If you were after an example of a useful and well-lived life, you’d find everything you need in Greg Malouf. One of the most talented, intelligent and influential chefs Australia has ever produced, Greg passed away in his Dubai home last week, aged 65.
Greg championed the flavours of his Lebanese heritage and those of the wider Middle East and eastern Mediterranean, fundamentally changing the dining landscape in this country. He also expanded the palates and repertoires of home cooks across the world through eight brilliant cookbooks, earning the sobriquet “the master of modern Middle Eastern cooking” along the way.
But Greg’s influence went beyond introducing vast swathes of diners to the joys of bastourma, pomegranate, sumac, freekeh and rosewater. By honouring the cultural heritage of the food that inspired him – not just ingredients and dishes but the context in which it was served (in beautiful crockery, elegantly atmospheric rooms, accompanied by excellent music) – he profoundly shifted thinking around so-called “ethnic” food and its place in the culinary landscape of the time.
I was lucky enough to have met Greg several times, interviewing him in my capacity as a fledgling food writer and restaurant critic. I was always struck not only by his generosity in sharing his knowledge, but also his warmth, humour and patience. His enthusiasm for Middle Eastern flavours was exciting and inspiring.
A shortlist of just a few of the chefs who worked alongside him – Joseph Abboud, Brigitte Hafner, Shane Delia, Cath Claringbold, Andrew McConnell, Ismail Tosun and Tom Sarafian – shows how influential he was, too.
Greg’s own influences came from growing up in suburban Balwyn with his Beirut-born mother and his Australian-born father.
“It was hard for my mother, coming from cosmopolitan Beirut to Balwyn,” he told me. “This was a time when you bought olive oil from the pharmacy and an avocado was considered exotic. But, like with any migrant family, the traditions were kept. There were always buckets of labneh and stuffed vine leaves. My schoolbag always stunk of onions and garlic, but it was never an issue for me. Everybody was eating Strasburg-and-tomato-sauce sandwiches and I had leftover kibbeh wrapped in Turkish bread with labneh and tabouleh. But there was Vegemite in the cupboard and Mum would cook roasts. Our household was a mix of Lebanese and Australian.”
When Malouf’s grandmothers emigrated to Australia, the possibility of cooking as a career dawned on him.
“When the grandmothers came to live with us, that’s when the banquets started to come out, the Sunday mezze feasts, and every celebration meant four days of cooking. There was always a lot of food in the fridge and on the table and it was always exotic. Eating this way came to feel as natural to me as breathing.”
Despite his family’s misgivings about cooking as a career, Greg followed his instinct, enrolling in trade school in Melbourne before spending a decade in Europe and Hong Kong, working in Western-style restaurant kitchens, honing his skills and extending his repertoire.
But the pull of the flavours he grew up with never left him. On his return to Australia, he began to synthesise his influences and in 1991, he unleashed them to an appreciative dining public at O’Connell’s, an ostensibly Anglo-Aussie pub in South Melbourne, which suddenly had a menu featuring prawn tagine; fried chicken flavoured with cardamom, fennel, cinnamon and turmeric; and the cult-favourite medjool date brûlée.
After O’Connell’s came two versions of Momo in Melbourne’s CBD (one a fine dining concept at the Grand Hyatt), then a stint at Petersham Nurseries Cafe in south-west London (awarded one Michelin star) and two restaurants – Cle and Zahira – in Dubai, where he lived for the final years of his life.
Malouf’s food was not strictly traditional, but it always respected the traditions of the cuisines he was referencing. It was a classic case of learning the rules in order to break them. He could successfully blend Lebanese, Turkish, Iranian, Syrian and North African flavours with his innate sense of style and his training in high-end Western cooking to create something unique and ground-breaking.
But arguably his most far-reaching influence came from the eight cookbooks he co-authored with his ex-wife, the brilliant writer Lucy Malouf. Each of the books, from the original Arabesque to the James Beard-awarded Suqor (Middle Eastern desserts and sweets) are explorations of culture through food. The books include dishes from the home, from workers’ cafes and palace kitchens, emphasising not just the breadth of Middle Eastern cuisine but its inherent deliciousness, finesse and accessibility.
That Greg and Lucy were able to create a phenomenally successful publishing partnership and, more importantly, a strong and lasting friendship after their marriage ended is another of his lessons in how to do life right.
Greg Malouf’s life was marked with long-term health challenges that included two heart transplants. It borders on miraculous that he achieved all that he did: maintaining a family, many great friendships and an unquenchable enthusiasm – not to mention a career as wide-ranging and influential as his. It was a well-lived and useful life.
