The honest legacy of Bill Granger and the unfairness of time
Bill Granger was the first to put avocado on toast on a cafe menu; He defined modern Australian cooking before he died, he writes michael cohen.
I live near a Bill’s restaurant. I eat there. I like. The food isn’t fancy or flashy. It comes clean, bright and generous; The kind of breakfast you can serve to your mother. And every time I sit down over those reliably perfect scrambled eggs or that familiar plate of avocado toast, I feel a sense of quiet continuity with the Sydney I know.
I first ate at the original Bill’s in Darlinghurst in the 90s, when the cafe scene was still so serious and unsure. Back then, breakfast was practical, predictable, and a little beige. Bill Granger had a different vision. He believed that breakfast could be simple but cheerful, modest but bright. It opened up spaces filled with soft light and an uncomplicated sense of welcome that didn’t need to be explained for the food to be good.
And of course, Bill was the first to put avocado on toast on a cafe menu in 1990. The idea seems obvious now—very obvious—but only because he did it first. At the time, it felt too new to draw attention to itself. He didn’t follow trends or announce a move. It simply served something that felt right, and the rest of the world quietly rearranged itself around that idea.
His influence worked like this: kind, generous, steady. Bill never displayed his tortured chef persona or hid behind kitchen theatrics. Rather than impressing you with his ambition, he offered honesty, kindness and food that wanted to make your morning better. His work has shaped the way we eat in Australia more profoundly than most people realize.
And then he died of cancer in 2023, when he was only 54 years old.
The injustice of this weighs heavily on me every time I think about it. He was not one to feel that his story was nearing its end. He was still creating, still teaching, and still nurturing people in his quiet, luminous way. And most importantly – because this is important – he was not a chaotic figure or a self-destructive genius type. There was no drama. He was just a married man, a devoted father, a kind person who did decent work. But despite the familiar indifference of the universe, he was still taken.
His death is strangely reflected in the background of the time we live in. I am part of a generation that is just realizing that death may one day be cured. ChatGPT suggests that within a few generations, humans can completely overcome aging. We are living a delicate moment in history: endless generations before us never dreamed of such a possibility, and endless generations after us may inherit it.
But we are the first to look at death and see a world without it.
Bill was from the same younger generation; He was aware of the possibility of immortality, but was born too early to miss it. He made a lasting contribution and was taken away before he could see how long the world would remember him. In another age he might have lived forever. Instead, his life ended in the midst of its meaning.
I still eat at Bill’s near my house. I think about what Australian food culture would look like without it, how gray our breakfasts might still be. A decent man, he changed the national palate not with swagger but with sincerity. Many of us started our days feeling a little more human because of something he created.
His food has never been my absolute favorite, and this somehow makes his honesty stand out even more. It was healthy, reasonably priced, unpretentious and quietly Australian in the best sense. I am grateful not only for the food, but also for the man who transformed simplicity into clarity.
Rest in peace Bill. If there’s a place where time finally shows mercy, I hope you’re there.
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.
