My passion for food eclipsed my 36-year career in dentistry. After ongoing health challenges, I rediscovered that the kitchen, the table, and sharing good food now fulfil me. Food doesn’t just feed me – it enriches me. Mind, body, and soul.

This is my third chapter in life, shaped by ongoing health challenges that taught me what truly matters. I used to tell people: the sun comes up from the east and sets in the west. There are lots of things we can’t control. Relax, have a cup of chamomile tea – or if you don’t like chamomile, enjoy a peppermint tea.

Food and photography became my anchors. When I can’t control my health, I can control the temperature of my oven, the composition of a shot, the rise of my sourdough. These aren’t just hobbies – they’re what keep me grounded, purposeful, present.

If you lean in, you learn. Lean back and you fall back.

The Waypoints

Without knowing it, I was surrounded by food memories from my childhood – waypoints in a journey I didn’t realise I was on. Influences that set the fundamentals for what I’m doing now.

As a youngster, we spent most holidays on Rottnest Island. We caught crayfish, prised abalone off the nearby reef, cooked over open fires on the beach using driftwood. We’d catch fish off the jetty or from the dingy using handlines – no fishing rods for us. If we had extra, we’d sell filleted herring to departing day trippers at the ferry jetty. The local police turned a blind eye, and we earned enough for Saturday bakery treats and money for the games room.

I learnt sustainable, ethical, local sourcing before I had words for it. These weren’t lessons – they were life.

Hockey and sport in general came into my world early and became a constant through the first two chapters of my life. The discipline, the teamwork, the physical commitment – it shaped how I approached everything that followed.

The army in 1981 brought my eating utensils – a sliding door moment I didn’t recognise at the time. Thirty-six years in dentistry taught me precision, technique, methodical practice. Both required showing up, adjusting, refining through repetition.

My adult life took me through every mainland capital city. Each taught me something about Australian food – different markets, providores, regional ingredients. Melbourne’s laneway coffee culture. Sydney’s seafood markets. Brisbane’s subtropical produce. Travel overseas during the dentistry career – both holiday and work – added more layers. Different food cultures, markets, techniques. Each place left its mark.

My life partner came into my life in the early ’90s. Through the remaining years of dentistry, the travels, the sliding door moments – we navigated it all together.

My partner and I settled in the Adelaide Hills, finding home together. Here we can celebrate South Australia’s incredible seafood, wine regions, and the local producers who make this food scene so special. The Hills give us space to cook, bake, and photograph without pretence. It’s where everything I’ve learned across the country – and the world – comes together.

There was the moment Dad commented on how fluid I was in the kitchen – switching from preparation to stove to oven to plating – one of our last bonding sessions with Mum in hospital and Dad’s brain gradually leaving.

The body that had served me through decades of sport, Army and dental career began demanding different terms. Health challenges forced a reckoning – a career change I didn’t plan but needed. What do you do when your body says it’s time to stop? You lean in to what sustains you.

These sliding door moments – the utensils, the cities, the overseas travels, Dad’s comment, the career change – they all shaped everything.

I’ve never been afraid to ask why, to push boundaries while building on what I’ve learnt previously. I reframe my vulnerabilities – I’m not full of answers, but I learn from my insecurities and grow. Make mistakes three times. Adjust one component at a time – usually time and temperature. Does it make sense? Yes or no, not a maybe. This is how understanding builds.

Core Beliefs

Simple food, honestly presented. Supporting local providores isn’t just a choice – it’s who I am, learned on Rottnest jetties and reef edges. Providores are equal to the greatest chefs. The story behind the food matters as much as the food itself. From fisher to plate, from farm to table, these connections enrich everything.

Tools & Understanding

My Miele kitchen appliances, my Canon cameras – these amplify what I understand, but the understanding comes first. I’d love a combi oven, but not having one hasn’t stopped me producing decent bread. The tools help when you know why steam matters, how moisture affects crust, why temperature precision changes outcomes.

My photography brings you into the plate. I want you to see that food and want to eat it. The technique should be invisible – you shouldn’t see the years of adjustment or methodical changes. You should just want what’s in front of you.

“Hunting for quiet beauty on a cold wet day photographing a peg at home, in the Adelaide Hills, everyday. It’s the same mindset I bring to food photography – drawing you in close, slowing things down, keeping it honest and real.”

The Theatre of Food

Ceramics, plating, the creative styling – every meal tells a story. The plate is a canvas. The way light falls on a perfectly seared piece of fish, the contrast of colours, the balance of elements – this is where cooking becomes art. Every dish I create is theatre, from the first prep to the final garnish.

Cook. Smell. Taste. Eat. Drink. Share. Repeat if necessary. For better or worse, those actions are now the definition of who I am.