asked for his bin of scraps.
Smiling in bemusement, he wiped his hands on his apron and sauntered out back before returning with a pile of stringy membrane peppered with chunks of crumbly white fat. “Suet,” he told me, simply.
He looked even more perplexed when I asked the price. Shaking his head, he wrapped the soggy mess in a sheet of waxed paper and handed it over.
It was painstaking work, but three hours later I had flaked off enough suet to make the Christmas pudding. And against all odds it was a great success. A real home from home treat.
Though not one to be repeated. The following year I was first in line at the local ‘English shop’ to buy our Christmas pudding. Because although I was unwilling to repeat the suet experience, there’s nothing marmite about having a Christmas pudding in our house.

ANNA CHARLES