Seduction and revolution of botanical gastronomy. A conversation with Emile van der Staak

from Ossigeno 14

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In the province of Gelderland, Netherlands, an almost whispered revolution began about sixteen years ago. Like all notable uprisings, it evolved into a full-blown riot – in this case, taking place on a 2.5 hectare battlefield, on which thirty-two active soldiers are deployed. The army that the botanists Wouter van Eck and Pieter Jansen assembled is one of plant species that provide food year-round, without the use of irrigation, pesticides, or fertilisers. It is the Food Forest Ketelbroek – a physical place and a discursive space where the following dialogue with Emile van der Staak, founder of De Nieuwe Winkel, a Michelin-starred restaurant and a hotbed of new ideas for sustainable and responsible cuisine, is ideally set.

The umbilical cord between De Nieuwe Winkel and the Food Forest Ketelbroek is indistinguishable from the other, equally invisible ones that connect the countryside with the city: it coils about twelve kilometres into the country and from there passes the nourishment — the raw material — that forms the bones, muscles, and tissues of the idea of a minimally environmental-impact cuisine, with high social impact. The Food Forest Ketelbroek is a womb that generates incessantly.

We are all part of a system, at once natural and artificial, that is evolutionary in nature, and your personal evolution has taken you from a degree in civil engineering to a Michelin-starred kitchen. As we evolve and grow, we are inevitably saddled with some responsibilities, and take on others willingly. I’m wondering if being part of a movement that feels responsible for doing something about climate change grew out from your natural approach to vegetarian and vegan cuisine, or did this interest, this activism preceded it.
I have always believed that whatever profession I chose, I wanted to be part of the solution. Had I pursued engineering, I would likely have focused on timber constructions and bio-based building materials. But I became a chef. And it quickly became clear that the greatest challenges of our time – biodiversity loss, climate change, health issues, and animal welfare problems – are all closely linked to food. The most impactful thing we can do for the planet is to eat less meat, particularly less beef. This realisation shaped the foundation of De Nieuwe Winkel, which from the beginning embraced the mantra: fewer animals, more plants. Over time, this evolved into a fully plant-based restaurant.
For me, moral ambition means not only excelling within my field, but also taking responsibility for driving a meaningful change. It’s not just about causing less harm, but about actively creating a better alternative. That’s why I didn’t just reduce the use of animal products. I committed to developing an entirely plant-based cuisine, not as a limitation, but as an opportunity. As a chef, you don’t just influence what people eat; you can shape the culture around food. You have the ability to shift public’s perception, to show that plant-based cuisine isn’t just necessary but also exciting, innovative, and deeply gastronomic. Food is more than sustenance: it’s tradition, experience, and identity. By introducing new flavours, techniques, and ways of thinking about food, you can help people embrace change. And with every successful dish, every memorable experience, acceptance grows. By taking plant-based gastronomy seriously and elevating it to the highest level, we lower the barrier for people to engage with it. What was once seen as niche or a compromise is now becoming the new normal. The more people discover that plant-based food is not just sustainable but also delicious and full of possibilities, the more it becomes a preferred and celebrated alternative. In this way, change becomes not only necessary – but inevitable.

And it was necessary for you to discover the Food Forest Ketelbroek and its creator, botanist Wouter van Eck. Would you explain how this encounter came about?
Even though Wouter and I lived just a few kilometres apart, it took a mutual friend from Amsterdam to finally set up a meeting between us. I still remember that first encounter vividly. It was over ten years ago, on a cold and rainy day in November, and I wasn’t exactly thrilled to show up at what was then a very young food forest – a baby-forest, really. But the moment Wouter started speaking, everything changed. The first sentence he said stuck with me: «Agriculture as we know it is an empty field in spring, then a lot of input – big machines, fossil fuels, pesticides, fertiliser, weeding, ploughing, watering – and then, at the end of the season, an empty field again. This is not how nature works. If you do nothing in our climate, everything will eventually turn into a forest». That idea resonated deeply. It was such a simple but radical perspective. Instead of fighting against nature, what if we work with it? What if food production could actually support biodiversity instead of depleting it? It was a completely different way of looking at agriculture, and I wanted to understand more. So, I came back. Every week. I wanted to see, to learn, to experience how this food forest worked, how it grew, evolved, and sustained itself. Over time, the Food Forest Ketelbroek became not just a source of inspiration but an integral part of De Nieuwe Winkel. The philosophy behind it – letting nature take the lead, embracing diversity, patience, and resilience – became the foundation for the way I cook. What started as a rainy November meeting turned into a long-term collaboration and friendship. Wouter’s vision changed the way I think about food, ingredients, and what a truly sustainable and responsible menu can be.

