Nagesh Seethiah

I was fortunate to grow up in a family that valued food as an important part of our cultural makeup, not just as sustenance.

• LC: Your early experience spans childhood in Mauritius, then New Zealand and Canberra, before life in Naarm (Melbourne). How do those layered geographies — and the food you ate along the way — continue to shape your sense of taste and hospitality?

• NS: I was born and raised in Mauritius before moving to New Zealand when I was eight. So my heritage has always been a consistent thread in my identity. In terms of food, I was fortunate to grow up in a family that valued it as an important part of our cultural makeup, not just as sustenance.
  
  My parents cherished food memories from their own families and passed those on to us, even after we moved to New Zealand and later Australia. They grew vegetables in the smallest backyards before we eventually moved to a hobby farm in semi-rural Auckland. My dad fished every weekend and spoiled us with fresh fish. My mum ground her own masala mixes based on her mum’s recipes.
  
  I never considered hospitality as a career growing up, and we rarely ate out beyond takeaway spots until I was a teenager. But as I’ve spent more time in the industry, I’ve come to realise what a valuable, unspoken education around food and heritage I had all along.
  

I began to see food not only as nourishment, but as story — the culmination of dozens of stories.

• LC: It sounds like food was never something lived rather than learned. But in terms of a profession, was there a particular kitchen, person, or moment early on that made you realise you wanted to cook?

• NS: I think working with Ian Poy, the founding chef at Bar Rochford in Canberra was formative. I’d been cooking for a few years by this point, in cafés part-time while I studied. But I was only twenty-one and still had little concept of “fine” dining.
  
  Despite his experience in some of the world’s best kitchens, Ian’s approach to food was incredibly simple and humble. He took a lot of pride in teaching a young cook like me all the important steps involved in a dish or meal, well before we ever cooked it, let alone plated it.
  
  We were both cyclists and would head out on 6am rides to where our produce was grown, then spend time speaking with our fishmonger in Sydney about the day’s best catch. We’d only serve 20 steaks on the weekend, sourced from a butcher who’d been working with the same farm for 20 years.
  
  I began to see food not only as nourishment, but as story — the culmination of dozens of stories. I was studying Art History at the time, and started to understand food as a reflection of culture, heritage and society, just like other art forms.
  
  

• LC: I love the way you describe that shift — toward seeing food as a constellation of stories, culture, and people. It feels closely tied to the way your own spaces operate. Your restaurants feel intimate and a little playful — spaces that seem to grow from curiosity rather than ambition. What draws you toward keeping things small, and what does working at this scale give you?

• NS: I come from a relatively humble background. My parents worked very hard and made many sacrifices to afford our family the life we now have. They’ve always shown my sister and I that the simplest things — and the ones we often take for granted — are the most important to hold close. Tasty, nourishing food. A humble home, with walls you’ve painted yourself. A garden you’ve planted yourself. Good shoes that last for years, or hard-wearing clothes to get you through a few seasons.
  
  That same small, humble, DIY approach carried through when we opened Manzé. We were very conscious about creating a space that felt inviting to all — not intimidating in its fit-out, with a bit of natural wear and tear and a lived-in, comforting feel.
  
  When it was time to open Boire, we took the same approach, and with an even smaller budget. By then our community had grown, and I was lucky to be surrounded by colleagues, friends and acquaintances eager to help.
  
  An old friend who grew up working with his hands and had just left a long career in hospitality built our tables and benches. We found a beautiful, intricate tiled floor under layers of old vinyl. We all took turns painting walls, sanding benches, tiling and learning how to use power tools. Boire was built through working bees and a real sense of community.
  

The simplest things — and the ones we often take for granted — are the most important to hold close. Tasty, nourishing food. A humble home. A garden you’ve planted yourself.

• LC:That same spirit you just described seems to extend into your sourcing. You work closely with small-scale growers and producers. What draws you to these relationships, and how do they shape what ends up on the plate?

• NS: The people, and sense of place. As our food systems get increasingly blurred and hard to make sense of, it's important to recognise and acknowledge the work that goes into growing food. We can’t keep consuming whatever we want, whenever we want, forever.
  
  More often than not, the values of small independent farmers and fishmongers just happen to align with ours. They’re all people doing their best to keep food and nourishment attainable and real in a world that is progressively harder to live in.
  
