For the uninitiated, Vegemite is a thick, black, savory spread made from brewer’s yeast that has become a cultural marker for many Australians. It’s up there with lamingtons, Tim Tams and the Hills Hoist. In fact, there is a school in the western suburbs of Sydney that encourages refugee children to try Vegemite as part of their cultural orientation.

From as early as I can remember, our day would begin with Vegemite on white toast, downed with a cup of English breakfast tea as a nod to my English heritage. Then Mum would pack me off to school with triangular-shaped Vegemite sandwiches stuffed neatly alongside a green apple in my small metal lunchbox.

It wasn’t quite Vegemite for “breakfast, lunch and tea,” as the jingle suggested, but it was close.

I grew up loving the stuff that former President Barack Obama once described as “horrible.” Why some folks like Vegemite and others don’t, I’m not sure. Could it be that early exposure to Vegemite influences adult food preferences, as the American psychologists Paul Rozin and Michael Siegal reported in their 2003 study, “Vegemite as a Marker of National Identity”?

From the moment they could swallow, my kids ate Vegemite on little squares of bread, which I’d dutifully pop into their open mouths as if they were baby birds. When they got a little older, I’d smear Vegemite on crumpets and Sao biscuits and on sandwiches in their lunchboxes.

My Texan friend knew nothing of Vegemite other than the line from the 1980s Men at Work song “Down Under,” “He just smiled and gave me a Vegemite sandwich.” I smiled and told her I’d make her an honorary Australian if she dared to try it herself.