"Australia, I'm sorry. But you're doing Christmas all wrong because of one huge mistake."

Dearest Australians,

Like many of you, as soon as Christmastime swings around, I play Jingle Bells, I put up a fir tree and I drown the house in tinsel, lights and decorations.

Like many of you, I put a wreath on the door, I wrap presents for my loved ones and I might even pinch some mistletoe and holly.

Like many of you, I grew up on a Christmas movie diet of How the Grinch Stole Christmas,  National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, Love Actually, A Christmas Carol.

But as far as I’m concerned, that’s where our similarities end.

And that’s a problem. Because (faith aside) there is nothing – NOTHING – more important at Christmas than food. Glorious food.

I’ve been living in your country for eight years. I’ll never forget the first time you told me turkey was not on the menu on December 25.

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Instead, you eat seafood. Food from the sea. Prawns. On a ‘barbie’. This is unholy stuff. My jaw hit the ground and plunged toward the centre of the earth. I’m still in recovery.

In case you missed it, darling Australians, this is the one and only time of the year you have an excuse to buy a bird so enormous, it could easily eat up the entire length of your arm.

Not only is it the most delicious roast beast you will ever eat, it is biologically designed to send you into a blissful food coma. The meat is full of magic the amino acid tryptophan that actually makes you sleepy.

Have you ever watched a Chrissy movie where a family pulls open their crackers, pops on those colourful paper crowns, cracks those lame jokes and munches on some shrimp?

No. Because that would be WEIRD. (Post continues after gallery.)

And don’t even try telling me, “But it’s too hot for a roast.”

Because while nothing beats a white Christmas, the reality is our globe is divided into two hemispheres. And for half of us, a wintry December simply isn’t happening.

But we still have a duty to fulfil: to slave aaaaaaaall day preparing and roasting a turkey before cramming as much into our stomachs as possible.

I lived in South-East Asia for 10 years, in a nation literally 137km north of the equator, where the outdoor heat is a consistently humid 30 degrees.

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You better believe that on Christmas Day, we prepared a full spread of turkey, stuffing, ham, potatoes, parsnips, carrots, Brussels sprouts, chestnuts, bread sauce, mint sauce, cranberry sauce, gravy. (Hungry, yet?)

None of this bourgeois FISH business.

Let's end this blasphemy. I'm proposing a little switcheroo.

Give the turkey and all the trimmings a try on Christmas. Crank up the air-con if you insist. Because I promise once you do this, your tastebuds will never, ever go back to your Christmas barramundi.

The feed is basically a sensory rave party. A traditional Christmas dinner table spread is the happiest sight in the world. (Okay, second. After puppies.)

And then just a few days later, you can have your fish, crab, prawns and oysters. Seafood is designed for New Year's Eve - when you're still digesting your December 25 blowout.

Because the truth of the matter is, if you don't get the Christmas feast right, then you're doing Christmas all wrong.

I'm sorry. Someone had to tell you. And I'm doing it because I love you.

Disclaimer: This article is intended to be tongue-in-cheek. I don't claim to be a Christmas purist/messiah/dictator. I'm just a first-born bossy-boots with strong opinions about Christmas. And turkey.