Interview by David Leith
For three decades, Craig Squire has done what few chefs dare—he’s embedded himself in place, weathered the slow tides of change, and redefined what Australian cuisine can be from the steamy outpost of Cairns. In the story of Far North Queensland’s emergence as a serious food destination, Squire is less a chapter than a throughline—a driving force, a mentor, a provocateur, and, more than anything, a relentless believer in the land and its ingredients.
From his well-positioned vantage at Ochre Restaurant on the Cairns waterfront, Squire has curated what amounts to a culinary embassy: a space where native ingredients speak loudly and unapologetically, and where the tropics aren’t just a setting, but a larder and a muse.
The challenge is to make this food accessible and exciting, he says. Not just a novelty. This isn’t dress-up cooking. It’s the future.
Ochre is now one of the longest-standing independent restaurants of its kind in Australia. That’s not an accident. It’s the result of a stamina rarely seen in an industry obsessed with trends. Squire’s approach isn’t trendy; it’s tectonic. Over the years, he has nudged the region’s palate forward—introducing kangaroo to tourists, wattleseed to locals, and lemon myrtle to fine diners who once recoiled at the very mention of bush foods.
“When we first started, people thought we were mad,” Squire recalls. “No one wanted to eat crocodile or green ants. Now, it’s what they come for.” He pauses. “Although, green ants still aren’t exactly comfort food.”
Yet for all his pioneering, Squire is quick to deflect personal praise. His focus is outward—on producers, Indigenous partners, and the ecology of FNQ itself. “This region’s got it all,” he says. “World-class produce, wild flavours, an incredible cultural story. It’s just about getting people to see it.”
His career started with a youthful move from Kangaroo Island to the tropics, chasing the kind of raw material that could shape a unique cuisine. Over time, that early curiosity hardened into a mission: to define and defend a culinary language that is unmistakably local.
He speaks with equal passion about logistics and philosophy. On one hand, he’s deeply invested in how food gets to the plate—supporting local growers, pushing for more reliable native produce supply chains, and wrangling with regulators who still don’t quite know what to do with finger limes and bunya nuts. On the other, he’s driven by a belief that cooking is a form of storytelling: “It’s about making people taste something they didn’t know they were missing.”
Squire’s relationship with Indigenous communities has evolved alongside Ochre. What began as a fascination with native ingredients has grown into a respectful, ongoing collaboration—one marked by mentorship, shared knowledge, and practical support. “You can’t do this work without engaging with First Nations people,” he says. “They’re the original custodians of these flavours.”
It’s a philosophy that’s permeated the restaurant’s DNA. From commissioned Aboriginal artworks to training programs and pro bono consulting for Indigenous food ventures, Ochre is a platform as much as a restaurant.
And Squire, for all his accolades—including a Lifetime Achiever Award from the Restaurant and Caterers Association—remains restlessly ambitious. He sees FNQ not just as a food region, but as a culinary frontier. “We’ve only scratched the surface,” he says. “There’s a whole world of flavour here that the world hasn’t tasted yet.”
So what’s next? In classic Squire fashion, it’s a blend of the visionary and the practical. He talks of smarter supply chains, closer links between growers and chefs, and menus that reflect not just place, but season, history, and responsibility. He also hints at mentoring the next generation—passing the baton not in ceremony, but in mise en place.
“You’ve got to make it easier for the next mob,” he says. “We’ve done the hard yards. Time to smooth the path a bit—ideally without tripping over the bureaucracy.”
It’s that kind of visionary pragmatism—a blend of boots-on-the-ground realism and long-range dreaming—that makes Craig Squire so vital to the region.
He’s not chasing stars; he’s building systems.
Not looking for trends; he’s laying down terroir.
In a time when ‘local’ is a marketing buzzword and ‘native’ risks being tokenised, Squire brings authenticity and depth. He cooks as if the place matters—because to him, it does.
And in doing so, he’s helped Far North Queensland find its voice on the plate. Not through noise, but through substance. Not through fusion, but through focus.
Craig Squire isn’t just feeding people. He’s feeding a movement—with a wry smile, a fierce palate, and a pantry full of possibilities.
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