Our Story
When I look back, some of my happiest memories are the journeys I shared with my dad. Freshly retired from his years as a chef, he had a sparkle in his eye whenever the subject of food came up. One day, he suggested we do something a little wild: travel the world together, tasting dishes not from books or TV, but right at the source.
Our first stop was Italy, where we stood in a tiny trattoria in Florence, dipping warm focaccia into golden olive oil. Dad closed his eyes, nodding approvingly, and told me how the bread reminded him of the kitchens he worked in decades ago.
In Australia, me and Dad found ourselves in Sydney’s bustling fish market, where the salty sea air mixed with the scent of freshly grilled prawns and buttery Moreton Bay bugs. Later, under the glow of the harbour lights, we shared a classic Aussie meat pie, its flaky pastry giving way to rich, savoury filling. Dad was fascinated by how Australian food blended British traditions with vibrant flavours from Asia and the Pacific, and as we sipped on flat whites the next morning, he joked that no trip Down Under was complete without mastering the art of good coffee.
In Kenya and Tanzania, Dad and I discovered the soul of East African cooking. In Nairobi, we joined locals around a table for nyama choma—chargrilled goat served with spicy kachumbari salad and warm ugali, the kind of food that brings people together in laughter and conversation. Crossing into Tanzania, we wandered through spice markets in Zanzibar, their stalls overflowing with cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg. One evening, by the shore, we tasted a fragrant seafood curry infused with coconut milk and those same spices, and Dad said it was like tasting the history of the Indian Ocean on a single plate.
In France in 2024 for the Olympics we brought buttery croissants and coq au vin; Germany for Oktoberfest gave us sausages with mustard sharp enough to make us tear up; Norway, we marvelled at smoked salmon served on dark rye bread, warming bowls of fish soup, and the rich, caramel flavour of brunost cheese that surprised us both. Everywhere we went, Dad not only tasted but taught—turning every meal into a lesson on culture, craft, and passion.
Our first stop was Italy, where we stood in a tiny trattoria in Florence, dipping warm focaccia into golden olive oil. Dad closed his eyes, nodding approvingly, and told me how the bread reminded him of the kitchens he worked in decades ago.
In Australia, me and Dad found ourselves in Sydney’s bustling fish market, where the salty sea air mixed with the scent of freshly grilled prawns and buttery Moreton Bay bugs. Later, under the glow of the harbour lights, we shared a classic Aussie meat pie, its flaky pastry giving way to rich, savoury filling. Dad was fascinated by how Australian food blended British traditions with vibrant flavours from Asia and the Pacific, and as we sipped on flat whites the next morning, he joked that no trip Down Under was complete without mastering the art of good coffee.
In Kenya and Tanzania, Dad and I discovered the soul of East African cooking. In Nairobi, we joined locals around a table for nyama choma—chargrilled goat served with spicy kachumbari salad and warm ugali, the kind of food that brings people together in laughter and conversation. Crossing into Tanzania, we wandered through spice markets in Zanzibar, their stalls overflowing with cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg. One evening, by the shore, we tasted a fragrant seafood curry infused with coconut milk and those same spices, and Dad said it was like tasting the history of the Indian Ocean on a single plate.
In France in 2024 for the Olympics we brought buttery croissants and coq au vin; Germany for Oktoberfest gave us sausages with mustard sharp enough to make us tear up; Norway, we marvelled at smoked salmon served on dark rye bread, warming bowls of fish soup, and the rich, caramel flavour of brunost cheese that surprised us both. Everywhere we went, Dad not only tasted but taught—turning every meal into a lesson on culture, craft, and passion.