The world’s worst barbecuing nation
Idon’t set out to be cantankerous, and I don’t enjoy winding people up. In fact, nothing winds me up more than a columnist who seems to be intentionally winding people up. It’s like a double wind up. Shock jocks always claim they’re not being provocative, and it works because they’re normally targeting a group outside their demographic, so when the backlash comes they can hide behind ‘‘I’m just saying what we’re all thinking.’’
I don’t know what’s worse: if these columnists really believe the flames they’re fanning. Or if they know they’re wrong but they keep doing it because it pays well.
I don’t want to hurt people, and this certainly doesn’t pay well. But sometimes, I have to speak the truth. I don’t care if people will be shocked and appalled and I know this is probably a career-ender right here, but it needs to be said.
New Zealand is sadly one of the very worst barbecuing nations in the world.
‘‘Nothing beats a classic Kiwi Barbie’’ is a common expression. Every summer brings advertisements featuring kids playing cricket in the backyard, the women chilling at the table laughing and the men drinking beers around the grill.
What these advertisements don’t reveal is that the food those men are cooking is some of the most average burnt steak and cheese-infused sausages in the modern world.
Don’t shoot the messenger, I would not make these scandalous accusations without doing some serious research, and the results are damming.
Phnom Penh, Cambodia, 2017. The first thing I was told by a local friend when I got there was ‘‘You have to try Khmer Barbecue’’. I was immediately sceptical, but I didn’t want to offend my host. I came to Cambodia to experience their culture, visit Angkor Wat and learn about the terrors of the Khmer Rouge. I did not come for the food.
I decided I’d play along, I wouldn’t tell them I was from New Zealand, the greatest barbecuing country in the world. How could we not be? It’s on all the ads? Finding out we were bad at barbecue, would be like finding out the All Blacks were actually terrible at rugby, and our three Webb Ellis wins were deep fake simulations created by the government as a form of propaganda to keep the economy going.
‘‘These poor Cambodians,’’ I thought. ‘‘They think they’re good at barbecue, obviously they haven’t tried a steak with a big orange sticker from Pak’n Save. Cooked well done, and smothered in tomato sauce. Perfect!’’
They took me to what was arguably the worstlooking restaurant I’ve ever seen in my life. Covered in beer ads, this place was no more than six plastic tables and chairs on the side of a busy road.
But I couldn’t believe the food. It was the most succulent beef seasoned with the most delicious spices. The vegetables were grilled to perfection, the pork was so good I ate there five times in a week.
I was shocked. This hole-in-the-wall joint where mains cost $3 made the good old Kiwi sausage with onion taste like decapitated donkey.
I began to wonder what other barbecue food was out there.
Japanese yakitori. ‘‘Chicken with salt’’ how good can that be? Surely they don’t stack up to my mum’s legendary kebabs? We’ve got salt too.
I will not mention the result out of respect to my beloved mother, but I think it’s fair to say that Cambodia was not a one-off.
Barbecue ribs from South America, probably one of the best types of barbecue. So is Argentinian Asado, not to be confused with Brazilian Churrasco, perhaps my all-time favourite. And don’t get me started on Korea.
Out of respect to New Zealand, I’m going to say nothing about the Australian barbecue. But I can assure you that when it comes to atmosphere, company and quality of meat . . . New Zealand is world class (per capita, adjusted for inflation) but when it comes to actually cooking barbecue in rugby terms, we’re Georgia.