THE YEAR THAT

Peter Gordon

It was 1985. I’d finished my cooking apprenticeship in Melbourne and planned to go travelling. I flew to Bali and intended to be there for a week, then fly to India and go to Rajasthan, then come to England and live here forever. I had a terrible first few days in Bali. I was quite naive. I was suddenly in a place where people were speaking a language I had no comprehension of. I didn’t understand anything that was happening. I got a bit paranoid. I felt the people were on the make and I was being ripped-off. Nothing could have been further from the truth.

I had planned to go with a cousin, who in the end never came. But people said, “It’s great. It’s so relaxed. It’s different from Thailand and the rest.” So I thought I’d go there, then on to India. I actually flew into Indonesia with a one-way ticket. I had no other plans.

I’d done a classical Eurocentric apprenticeship. I had an interest in Asian food but didn’t know much about it and unexpectedly found myself spending a year in Southeast Asia. It was interesting because from a professional point of view it’s defined the food I’ve done ever since — the fusion stuff.

Bananas, which were a fruit I’d loathed, were delicious. Chillies were an exciting thing to have. The smells and flavours were amazing. It was something I’d never experienced and it overcame me.

And it appealed to my inquisitive nature. When you live in a Western society there are certain ways to do things, but when you go to Asia you can let your hair down. I’d always been open to influences but had a lack of experience.

I remember being in a place at the top of Bali and there was a funeral feast going on, where they had a suckling pig. They let me watch what they were doing and I began to realise that religion plays a huge part in food. Then you can go from a Muslim area to a Buddhist one and it’s all different. I understood the way food and climate and religion were all intertwined.

If I hadn’t gone travelling I think my view of the world and kitchens would have been quite different. I let myself go with the flow and it’s stayed with me.

Often, things happen on the off-chance. You might go down a street the wrong way or you bump into someone and life takes you on other adventures. When I flew to Nepal, everyone said: “Are you going to walk around the mountains?” I said: “I don’t think so.” But I spent weeks walking the Annapurna track.

Then when I was in India I knew I should leave Asia because it had been 12 months and all I wanted to do was go to a Wimpy Bar and have potato salad with a soft-boiled egg. So, I jumped on a plane and flew to England.

After a week, I got a call that my father was really sick, back in New Zealand. He’s still alive but at that point we thought he might die. And a couple were opening a restaurant in Wellington called The Sugar Club, so I came back and set up their kitchen.

Often, things happen on the off-chance. You might go down a street the wrong way or you bump into someone and life takes you on other adventures.