Matthew Evans - The Real Food Companion

Everything I have learnt about food over four decades as a writer, farmer and chef.

What you buy, how you cook and what you eat impacts way beyond your front door. If this new edition of The Real Food Companions 200-plus recipes, insights and observations influences those choices in even the smallest way, and if it brings joy to your table at the same time, my work is done.

A pillar of the Australian food literature canon.

LAURA DALRYMPLE, FEATHER & BONE

The cookbook we all need in our kitchens, not just to remind us of the truth we are facing, but also to give us hope.

DANIELLE ALVAREZ, CHEF AND AUTHOR

A book that makes you think.

THI LE, CHEF, ANCHOVY

Matthew Evans makes the kitchen a site of quiet protest; a space where we can form new habits to create the future of food.

NICOLA HARVEY, FARMER AND AUTHOR

A revelation.

MELISSA LEONG, MASTERCHEF JUDGE

PROLOGUE

When I first sat down to write Real Food , it was a love letter to my unborn child. At that time I was also single, and our son wasnt even a twinkle in anyones eye. Despite that, I wanted to distil some of what Id learned all of what Id learned about how to choose and cook food, for the generation to come. I wanted to bring all the pleasures Id found in and around the dining table to one place, to help those I love learn how best to eat.

The book took a long time to write. By the time that first edition was finished, our son Hedley was thrust, screaming, into a wintry Tasmanian night, all wrinkled and purple and looking for all the world like a skun rabbit. I fell immediately, and irretrievably, in love. By that time, Id also considered how the simple act of growing, shopping and cooking can embellish anyones life. The frivolous became vital. The thwack of the cleaver, the gentle stirring of the pan, the licking of the spatula they mean more than words. More than just fuel. What I write is not just for my son, its also for all those babies already born and yet to come.

Hedley is now old enough to read this book and many things have changed, not all of them in a good way. In that time, the last great kelp forest off Tasmanias coast one I was lucky enough to swim in has vanished. Fires, floods, pandemics and pestilence (in the form of rodents) have ravaged the country I love. As I type, the Arctic is 30C (85F) warmer than it should be for the time of year. The Antarctic is 40C (105F) hotter than previously recorded. Globally, insect numbers have plummeted, soil has been lost at astonishing rates, and the world population has kept climbing, mirrored by atmospheric carbon dioxide. What that means, in terms of what my son and his generation will experience, both at the table, and more generally in life, is unclear.

Knowing something of the changes that will be encountered in any human life, The most important thing I could want for anyone is a good sense of humour, a good heart and a good knowledge of food. The how, the why, the where. Thats because in challenging times food is comforting. In happy times it uplifts and sustains. If we show respect for ourselves and what we put into our bodies we will find strength and happiness. Dine in front of the television at your own peril. Keep your self-esteem intact and your front door open to visitors. Keep the pantry full and the larder enriched. Keep the invitations going to those who seek refuge, as well as those who come to bring joy. Be generous with the ladle and cavalier with the wine. What I want for my son is not a degree, or boundless riches, its an appreciation of the simple pleasures that matter. I want him to cook, because hospitality is the glue that binds humanity together.

As Covid finishes its apocalyptic ride across the sky, its good to remember a lot of things. We need to recognise that our collective good is in our collective humanity. We dont thrive in a vacuum, we thrive when we work in concert.

Its worth remembering, for a moment, all those multinationals who encourage us to buy online instead of at our local shops. If every dollar that used to be spent locally has gone offshore, never to be seen again, theres less of a pie to share. And I quite like pie.

Now is the time to look at our systems and fix them. We all know people who think its quaint, a bit yokelly, and not sustainable to support local farmers. That economies of scale and agribusiness and Amazon are the only way forward. That it is just fine to send money overseas every time you buy a book, a pair of shoes, a glass of cider made from concentrate. A kettle. Every time you have home delivery or catch a ride. It might take something like a pandemic to realise that spending money close to home recycles that money close to home. Buying locally gives our neighbours, our town, our community, purpose. When we give ourselves purpose, we give our kids, our elderly and others hope.

What life has taught me is that every soul in our circle is vital to our wellbeing. What can we do to strengthen those ties? Know this: over 70 per cent of the worlds food is grown by small farms, and consumed locally, despite what farming may look like near you or in your imagination. How you spend really does matter.

So do other things. I want people to cook for each other. Care for each other. Read books. Write books. Write a love letter. Bake a cake. Tell jokes.

Cooking allows us time to pause. Time to think of those who are less firm. Less able, emotionally as well as physically. Its never a bad time to offer soup. To invite someone over who lives alone. To quote poetry. Cooking and sharing mealtimes are beautiful things, so store them away in your hearts and minds for when we may not have beautiful things in front of us.

The art of the table, the choosing, preparing and serving of food, gives us pause to reassess what is important. Who is important. How community is built by us, not foisted upon us, or something that only exists on shows like SeaChange . It allows us to witness the incredible goodness in each other. To be honest about our failings, our vulnerabilities, our strengths and our hopes.

Knowing and caring about what you eat isnt the preserve of any particular colour, religion, class or race of people. Its what connects all of us. Yes, the world is changing in ways that are hard to predict. What we do know is that what happens at the table can contain all the laughter, tears, pain, courage, joy and pleasure that humanity is capable of. Thats the brilliance of a life well lived.

Why write about food, when other challenges confront humanity? Its a good question. By 2050, one-third of Australias cropland may be blighted by salt or desertification. About 80 per cent of the globes crop biodiversity has already been lost, and natural ecosystems are under great threat.

I write about food because thats what I know and how I find joy. But also, because while agriculture may have harmed Earth at times, it is also our great hope. Regenerative agriculture, ecological farming, it doesnt matter how you frame it: growing food in a way that replenishes soil and ecosystems is not only possible, it is practical and sustainable. Its happening right now, all over the globe. How you shop, what you buy, has impacts way beyond your front door. It affects the very health of the land that gifts us life. The good news is that better farms usually produce better-tasting food. Its a win for the environment, a win for the globe, a win for you.