Roger Rabbits with Jim Bunny

No wonder the president-elect is threatening to annex Canada.

Not because he wants to lovingly embrace his northern border neighbours, he wants to bundle every last one of those cheeky 40 million Canucks off to finishing school – teach them a thing or two about international relations, about niceness, understanding and acceptance.

And first in line for some etiquette training will be a bloke called Peter Early, aka “Early Pete” – known in his own little social media bubble for clips discussing food from around the world.

Shots fired 

In one of his latest videos, he takes a stinging, long-distance shot at the Kiwi propensity for Wattie’s tinned spaghetti. Calls us “liars” for promoting seasonal ingredients and local produce when in fact we’re on the sofa scoffing 420-gram cans of “New Zealand’s favourite”. Pete probably believed that blurb on the label. Spaghetti in “rich tomato sauce” with “two field grown tomatoes squeezed into every can”.

Don’t those two tomatoes tick the seasonal ingredients and local produce boxes?

“What are you guys doing?” asks the Canadian know-it-all who presents in that attire might get a “C” or “D” council hygiene rating appearance. This chef wouldn’t be allowed through the front door of most New Zealand restaurants, let alone into the kitchen.And here he is barking on about Kiwis and tinned spaghetti. “I mean this is worse than the slop they serve in American cafeterias.”

Really petty Pete?

Childhood staple 

Kiwis don’t regard Watties ‘spag’ as haute cuisine, but it’s certainly been a “go to” for generations of us. Twenty million cans a year - four cans for every man woman and child. It’s a classic, it has a place, it’s had a job to do. And it has quietly and loyally served us well… when required.

Like Boxing Day – you would have heard a percussion of popping tins at baches and camp sites as Wattie’s was prescribed to soak up the excesses of the previous day. Wattie’s spag on Vogels toast with a couple of runny poached eggs - just the medicine for a stinking Xmas hangover.

And petty Pete, you are in no position to be sanctimonious when you boast something called “the Canadian Hangover Helper”, or breakfast Poutine, or your version of “slops”. It sounds like slops, looks like slops. I understand the word Poutine is, at best, a deformation of the English word “pudding”, and, at worst, it could be Quebecois slang for “a big mess”.    

Poutine - fries topped with cheese curd, rubber tasting vaguely like cheese and squeaks when munched, and gravy, chopped bacon and fried eggs. An artery hardening abomination.

We can match your goop Petty Pete. But we won’t boast about it, and we won’t make an international incident of it. We call our Poutine “Cheesy Weezies” – our infamous rather than famous contribution to loaded fries. A bunch of hot salty chips sprinkled with a handful of REAL cheese, drizzled with tomato sauce or mayonnaise, or both, and pulled together in a gooey, parcel. I suspect our goo out-grosses and out-calories your goop.

Petty Pete calls us out for “lying”. Well, consider this Pete.

Culinary delights

Between cans of Wattie’s spaghetti, we eat kiwifruit, citrus, berries of every ilk, persimmon, feijoas, melons, avos, cherries, pears and apples. Shall I go on?  From around the coast – whitebait, crayfish, Snapper, Tarakihi, flatfish, Tuna, mussels, paua and scallops. From the farm, venison, goat, beef, lamb and chicken. You want brussel spouts, asparagus, kumara with that? Get the picture Pete?

And you can only brag about a flatbread called Bannock that looks as uninteresting as its name, something called a Halifax Donair which the rest of the world knows as a Doner Kebab, ghastly ketchup flavoured chips – why would you? - and Tourtière, a common old meat pie hiding behind a flash Gallic name. We’ll send some “train smash”, Wattie’s tomato sauce, to flash up that pie. And a couple of tins of spag because perhaps, just perhaps, your tinned spaghetti is crap, and your little outburst is an envy thing.

Versatile dish 

As one of four kids in a working-class family, Jim Wattie made us look flash. When other kids got boring meat paste or jam sandwiches for school lunch every day, I got cold, canned spaghetti, sprinkled with grated tasty cheese and lovingly crafted into little rolls. I was envied.

We also had Wattie’s spaghetti for dinner. The head chef made a bake, a work of art - a bed of canned spaghetti, sliced left-over sausages, chopped onion, fingers of toast, parmesan, and breadcrumbs with sliced tomatoes and parsley on top. Looked great, tasted great, was great.

So, stop being picky Pete. We understand your country is rudderless, mired in tears and resignations this week, so you are probably in need of love and understanding. You are forgiven. Have a hug. Three tins of Wattie’s in transit as we speak. And if you need prep directions chef, just yell.