Sofia Levin

In the past two weeks, I’ve eaten homemade Malaysian fish ball soup, Colombian tamales, North Indian street snacks, Filipino crispy pork leg, pub meals spanning prawn toast to Lancashire hot pot, Korean army stew, Balinese babi guling (roast pig), pandan chiffon cake and steak tartare prepared tableside. Each meal has been as good as – if not better than – its homeland counterpart.

Watching the final episodes of Masterchef, I was reminded just how good Aussie talent is. You won’t find dishes like that anywhere else in the world, whether it be Callum Hann’s potato and rosemary “oysters” with crisp edible shells shimmering like mother-of-pearl, or Depinder Chhibber’s velvety curry leaf and pepper ice cream, served with solkadhi granita (a drink made with coconut and kokum, a fruit related to the mangosteen). Any food lover would gladly pay top dollar to taste them – if they could.

I’ve also had conversations with established chefs and seasoned food critics about the epicurean curse of travelling as an Australian, where meals in cities like Paris, Los Angeles and Hanoi sometimes feel like an anticlimax. It’s not that they aren’t wonderful, it’s just that the culinary bar back home is thrillingly high. It raises the question: why travel to eat at all?

I’ll tell you why: there’s no better way to deepen your understanding of what’s on your doorstep. There’s an extra level of connection and admiration that comes from recognising a dish’s roots, whether it’s a carbon copy of the “original” or its reinvention. A dish’s origins provide context; grounding it in history, geography, climate, migration, memory and identity.

Earlier this year I found myself comparing xiaolongbao from a breakfast queue in Taipei with what I’m used to at Hutong in Melbourne. I realised I wasn’t interested in crowning the better dumpling, but rather exploring the delicious in-between. I started to join the dots: a Chinese migrant opens the first Din Tai Fung in Taiwan in 1972, leading to the global popularisation of soup dumplings. Fast-forward to 2008, and Din Tai Fung arrives in Australia via Sydney – the same year Hutong opens in the world's longest continuously-running Chinatown, established in 1850s Melbourne. Food might be a universal language, but it’s spoken in accents shaped by place.

The more I eat abroad, the more I appreciate what we have at home. It makes me value the brilliance and resilience of cooks who have bridged two (or more) worlds. A few standouts immediately come to mind. Melbourne’s most talked-about new restaurant, Zareh, where Tom Sarafian builds on his Armenian heritage with arak-laced cocktails and serves his famed hummus with aish baladi – a sourdough flatbread. Then there’s Manzé in North Melbourne, soon to be joined by its sibling wine bar Boire. Here, chef-owner Nagesh Seethiah proves that Mauritian plates pair perfectly with natural wine.

In Sydney, King Clarence executive chef Khanh Nguyen is royalty in the realm of high-low dining. His creative cooking is a nod to nostalgia, with snacks like homemade fish finger bao and duck tsukune sausages on fluffy shokupan. Masterchef 2024 champion Nat Thaipun also deserves a special mention. The way she champions native ingredients in Thai versions of European dishes – such as her signature kangaroo larb tartare – at her pop-ups and in her upcoming cookbook makes me feel somewhere between a proud mama and a patriot.

We may not have Michelin stars in Australia, but if the world-renowned guide ever came here, it would take years to produce a guide that does our food scene justice – if it could catch up at all. Although I believe our culinary offering is arguably more diverse and exciting than anywhere else, it doesn’t exist without the rest of the world. Sure, you can find babi guling here that rivals Bali’s best, but it’ll never replicate the experience of hiring a scooter to escape the crush of Canggu’s Italian eateries, pulling into a warung under a corrugated tin roof, and eating shoulder-to-shoulder with amused locals who ask, “You like spicy?”

Food is a cultural barometer. Without travel, we not only lose our point of reference, we risk becoming complacent and insular. Rather than dwell on what that narrow existence might look like, I prefer to notice the everyday moments that show just how rich Australian dining is: a newlywed couple eating Vietnamese on Melbourne’s Victoria Street, confessing to the owner that this banh xeo is better than any they had on their honeymoon. Facebook groups where homesick expats trade tips on Indonesian and Malaysian restaurants. Tables of men lingering for hours over potent Ethiopian coffee along Nicholson Street in Footscray. And all within a short distance of an artisan bakery, wine bar, and brunch cafe with avocado and Meredith’s goat cheese on the menu.

I’m insatiable for Australia. I can’t leave without longing to return, just as I can’t dine locally without it whetting my appetite for the rest of the world.

A version of this article first appeared in A Lesser-Known Newsletter.

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