Ethan FlackIf you’re talking food in Southland, Ethan’s name will pop up. Ethan Flack has built a reputation not just as a brilliant chef but as a voice of substance: someone who brings people around the table and brings producers, growers, and young cooks along with him.

He’s Southland through and through: raised in Invercargill, schooled at Southland Boys’ where he was mentored by the late Scott Richardson, a hospitality teacher who didn’t just teach technique but recognised potential. That early support left a mark, one Ethan’s now paying forward.

Through the Scott Richardson Memorial Dinner and Scholarship, Ethan’s opening doors for aspiring young cooks across the region. The annual event draws some of the country’s top chefs to Southland, pairing them with students for a night of collaboration, learning, and inspiration. The funds raised go directly into scholarships and prizes that support pathways into the food industry. For Ethan, it’s a way of giving back. For the students, it’s a glimpse into what’s possible.

In the kitchen, Ethan is known for a particular kind of attention: to ingredients, to place, to the people behind the food. He’s not into trends or overworked plates. He lets the produce speak for itself, and then he’ll also tell you all about it. He likes a good yarn.

Producers around Southland know Ethan by name. He’s built relationships with the growers of root vegetables, the people hauling nets in Bluff, the makers, brewers, and hunters doing their best work out of view. Those names and stories often make their way onto Ethan’s menus and onto your plate.

And while he’s cooked in some of the world’s great kitchens, with stints in Oxford, York, Copenhagen, and New York under chefs like Raymond Blanc and Tommy Banks, it’s here in Southland that his work has taken on real meaning.

You might find him behind the pass at The Batch Café, or running a private Kitchen Table dinner somewhere unexpected. And if you’re lucky, one of those courses might include his now-signature half-and-half Bluff oyster: raw and silky on one side, hot and crisp on the other, anchored by house-made labne and a whisper of elderflower vinegar that took three months to make. It’s the kind of dish that sums him up: quietly clever, wildly local, and better than it has any right to be.

At his core, Ethan is a connector. Of people and place. Of what we grow here and what we share. He cooks with purpose, and Southland is all the richer for it.

If you haven’t tasted his food yet, you’re overdue. And if you’ve already had the oyster, well… you’re probably still thinking about it.