Photo by Rick Geary

Vegemite ven became a modest fad-ette in 1983, when Men at Work’s “Down Under” topped the U.S. charts.

Dear Matt: My husband and I were listening to old Men at Work tapes. What exactly is Vegemite? Have you ever tasted it? I heard it's disgusting. — Kittybyte, the Net

Matthew Alice: I can go into just about any market and buy beef pork, fish, rabbit, chicken, even buffalo or frog legs. Why can’t I buy gyro meat? Why don’t they sell it anywhere but Greek places, and what exactly is it made of? — Mort Schwartz, Clairemont

Oh, give me a home where the gyros roam.... Got to admit, I’ve never encountered a herd of wild gyros myself. Guess we’ll have to look elsewhere for the source of what one M.A. pal sneeringly calls “prison meat.” That huge, rotating cone of stufif-on-a-skewer is a clever amalgam of beef and lamb dolled up with spices, most commonly garlic, pepper, thyme, and fennel. (It is sold frozen, in loaf form, in some markets.) Gyros — a Greek word, pronounced “yeer-ose” — exists in one form or another in many Middle Eastern countries. We consider it Greek only because an immigrant from Pireus, in the early ’70s, improved the taste and figured out a way to make the very thinly sliced or minced meat stick together through the cooking process, and patented the special vertical cooker, the Kronomatic. Kronos-Central Products, Inc., dumps on us nearly two tons of meat wads, pita bread, and yogurt sauce each month. Kronos and three smaller companies dominate worldwide sales from the gyros center of the universe, Chicago.

If gobs o’ ground-up animals give you the international heebie-jeebies, then Vegemite’s the thing for you. Vitaminwise, it’s got more Bs than rubber baby buggy bumpers. Since you can’t legally eat koala, it’s become the Australian national dish. Or condiment, actually. And like the Aussies themselves, it’s full of attitude and doesn’t much care if others can’t stand to be in the same room with it.

Vegemite was developed in 1908 by a gent looking for a nutritious food that would keep well in the hot Aussie wastelands. The result is a dense brownish-black goo with the penetrating smell of very well-used Nikes. It’s most commonly spread on buttered toast for a quick breakfast eye opener/attention-getter or a healthy snack for the kiddies. Some slather it on bread for a Vegemite sandwich, and it’s in soups and stews occasionally. To their credit, even Australians didn’t trust the stuff until an American-based marketing campaign revealed the error of their ways around 1930.

Vegemite’s still basically the same as it was in 1908. It begins with the scum of dead and dying yeast cells that collects at the top of brewing vats. Process the yeast to release the liquid from inside the cells, then discard the cell walls. Add tons of salt to the yeast guts, then some celery and onion flavorings and secret spices. Cook it up thick, bottle it, and Australians will buy nearly five tons of it a year. It’s available here in health food stores and even became a modest fad-ette in 1983, when Men at Work’s “Down Under” topped the U.S. charts (“Buying bread from a man in Brussels / He was 6 foot 4 and full of muscles /I said, ‘Do you speak my language?’ / He just smiled and gave me a Vegemite sandwich”).

Vegemite’s made in Australia, but by our own Cheez-Whiz kids, Kraft Foods, which makes the Vegemite center of the universe — Chicago. Wonder how the stuff tastes on gyros.