“What is Australian cuisine?”
I couldn’t even begin to count how many times I’ve been asked this question over the last two years spent travelling and living on the other side of the world.
Depending on my company – and my blood alcohol level – my answer varies from, "Well, colonisation continues to erase and suppress Indigenous food knowledge, but as a country of immigrants we’re blessed with dishes like the pub chicken parma,” to, “I guess BBQ”.
I don’t know why it springs to mind, but it’s always there. My dad’s monstrosity from Barbeque’s Galore, with its oversized plastic knobs and XL gas bottle, is clear as day in my core memories. Sausage sizzle, lamb chops, “shrimp on the barbie”, (though I don’t think a single person has once quoted Paul Hogan’s line from that 1984 Australian tourism campaign in the US to me). What do Australians do at Christmas? BBQ. What did you do for your last birthday back home? BBQ. What happens on election day? At the hardware store? At school sports? At literally any community event?
Australia’s BBQ culture began 65,000 years ago in open-flame cooking practices forged by Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander ancestors, from damper, to paperbark-wrapped fish, to whole kangaroo tail placed directly onto red-hot cinders and alive remains in Indigenous families and communities today. In non-Indigenous households, there’s almost certainly some greasy old thing covered in cobwebs on the balcony or in the backyard.
The usual tepid response to my answer is “BBQ, but…everyone has that?”
Fair enough. Having spent 10 months of 2025 in 12 countries, from China to India via Thailand, across Central Asia and the Caucasus region, up to the Nordic countries and back down to southern Europe, I’ve eaten a lot of grilled stuff.
In China, endless options of seasoned sticks charred over hot coals are everywhere. In Chongqing, dedicated stalls sell whole spring onions pushed through equal lengths of pork intestine, seared and served like a paddlepop. In southern Yunnan province, the Indigenous Naxi people grill slices of Yak’s cheese before dipping them in a mixture of local spices and peanut powder.
In the packed laneways around Delhi’s Jama Masjid, wide metal skewers of golden, curd-marinated chicken pieces bubble over open flames, turbo-charged by rusty desk fans plugged into the shop roof and propped up on the grill.
In Uzbekistan, shashlik is a part of daily life and the scent of charcoal-grilled mutton floats through the streets.
All over London, fragrant smoke billows from backyards and street stalls where oil drums repurposed as Jamaican jerk pans gently char dozens of jerk chicken marylands for the lunch rush.
On Greece’s islands, whole fish caught that morning blister over coals before being served with jugs of olive oil and lemon juice swirled together.
In Finland’s arctic north, where the sun doesn’t set for weeks in summer nor rise in winter, laavus dot the wild landscape: public shelters with a roof and fireplace, stocked year-round with free firewood. Before embarking on a hike or snowshoe, Finnish families fill their coat pockets with tubes of mustard and vacuum-packed sausages made from pork, beef, reindeer or moose to cook over the campfire in a laavu.
Practically every culture in the world grills, just as proudly as we do and often better. Centuries of regional cuisine-building elsewhere mean most grilled dishes I’ve tasted in the last two years were far more delicious than anything we flame at home. But perhaps that’s because the Aussie ‘barbie’ really isn’t about the food at all, it’s our social infrastructure. Just like it was to my Marseille friends when we cooked whatever was left in our fridges on the rocks at sunset.
The BBQ’s casual nature disarms. Its leisurely pace invites exchange. Its communal spirit equalises.
At home, a cheap Coles snag with its weird fake casing is just as welcome on a grill as a pork and fennel from the Italian deli, or cevapi from a Balkan butcher, or a $3-a-pop lamb, black garlic and sorrel from Meatsmith. Whatever lands on your plate, it doesn’t matter. The BBQ is just the backdrop.
