I was lucky enough to eat at Jock Zonfrillo’s Restaurant Orana twice in its seven-year history.

The first time, while visiting Adelaide with friends in 2014, caught me off guard. Fried saltbush to start? I had seen that before. But then came damper skewered on a eucalyptus stick and cooked over coals at the table. Roasted lamb butter was served for spreading on the side. We weren’t in typical “bush tucker” territory anymore.

There was crocodile soup. There was Kangaroo Island marron with aniseed myrtle and finger lime. There was something raisin-y called a kutjera which tasted of sour and sweet and the desert. Just about everything was eaten with our hands.

“If you go out to any Indigenous community and sit around the campfire you’re not going to be using a knife and fork, are you?” Zonfrillo said at the time.

It’s still one of the most delicious meals I’ve ever had, and certainly the most “Australian”. How could a bloke born in Glasgow know so much about our native ingredients?

This was a chef absolutely committed to providing a singular, boundary-pushing experience the moment you sat down at his small Rundle Street restaurant. His influence on modern Australian cuisine was huge.

The tattooed Scot was determined to put more native flora and fauna on forks across the country, helping to catalogue cooking techniques for gubinge, say, or sharing his knowledge on the best way to ferment bunya nuts.

Australian ingredients now appear on restaurant menus with the same frequency as “sun-dried tomato” in the ’90s. The trend was already burgeoning, but Zonfrillo was a key force in making it a movement.

The second time I ate at Orana, the service was more polished, the cooking more precise. I’ve still got the email to our Good Food Guide senior review panel suggesting we might have a new three-hat restaurant on our hands, the second-highest accolade a venue can receive, after Restaurant of the Year. At the 2019 Guide awards, Orana won both.

“Zonfrillo has an ability to take left-field ingredients such as ants and Geraldton wax and turn them into something incredibly delicious,” said former Good Food Guide editor Myffy Rigby at the awards. “There’s no cultural cringe, just purity and beauty. And, most importantly, Orana is a lot of fun to eat at.”

After Orana closed in 2020, MasterChef would give Zonfrillo a much bigger platform to advocate for Australian ingredients. Every time lemon myrtle or Kakadu plum pops up in a supermarket muesli bar or ice-cream, I feel he is, in some way, responsible. His influence extended beyond fine dining and into our homes.

Zonfrillo was also adamant that Indigenous communities should be empowered – and benefit from – the rising popularity of bush foods. He would work closely with Indigenous foragers and growers to make sure they were paid fairly, and help explore other commercial opportunities for their produce.

Local artisan producers benefited from his knowledge and friendship too. Adelaide Hills cheesemaker Kris Lloyd remembers first meeting Zonfrillo when she had started making buffalo-milk curd, which “no one else in the world was doing” at the time.

“I thought ‘that Zonfrillo bloke might be interested’, so I went up to the restaurant, Jock made me a coffee, and then ate the whole tub in front of me in five minutes, he liked it that much.

“Later on, he would help me develop some cheeses that I still produce, and better understand native ingredients. I’ve always admired his ability to think quickly and creatively.”

Lloyd also recalls the time Zonfrillo popped by her Woodside Cheese Wrights factory to surprise her with a visit from touring British chef Marco Pierre White.

“The three of us just hung out and laughed and tasted cheeses all afternoon. Everything I ever did with Jock, and [his wife] Lauren and their family was so much fun like that. He was the dearest friend, and I’m absolutely devastated that we’ve lost such a beautiful man.”