Long before my push for sustainability in the culinary world, decades before I met my two fellow crusaders, in my hometown of Templestowe, Australia, I knew one thing: I wanted to become a chef. It’s not something I just fell into. I’ve always loved food and made the conscious decision to pursue it. I started washing dishes at fifteen, and right after I finished high school, I started my apprenticeship.
Fast forward through countless internships, multiple stints abroad, an unexpected turn in the realm of baking, and an international sugar-sculpting competition, and you’ll find me where I am today: back in my native Australia, running a tiny, regional seaside restaurant.
While my 15-year-old self would’ve cringed to think of myself as a leader, it’s somethingI’m learning to embrace. After 19 years of experiencing the complexities of thehospitality industry, I’ve learned a significant lesson: the importance of true leaders.
I’ve learned that a true leader isn’t just someone who is elected or appointed. They’re someone who enacts lasting change with their actions — one who takes an ethical stance, accepts responsibility, and assumes accountability.
AN INDUSTRY RIPE FOR RESET
Over my years in the culinary world, I have witnessed and been a contributor to copious amounts of waste. When a menu consists of ingredients grown hundreds or thousands of kilometers away, whether it be fish for an inland location or berries that are only in season in another country, the food miles rack up as the environmental cost of transportation skyrockets. Throw in routine and lazy kitchen habits, and quite a bit of that shipped-in food goes straight into the trash. In short, our current food system is ripe for a reset. Opportunities for improvement lie within the way our food is grown, transported, stored, packaged, prepared, consumed, and disposed of — essentially every step of the process. With a better understanding of the toll all parts of food production take on the Earth, my ethical stance now centers on my ability to mitigate these effects and be a positive contributor.
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Shop NowOf course, I didn’t arrive at this overnight. My perspective has been honed over several years, conservatively at Oakridge Winery and then far more explicitly at Future Food System.
In 2015, Matt Stone, a formidable, sustainability-focused chef, and I took over Oakridge Winery restaurant in Victoria’s Yarra Valley, situated 90 km from the coastline. As co-executive-chefs, we shared an ethical stance to make as little negative environmental impact as possible. From there, our mission was very straightforward: to supply our 140-seat restaurant with local, seasonal produce and as much of our own homegrown food as possible. Because of our inland location, this meant ruling out seafood — a staple for many Australian restaurants.
Our decision to omit seafood came from wanting to reduce food miles, highlight the region, and lessen our impact on the ocean. It seemed daunting at first to lose prospective event bookings, be questioned for not having the expected fare, and justify something that seemed so insignificant to everyone else. But we referred back to our stance when we were unsure of decision-making, refined our communication skills, and got creative. We discovered local producers and interesting cooking techniques. Who knew there were 100 ways to prepare rainbow trout from local rivers? It wasn’t long before our constraint became our strength, and guests were booking because they had the opportunity to truly taste the region. The local community showed us huge amounts of support. We continued to find that when we leaned into our ethical stance, emotionally-driven decision-making was reduced, clearing the way for clarity and consistency.
AN ALL-IN RESPONSE
While our convictions were validated throughout our time at Oakridge, it was at theFuture Food Systems House where my commitment to sustainable cooking was truly put to the test. Designed to be a self-sustaining, zero-waste, productive house, its mission was to demonstrate the potential of our homes to provide shelter, produce food, and generate energy. Living and working within this house was a physical, mental, and financial challenge that required an all-in response to a shared understanding of the crisis facing the current food system and our climate.
Spearheaded by the champion of no-waste living, Joost Bakker, and joined by Matt and myself, our trio worked tirelessly to ensure the success of this self-sustaining home in an urban environment. It was Joost’s brainchild and our response to the out-of-control, waste-dependent state of how we approach food in a modern world — a project designed to inspire an alternative future.
Matt and I lived here using only what the house could produce. At first, we were daunted by what seemed like an endless list of limitations: We didn’t have cows, so no dairy or red meat. We weren’t growing wheat, so no bread. And no cane meant no sugar. There were no “go-to” recipes, so we had to get creative in order to illustrate how growing your own food can be more than just a salad. It was through quite a bit of collaboration and out-of-the-box thinking that we were able to demonstrate the multitude of possibilities that still existed within what the house could provide — that we could grow our food on a small footprint and reconnect with the system itself.
The stainless steel frame of the house was held in place by soil drums on the roof. Thismeant no permanent footprint, and the roof would grow a lot of our food. Rainwatercatchment, solar panels, and biogas meant all energy and resources were onsite.Aquaponic systems housed yabbies (an Australian species of freshwater crayfish),barramundi, trout, freshwater mussels, and shallow-rooted vegetables. This was myfavorite part of the house and where I truly grasped the fragility of an ecosystem — howwhen it was in balance and harmony, it all would produce.
A diverse range of mushrooms grew in the “mush-room,” surviving on steam and fresh air funneled through from the adjacent shower and growing on waste-like sawdust and coffee grounds. We built a cricket farm to serve as a source of protein and vitamin K2.This always seemed to grab the attention on tours and was often a favourite when we hosted intimate dinners.
All of this existed on an 86-square-meter plot on the Yarra River in the middle of metropolitan Melbourne. With all parts interdependent, we were a true ecosystem.When we weren't responsible, systems failed, fish died, and mushrooms withered. We were then accountable for the loss of life and resources.
Future Food System evolved into a kind of microcosm of what nature intended. While itwas far from perfect, we were no longer plunderers of the Earth. We had become an essential part of the ecosystem — the food system.
I believe Joost, Matt, and I took different lessons away from our time there. I realized that cooking and the way we consume food can change the world. The house’s aim was to inspire and open minds about where food can come from — and I believe it did just that.
Work With What You’ve Got
During my tenure, I was often asked how the average person can make a difference. I usually rattled off common suggestions like building a wicking bed or growing some parsley. While this definitely helps, I can see now that it’s more about prioritizing food and learning how to cook with what you’ve got.
Cooking seasonally takes the stress off poor farming practices, mono cropping, food transportation, storage, and packaging. And — the best bit — it tastes better. You can cook seasonally by shopping at the market or direct from producers.
So while not everyone can live within a self-sustaining home and pick their dinner fresh from their rooftop, it’s the small, individual transformations in mindset and action that will lead to systemic change.
And out of everything I learned through this experience and my career as a whole, I think that might be among the most valuable lessons: If there is no leader where you are, take your ethical stance and become one.
