The weather in London has been nothing short of spectacular these past few weeks. With the sun beaming down and clear blue skies, it’s been screaming barbecue season. However, having relocated from New Zealand to London last year, I’ve come to realise one thing: Brits don’t quite grasp the art of a good barbeque.
I recently had my inaugural experience of an English barbecue and was utterly gobsmacked at how the Brits go about it. Upon receiving the invite, I was over the moon. It felt like a slice of home — we Kiwis pride ourselves on our top-notch backyard gatherings — so I promptly started making arrangements. I shot off a message offering to bring a few salads, perhaps a jug of margaritas, and naturally, no barbecue would be complete without a sweet treat. This time, I thought a pavlova would hit the spot.
Imagine my astonishment when the reply came back, “No, we don’t need to make anything; we’ve got it all already.”
I was taken aback! Hosting a barbecue for 15 people is no small feat, so I enquired about the menu. The response?
Sausages, burger patties and bread with tomato sauce – and of course, some veggie patties and skewers for the vegetarian guests. No sides? I asked, already anticipating the answer. No sides.
I was utterly flabbergasted. The sides are the crowning glory of a backyard barbie, how could one possibly go ahead without them?
In New Zealand, it’s customary for guests to bring a plate to gatherings — and by that, we mean a side dish, not dinnerware. The host typically takes care of the meat and might whip up a couple of salads, while attendees contribute either sweet or savoury sides, or perhaps the makings of a charcuterie board.
The end result is a veritable banquet, with platters piled high not just with burgers but also salads, corn, fresh produce, cheeses and, naturally, an ample supply of ice-cold beers, wines, and cocktails.
I couldn’t fathom hosting a barbecue without these essentials, so I bucked the trend. I arrived bearing an orzo salad and a freshly baked pavlova, despite being advised not to bring anything else, as it wouldn’t be consumed.
Much to the host’s astonishment — though not mine — both dishes were a resounding hit.
Another aspect that left me perplexed was the method used to cook the meat. To my mind, a barbecue is a luxury item.
In New Zealand, they’re gas-powered grills, large enough to accommodate at least 10 burgers simultaneously, and if you own one, you’re automatically designated as the summer host.
Here, I was taken aback by a knee-high circular device fuelled by coals, firestarters and isobutane from a broken Bic lighter.
How on earth can you efficiently prepare such a vast quantity of food on something so diminutive?
The answer? With military-like precision. I must admit, the swift manoeuvres by the men at the grill were impressive — and the burgers were delicious, though I could have done without constantly shifting upwind to avoid the smoke stinging my eyes.
Despite not meeting my expectations, my inaugural British barbecue was delightful. At its core, a barbecue is about gathering with loved ones, sharing a meal, and savouring not just the weather, but the sense of community.
Nonetheless, I am resolved to host the next one at my place, and demonstrate how it truly ought to be done.