  

• LC:Seasonality and place come up again and again in how you talk about food. When a dish begins to take shape, do ideas tend to arrive through flavour, memory, or something harder to name?

• NS: It really depends. I think flavour often comes first because our menu changes are influenced by the season. Quite often, I’ll trial a dish, and the first taste evokes a distant memory — and that’s usually when I know it’s working, or will fit on the menu.
  
  

• LC: So in a way it's both—memories surfacing through flavour. Are there any particular ingredients or flavours you feel a particular emotional pull toward, ones that feel like anchors to home, childhood, or ancestry?

• NS: Seafood and tomatoes. Being from a small, tropical nation, I grew up with an abundance of seafood at the table, especially in a dish called rougaille. Rougaille is a Creole dish that’s a distinct reflection of Mauritius — tomatoes cooked with ginger, shallots, thyme and chilli.
  
  It’s incredibly versatile and works equally well with vegetables and seafood. Throughout my childhood, my mum and dad made rougaille at least once a week, usually with tomatoes they’d grown themselves, and the dish is deeply interwoven with my childhood.
  

Quite often I’ll trial a dish, and the first taste evokes a distant memory.

• LC:I think the first time I had rougaille, your sister cooked it for me at a house just around the corner from here. If I’m remembering correctly, you’d taught her how to cook it, or she was using your recipe — and while she cooked, I remember asking a lot of questions about your childhood and Mauritius. I’ve always loved how food can hold memory and invite conversation.
  
  In your restaurants, what’s a conversation you’ve had across the counter, or at a table, that’s really stayed with you?

• NS: There are many — often with first or second-generation migrants like myself, who take pride in seeing people with a similar background to them expressing their heritage with confidence.
  

• LC: You run both a restaurant and a wine bar. How do you think about the dialogue between food and wine — and what excites you about curating that conversation?

• NS: Wine has the same origins as food — it’s farmed, and reliant on the work of farmers and the brutality of nature to come to life. In the same way as food, grape farming has become increasingly industrialised, to the point where wine grapes can verge on monoculture.
  
  We take pride in finding, meeting and supporting independent farmers and winemakers who make wine that’s a true reflection of their fruit, the place it was grown, and the people who made it. Their ferments begin with natural yeasts rather than introduced or commercial yeasts. They often bottle with little to no preservatives.
  
  Their wines speak of a time and place, and change year on year. More often than not, they’re lively and expressive — much like the flavours we get to work with at both the restaurant and bar.
  

• LC:You’ve spoken about the rewards of keeping things small and independent, but I imagine that choice also comes with real challenges. Has there been a moment in your career when you seriously questioned continuing, and what helped you find your way back?

• NS: Many times, both before and after I became a restaurant owner. Recognising the privilege I now have as a storyteller has often helped me find my way back.
  
  I see the sharing of food, stories and nourishment as an important cornerstone of society, and feel somewhat indebted to contribute to it — even if it comes with massive personal and financial sacrifices.
  

I see the sharing of food, stories and nourishment as an important cornerstone of society, and feel somewhat indebted to contribute to it.

• LC:When you zoom out from work for a moment — if you imagine the perfect day off, centred around eating and drinking, what does it look like?

• NS: I think it’s back in Mauritius, for nostalgic reasons mostly. It would feature lots of fruit for breakfast. Fresh noodles and Sino-Mauritian dumplings for lunch. Fried gajaks and spicy fruit salads in the afternoon. Briyani with cucumber and tomato salad for dinner.
  
  

• LC: What are you currently curious about — in food, in culture, or in life more broadly?
  
  

• NS: In food culture - considering whether a restaurant like mine does have a place in society, and whether it will ever be a sustainable business model? It’s the start of the year, when you can’t help but think about the future! It’s been wonderful seeing the community’s reception of Boire, and having the space to broaden what we do beyond a conventional restaurant environment.
  
  Being able to present a more affordable, approachable offering at Boire makes me reconsider what we do at Manzé. However, I’m hoping that Boire can help me and our team focus on what does make Manzé special, and not feel guilty about our price point or supposed ‘exclusivity’ and just be happy and proud of what we do!
  
  

• LC: And lastly — what’s for dinner tonight?

• NS: The perfect mid week meal. Roast chicken, tahdig, summery salads - cucumber and tomatoes!