The River Cafe, Gigantic Marron and a School Lunch: Chefs on the Food Memories That Made Them

After three instalments of If Memory Serves, a Broadsheet series in which top chefs and restaurateurs share their most cherished food memories, one thing has become abundantly clear: nothing hits quite like a home-cooked meal made by loving hands. 

This month, we’ve got unforgettable meals and moments from Nam Nguyen, Philip Johnson, Clare Falzon, Gayan Pieris, Ahana Dutt, Melissa Palinkas and Eleftheria “Thierry” Amanatidis.

Nam Nguyen, Good Days (Melbourne)

I see my grandma in the kitchen, hunched over the stove. She’s making farci ca chua – tomatoes stuffed with seasoned pork – a Vietnamese dish influenced by the French. She is cooking for our family today, and every day. And this is my favourite of all her dishes. We eat it on steamed rice with soy sauce and it hits all the right notes.

My grandmother lived to cook. It brought her joy because of the way her food made people feel: warm, nourished and loved. I’ve spent the last seven years making this dish from memory for my children. Each attempt brings me closer to the flavours she lovingly prepared all those years ago. I hope this dish becomes a memory my children carry with them too.

Philip Johnson, E’cco (Brisbane)

In 1997, two years into E’cco (now 30!), The River Cafe’s cookbook changed the way I thought about food. Within 10 days, I was on a plane to the legendary London restaurant to stage there. It was everything I’d imagined, under the guidance of chefs Rose Grey and Ruth Rogers. Rose had this way of looking at food that was so pure, I’m yet to meet anyone else like her. If a food was green or brown, that’s how it stayed; it wasn’t made a pretty colour.

The stage altered the course of my cooking – and E’cco. I returned home and later that year E’cco became the first Queensland restaurant to win the Gourmet Traveller Restaurant of the Year Award. Rick Stein, a judge that year, described it as “the sort of restaurant that the rest of the world envies”.

Clare Falzon, Staguni (South Australia)

A friend and I headed down to Kangaroo Island, with no plans beyond being in the special place and fishing as much as we could. We were very generously invited onto a private property, which was vast with creeks and bush, and had phenomenal views.

That moment in time was pivotal for me. I had decided I wanted something different to what I had been doing, and I was prioritising filling my cup. One afternoon we set some marron traps in the creek, and when we returned later to pull them up, we were astounded to find critters bigger than I knew possible. One was as big as my forearm!

I respectfully served them for dinner in a chicken broth made from leftover roast-chicken bones, and wild garlic picked from the same creek bed. It felt holistic, fulfilling and nourishing – exactly what I needed from my food and life at that moment.

Gayan Pieris, Many Little (Victoria)

My memory is a dish: paddy straw mushroom, anchovy-head sambal, freshwater eel and raw first-harvest rice. It draws on my upbringing in a farming family in central Sri Lanka, where food was deeply connected to the seasons and the land. My mum’s cooking laid the foundation for my culinary path, and parts of this dish are always on the Many Little menu.

At the centre is the rice – picked early in the season when the grains are still soft and slightly creamy – which we always saved for special meals in our home. My brothers and I would forage for the mushrooms early in the morning, before they were cooked in unroasted Sri Lankan curry powder and coconut to highlight their earthy, delicate flavour. Eel would be simmered in a sour, spicy mix of [the tamarind-like] goraka and chilli – one of my mum’s signatures.

This dish was often packed for my school lunch, wrapped and warm. For me, it represents the simplicity, care and seasonal rhythm that defined my early relationship with food. It continues to influence how I cook and think about flavour today.

Ahana Dutt, Kolkata Social (Sydney)

A very potent food memory for me is sheddo bhaat, a very Bengali concept that directly translates to “boiled rice”. It’s my first meal every time I go back home. It’s a ritual. You take different boiled ingredients, depending on the season, and eat them with rice. My perfect sheddo bhaat has Gobindobhog rice; boiled egg; steamed red lentils with ghee; boiled pumpkin that you have with raw mustard oil and fried red chillies; and sweet red onions. The dish carries immense nostalgia and a reminder that the simplest thing in life can bring utmost joy.

Melissa Palinkas, Young George (Perth)

After a letdown visit to a white truffle museum – where there wasn’t even the faint aroma of truffle – we found ourselves in San Giovanni d’Asso, Tuscany. It was a rainy Sunday, and my partner Suse and I stumbled upon a tiny restaurant that looked so unassuming from the outside. Inside, it was packed with locals. The owner was so warm and friendly, and clearly passionate about what she did. That meal took us by surprise. We really weren’t expecting it to be that great, but sometimes those turn out to be the best meals. 

Alongside simple sides (steamed artichokes with lemon and oil, and beans confited with tomato) and some amazing Tuscan wine, the chef carved the bistecca alla Fiorentina right at the table. She spoke to us about how fundamental it was to buy 100 per cent local ingredients. I can still taste every bite. You could feel the heart of this tiny venue, serving such quality produce and simple ingredients cooked perfectly.

Eleftheria “Thierry” Amanatidis, Eleni’s Kitchen & Bar (Melbourne)

Pappou picked up my sister and I from school and asked what we wanted to eat. Our response, of course, was keftedes (Greek meatballs). He made the best. The sauce? Exceptional. Meatballs in sauce were more than food. They were comfort, warmth, love, joy. They were Pappou. Step by step he showed me how he made them, and it was a moment I’ll cherish forever. He took his time, cutting every ingredient so fine and precise. In that moment in time nothing mattered, just Pappou’s cooking. Yiayia set the table and we ate almost in silence, savouring every moment, every bite that Pappou made with love. Nothing beats home-cooked meals, and definitely not Pappou and Yiayia’s cooking.