I firmly believe food is the path to reconciliation in Australia. When I cook with Indigenous ingredients, I tell the stories of the animals and plants I’m using, explaining their significance as totems and the deep connection between food, kinship and culture.

At 12, I discovered a family secret: my grandmother was Aboriginal, part of the stolen generation. I took pride in the revelation, telling my new high school friends that I was a Gunditjmara man. The racial abuse I received in response silenced me for the next five years.

I stumbled into the world of cooking at 17, as a kitchen hand at a ski fields bistro in Mount Buller, Victoria. Discovering a new sense of purpose, I began a chef’s apprenticeship. Years of Melbourne restaurant and catering roles followed.

Since then I have been doing pop-up restaurants at food festivals and cross-cultural events around Australia.

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Spontaneity is key: menus are planned with minimal notice, based on ingredients hunted, harvested and foraged in the locality. I have always stressed the story of its ingredients, the dances for each animal and its painted symbols, combining in a uniquely immersive experience.

If we share those stories, we could change people’s perceptions of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander cultures through food. That could be the way forward for reconciliation.

My lightbulb moment came when I moved to the Northern Territory with my fiancée, Yolngu woman and Marngrook Footy Show panel member Leila Gurruwiwi. I was immediately accepted into her family and introduced into the complexities of their traditions. Food was my common language with Leila’s family.

When Leila and I lost two sons to miscarriage, cooking became an outlet for my grief as an expecting father and a positive way to remember them. In 2016 Leila and I started Elijah’s Kitchen, a project focusing on bush foods and named in honour of one of our sons.

The first thing I say to people about my restaurant is that it’s not about me. It’s more about our people, our stories, our food being out in front. I hope Elijah’s can lead the way for other Indigenous Australians. It’s a platform for their voice.

I know a lot of chefs using Indigenous ingredients, and they’re all magnificent chefs, but if they are going to use those ingredients they need to be prepared to tell the stories, because everyone who is using them has a pivotal role to play, which could be the way towards reconciliation.

If we don’t share those stories, we’re missing out on something really special – we could change people’s perceptions about Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander cultures through food.

I’m passionate about Indigenous ingredients, but I’m even more driven to spread awareness and appreciation of Indigenous culture through food. Greater knowledge of our unique produce must be coupled with an understanding of the stories behind the food, because these stories are also a way for us to understand the pressures that native food production in Australia faces. It’s not as simple as encouraging people to eat more kangaroo, saltbush or witchetty grub.

I’ve struggled throughout my life with my identity but when I go out to communities and cook with traditional owners, I might be from a different mob but we are connected through kinships and our songlines.

That brings me to my last point. Elijah’s Kitchen opens in Darwin this month. People here are faced with something more valuable than money, and that’s NT’s environment with the announcement of fracking being approved. This is putting a lot on the line, not just the environment but 40,000+ years of stories within the environment of the Northern Territory. Around 85% of the Northern Territory is currently covered in oil and gas exploration licences.

We're not buying the line that fracking brings wealth and opportunities to our communities | Que Nakamarra Kenny Read more

People might say, what would he know? He’s only a chef. But I’m talking from an Indigenous person’s point of view. Fracking threatens to destroy the waterways that have dreamtime stories, which connect kinships for mob around the NT. Imagine if we lose them? What will happen to the next generation Indigenous people? How will they fit in, when kinships have been destroyed and dreamtime stories lost due to money and greed?

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