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(Gif: Archi Banal)
(Gif: Archi Banal)

KaiJuly 4, 2022

Why does everybody hate the new Sistema?

(Gif: Archi Banal)
(Gif: Archi Banal)

The local plasticware giant has redesigned its containers, and (almost) everybody is mad about it. Presenting the cases for and against.

The case for the new Sistema

Sistema is a way of life. It may look like a slightly cheap plastic tub that could easily be swapped out for Tupperware, Click-Clack or one of any number of alternatives, but something about the locally-made storage solution has made a loyal customer out of me – and many other New Zealanders. Maybe it’s the range of colours? The sizes? The fact they always seem to be on special at Briscoes?

In 2021, the brand’s iconic design was updated. No, it was upgraded. Gone are the janky and very leakable rubber seals, and in their place are lids that attach like an air seal on the International Space Station. Nothing is escaping through these lids. They’re sleeker, they’re frosted, they feel harder, better, faster, stronger.

A masterful upgrade, in my eyes. But it’s become very clear that while I’m staunchly in the “redesign” camp,  a lot of others disagree and are yearning for the old days. / Stewart Sowman-Lund

The case against the new Sistema

The new lids are incredibly hard to get off, especially on the smaller containers. I had to use a knife the other night to pry one off, my leg braced against the cupboard door to sustain the effort. I ducked upon opening lest I’d unleashed a 1000-year old curse. I need Sistema in my life and I need to love it. I spend half my life at war with hard-to-open food packaging. I’m trying to reduce how much of that comes into our house. Sistema is part of that programme of work but with fingers and thumbs that are already wrecked from years of hard scrolling and typing graft and with a future of carpal tunnel and arthritis ahead of me, we’re gonna need a lid revision, stat. / Anna Rawhiti-Connell

The new Sistema lids are absolutely cooked. If I’m successful in getting one to attach to the bloody container (which is a rare occurrence), the chances of ever being able to open the damn thing are slim. Reader, I do not have time for this. Also, the little clicky-clacky fastener things come off and get lost in the bottomless pit of despair that is my container drawer, leaving me with clicky-clacky-less containers that I use anyway, but then the lids come off and spill my leftovers everywhere. Simply unacceptable. / Alice Neville

Sistema used to be great. For a person who likes to avoid dishes, it was the perfect lunchbox solution. Cheap and plentiful, I could write the kids’ names on them in Sharpie, chuck them in their backpacks, and not have to worry if I forgot to give them a rinse after school – there were always more in the drawer. But it all changed the day the new lids attacked. Not only were they not backwards compatible, leaving me with a weird ratio of unmatching lids-to-containers, they’re almost impossible for my kids to open on their own – a requirement at my 4-year-old’s kindy. Encouraging independence in young kids is always a good thing, and the side benefit of not taking up all of the ECE teacher’s attention opening 30 lids is obviously great too. For now I’ll be hoarding my newly-vintage sistema and hoping for the day that a more ergonomic, child-friendly version becomes available. / Sacha Laird

I was never a fan of the blue seal giving up the ghost and just flopping out of place in the original Sistema design, but I’d take that over the horror show that is the new design any day. The Sistema of yore is a staple of our snack container contingent, but the new ones are gathering dust in my plastics drawer; it turns out I didn’t give birth to superheroes but regular humans whose strength is not sufficient to prise these suckers open. Kids aren’t the only victims here, turns out the new Sistema is adult-proof as well. As an extra kick in the guts, the new design has clips on the lids which rendering them incompatible with tidy dishwasher stacking, so even if you do find a use for the cursed containers you can forget about having a nice time doing the dishes. / Jane Yee

I’ve been using one of the new Sistema containers as my compost bin because I suppose I am a bit of an eco hero and also because I forgot to empty the last one after about a month of stewing and the stench had sunk into the plastic and we had to throw the whole thing out. Although the new container is extremely good at keeping the stink of banana skins out of our apartment, it needs approximately a crow bar to get the lid off every time. For some reason, the new Sistema contains the otherworldly suction power of Suzanne Paul lifting a two tonne truck off the ground, and I frequently smack myself in the chin like an idiot trying to wrench it open. Good for slapstick comedy, bad for my self-esteem. / Alex Casey

Keep going!
One wiz wit (Image: Archi Banal)
One wiz wit (Image: Archi Banal)

KaiJune 30, 2022

An authentic Philly cheesesteak in Aotearoa? This one’s pretty close

One wiz wit (Image: Archi Banal)
One wiz wit (Image: Archi Banal)

A Philadelphia cheesesteak connoisseur tries new Auckland spot Phat Philly’s.

