The London weather has been absolutely amazing these past few weeks. With the sun beaming down and clear blue skies, it's been screaming "barbecue" at every turn.

However, as a Kiwi who moved to London last year, I've made a startling discovery: Brits don't quite grasp the art of a good barbecue.

I recently had my first taste of an English barbecue and was utterly gobsmacked by how it all went down. When the invite landed in my inbox, I was over the moon.

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It felt like a slice of home, where we New Zealanders know our way around a backyard bash, so I got straight to planning.

I pinged off a message offering to bring a couple of salads, perhaps a jug of margaritas, and naturally, no barbeque would be complete without a sweet treat - a pavlova seemed just the ticket, reports the Express.

Imagine my shock when the reply came back: "No, we don't need to make anything; we've got it all already." I was rather taken aback!

Catering a barbecue for 15 is no small feat, so I enquired about the menu. The response? Sausages, burger patties, bread with tomato sauce, and a few veggie patties and skewers for the non-meat eaters.

No sides? I ventured, though I suspected I knew the answer. No sides.

I was utterly flabbergasted. The sides are the star of any backyard barbie, how on earth could one go ahead without them?

In New Zealand, it's customary for guests to bring a plate to a gathering - and no, we're not talking about dinnerware, but rather a side dish.

The host typically takes care of the meat and might whip up a salad or two, while everyone else contributes either sweet or savoury sides or perhaps the makings of a charcuterie board.

The result is a veritable banquet with plates piled high not only 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 having a barbecue without these elements, so I bucked the trend. I arrived with an orzo salad and my freshly made pavlova, despite being told not to bring anything else as it wouldn't be eaten.

To the host's surprise, though not mine, both dishes were a hit.

The second thing that left me scratching my head was the way the meat was cooked. To me, a barbecue is a luxury item.

In New Zealand, they're gas-powered hot plates, large enough to cook at least 10 burgers at once, and if you've got one then you're the designated host for the summer.

Here, I was taken aback by a circular knee-high contraption powered by coals, firestarters and the isobutane from a broken Bic lighter.

How on earth can you cook that much food efficiently on something so small?

The answer is - with military-like precision. I must admit, I was rather taken aback by the swift manoeuvres of the men in charge of the grilling - and to be fair, the burgers were quite tasty, though I could have done without having to constantly shift upwind to avoid the smoke stinging my eyes.

Despite it not being quite what I had anticipated, my inaugural British barbecue was a delightful affair. At its core, a barbecue is about gathering with those you hold dear, sharing a meal and savouring not just the weather, but the sense of community.

Nevertheless, I am resolute in my decision to host the next one at my place, and demonstrate how it truly ought to be done.