Southland's Food Story

If Murihiku Kai Could Talk

If food could talk, Southland's' kai would tell stories as wild and generous as the landscapes it comes from. Stories of birding on the islands, coming back bucket-laden with tītī to share, of first-of-the-season Bluff oysters, shucked and eaten raw, and of pulling over roadside to swap gold coins for swedes larger than your head.

These stories of abundance are just how things are here. Here, pāua comes dinner-plate-sized, a school recipe book might casually call for six crayfish tails, entrees look like mains, and a farmer’s lunch is a full spread built to last till sundown. 

Yet, for all its plenty, Southland kai has its refined side too. Local restaurants take these unbeatable ingredients and distil them – try the creamy pāua wontons at the Anchorage in Bluff, The Fat Duck’s venison fillet with Otautau blueberries, a bracing local gin (Australia’s best, despite being from here), or Ethan Flack’s swede noodles in broth. It’s the same kai, just dressed for the occasion.

Southland is the kind of place where food hasn’t forgotten where it comes from. Māori have been the kaitiaki of this region for centuries, gathering kaimoana, preserving tītī, and weaving whakapapa into every meal. Recipes passed down – like pāua chutney or pickled onions – aren’t just delicious; they anchor us.

Many of Southland’s favourite dishes reflect the practical, no-nonsense spirit of European settlers. And there’s nothing wrong with cherishing those classics. Whether it’s a perfectly roasted lamb, cheese rolls and chowder, or the nation’s best flaky pastry pie, the magic lies in getting it right.

The thing about Murihiku kai is it’s not flashy or fussy, it doesn’t need to be. From kaimoana pulled fresh from the sea to produce grown in nutrient-rich soils, this region offers a bounty that’s extraordinary, right at the source.