Australia’s native cuisine reclaims its power

Local ingredients reveal a story of abundance long obscured by colonial tastes, and it’s time for Australia to truly enjoy it, writes Michael Cohen.

A FEW SUNDAYS AGO I went somewhere. Australian Indigenous Food Festival At Carriageworks in Sydney, I expect to spend an afternoon of gentle curiosity; the kind of activity that promises personal growth rather than pleasure.

I imagined I would try some unusual ingredients, feel a little virtuous for supporting Indigenous producers, and return home satisfied that I had done my part.

Instead I found delicious food.

The first surprise was the native raspberries: plump, perfumed and vibrantly sweet. These were not the plain jungle food I had imagined, but they were full of life and flavour. Jams made from native fruits were as rich and complex as the finest jams in Europe.

What came next was revealed: a slice of lemon myrtle created by Bek ShephardA Wiradjuri woman from Narromine who manages Edible Native Landscapes. Without exaggeration, it was one of the best pastries I’ve ever had; Delicate, citrusy, perfectly balanced. That single language shattered an entire cultural myth I didn’t realize I was absorbing.

For generations, Australians have been silently, almost subconsciously, told that indigenous ingredients are second class. We’ve learned to think of them as tough, bitter, or impractical oddities: foods that are somehow tasteless, inadequate, or sappy. This bias is not random; it is a remnant of settler colonialism, based on reshaping the land and our tastes in the European image.

To claim and transform a continent, settlers had to understate its existing wealth. Wheat replaced water seed, other native proteins replaced hedgerows, English gardens replaced hedgerows.

Settler colonialism was never just about taking land; it was about transforming it to resemble European landscapes through agriculture, architecture and appetite. Farming itself became a cultural performance that transformed the foreign into the familiar, the wild into the “civilized.” Imported crops were not just a source of food but also emblems of belonging designed to make colonists feel at home.

Indigenous foods, by contrast, were portrayed as primitive, unreliable, or unsuitable. A cuisine belonging to this place would imply that the people living here had a valuable civilization, and this was something that colonial ideology could not allow. By excluding and refusing to use indigenous materials, colonial society not only ignored Indigenous knowledge; hastened its disappearance.

Eating habits are a living culture, and when they are ignored, the culture that sustains them begins to disappear.

The suppression of domestic components was not a coincidence. While European agriculture became the economic engine of the colony, indigenous food systems that were sustainable, seasonal and perfectly adapted to the environment were also ignored. The narrative of “poor soil” and “inadequate resources” concealed a different truth: that the continent was excluded not because its components were missing, but because it did not fit the economy of European superiority.

Even today most Australians can call kangaroo “that native meat”, but few can describe the taste of finger lime, sesame seed or bush tomato. We live in the middle of one of the most biodiverse geographies in the world, but we still remain unfamiliar with its flavors. Poverty was never in the land; It was in his imagination.

That’s why my experience at the festival was so impressive. What I tasted was not a novelty or an exercise in virtue; It was good food, full stop. Bright, complex, vibrant. The food did not expect respect or apology; They wanted to be enjoyed.

We should not eat local food as penance, as if we were paying off a spiritual debt. This simply repeats the old hierarchy and turns Indigenous knowledge into something ornamental or valuable rather than necessary. We should eat these foods because they are excellent; because they speak the language of this land, because they grow sustainably where we live and, best of all, because they taste great.

Events like the Australian Indigenous Food Festival aren’t just culinary showcases. These are silent acts of restoration; It reminds us that decolonization can occur through the senses as well as through politics. Each bite literally connects us to the ground beneath our feet.

When Bek Shephard serves his lemon myrtle slice, he not only serves dessert, he also turns centuries of invisibility upside down. It proves that Australia’s soils are never barren, never lacking, and their flavors can rival anything imported.

Rediscovering local dishes means accepting that this continent has always had its own abundance, beauty and pleasure. The act of tasting becomes a small act of reconciliation; not with guilt, but with gratitude and joy for those who have been here all along.

Michael Cohen is a Jewish Australian writer based in Sydney who has previously made extensive contributions to international newspapers, presenting both articles and conceptual material. He now focuses on human rights issues.

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