Like most people who ever set foot in Philadelphia, one of the first things I ate there was a cheesesteak. On paper it immediately ticked all the major boxes: meat, cheese, bread. But only once I tasted it did I understand what a culinary wonder a good cheesesteak truly is. I spent about six years studying and working in Philly, and reckon I probably had one every week or two. 

A couple of weeks ago a specialty cheesesteak spot called Phat Philly’s opened in Auckland. It looked legit – at least from the photos on their website – so I decided to see how it stacked up to the cheesesteaks I’ve eaten over the years. Unlike almost every other cheesesteak I’ve eaten since leaving Philly, this time I can say I wasn’t disappointed in the slightest.

The “Full Phat” (essentially a classic Philly cheesesteak with onions) came out fast and piping hot. My first thought was that they’ve really nailed the bread – almost all cheesesteaks in Philly use a brand called Amoroso’s, and this was as close as you could get. As I got into it, the cheese, steak and onion had clearly all had a chance to get to know each other – each bite had a great balance of ingredients. Within a few minutes all that remained was the cheese and fat dripping down my fingers. Perfect.

The Full Phat (Photo: Joel Berryman)

Beyond the bread, this was pretty spot on for an authentic cheesesteak. The cheese tasted different from the cheese whiz I’m used to, but that’s probably because the stuff over there is 20% plastic – so I saw that as a plus. The steak was solid and very thinly sliced, which was awesome to see, but if anything maybe slightly underseasoned. The one rogue thing was the crispy onion flakes sprinkled on top – that’s a new one for me, but I was a fan of the added texture. 

Cheesesteak spots in Philly often do something to differentiate theirs from everyone else’s – some have really long slices of steak, some have thick chunks, others have finely chopped everything. So what makes a good cheesesteak really depends on the person eating it. The one thing they all have in common is that all of the ingredients melt into each other to make a cheesy, meaty mess.

My favourite spot is Jim’s Steaks on South Street. A lot of people prefer Dalessandros, John’s Roast Pork or Max’s Steaks – all of these are great too. One thing you’ll never hear a Philadelphian say is that their favourite spot is either Geno’s or Pat’s. Those places are right next to each other and are a massive tourist trap. They still serve good cheesesteaks, but they survive off the taste buds of tourists, not those of locals. 

Barack Obama eats at Pat’s on the presidential campaign trail in 2008 (Photo: Charles Ommanney/Getty Images)

A big part of the authentic cheesesteak experience in Philadelphia is in how you order them. I embarrassed myself the first time I ordered one, politely asking “Can I please get one cheesesteak with some onions? What sort of cheese do you have? How much is that?”. Little did I know there is an intricate ordering system that sets tourists and locals apart. It basically makes your order as short as possible, so the chefs can keep pumping them out. “Can I please have one cheesesteak with melted cheese and onions” becomes simply “One wiz wit”. “Can I please have two cheesesteaks with provolone and no onions” becomes “Two provolone witout”. Philly is all about efficiency in that sense, and I wish that was somehow a part of the Phat Philly’s experience too.

I’ve become accustomed to skipping right past a “classic Philly cheesesteak” any time I see one on a menu, assuming it will never be as good as the ones in Philly. The bar has been set at the very top and I don’t want to disappoint myself. I’m glad I made an exception for Phat Philly’s – it was one of the most authentic cheesesteaks I’ve had outside of Philadelphia, and it’s probably the only place I’ve found where I’d take any of my Philly mates for a taste of home.

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