Now that your association with the Food Forest Ketelbroek as well as the Bodemzicht and De Ommuurde Tuin regenerative gardens – from which you source the raw materials – has become so significant to your work, I imagine you make suggestions.
There’s a constant exchange of inspiration. It’s never a one-way street. Take Esther from De Ommuurde Tuin, for example: she studied forest ecology, so she already had a natural affinity for these ideas. Over the years, she started growing Chinese mahogany specifically for me, and I source large amounts of wild garlic, Douglas fir, and linden leaves from her. The initiators of Bodemzicht were already moving in a similar direction, questioning the reliance on annual crops, like cauliflower and onions, and shifting towards a greater focus on perennial species. We regularly discuss which plants are particular successful in the kitchen, so they can integrate them into their planning. 139 For instance, they started growing Japanese ginger for me. It’s a dynamic process, constantly evolving based on what works, both in the field and on the plate.

Using 21st century tools, I took a bird’s-eye view of the Food Forest Ketelbroek, and it seems like a perfect machine whose gears assembled and synchronised by Wouter van Eck flow flawlessly. Through the combination of trees, shrubs, and herbaceous plants, all perennials – some native, some exotic – that mimic nature’s ways and timing for the formation of a forest, it is possible to regenerate a soil exhausted by traditional agriculture and revitalise it by restoring bacterial life and the intricate complex of symbiosis to its natural, self-sustaining state. The natural intelligence that regulates the symbioses of this macro-organism guarantees food all year round, but refuelling in a food forest means compromising with nature’s timing. I wonder, as the impatient-by-nature that I am, if this is always stimulating.
Working with a food forest means surrendering to nature’s rhythm. It’s not about imposing our timing, but about aligning with what the land gives us, when it gives it. That can be challenging, but it’s also incredibly rewarding. It pushes us to think beyond convenience and embrace creativity. It has become a journey of discovery, one that doesn’t just solve practical challenges but also unlocks entirely new, complex flavours, which are essential when running a plant-based kitchen at the highest level. Fermentation, drying, pickling, aging – these are not just ways to store food; they are ways to create depth, umami, and nuance in a cuisine that relies entirely on plants. So yes, working with nature’s timings demands patience and adaptation. But rather than seeing it as a limitation, we see it as an invitation to learn, to experiment, and to refine our craft. And in doing so, we’re not just cooking; we’re continuing a tradition of resourcefulness that has existed for centuries. The lessons we learned and the answers we found are not entirely new, they were already there, embedded in the rich history of generations before us who faced the same challenges. We are rediscovering these solutions – particularly, the practice of preserving seasonal abundance so that we can bridge the months when nature goes into hibernation.

You mentioned practical challenges, so I have to ask you at this point about what could spread a leaf-to-root approach to gastronomy today, and how can we increase awareness about it more broadly.
The beauty of a restaurant is that it’s all about seduction. That’s where the key lies. Every day of the week, we welcome guests and seduce them with deliciousness. That is the most powerful argument you can make, because if something is truly delicious, people will want it, regardless of whether it’s plant-based or not.
When we talk about a leaf-to-root approach, or a fully plant-based cuisine, the challenge is not just about convincing people intellectually; it’s about making them feel the richness of what the plant kingdom has to offer. It’s easy to frame the future in terms of loss, what we should stop eating, of what we should give up. But that’s not inspiring. Instead, we focus on abundance. On showing people that plants provide complexity, depth, and excitement. That there’s a whole world of flavours, techniques, and textures waiting to be explored. The best way to spread this approach is to make it irresistible. It has to be something people crave, not something they feel obligated to adopt. That’s why high level plant-based gastronomy is so important: it shifts the perspective. If fine-dining restaurants, bakeries, street food vendors, and home cooks all embrace the idea that plants can be luxurious, indulgent, and deeply satisfying, then we don’t have to push for change: people will want it themselves.
Awareness grows through experience. It’s not about preaching, it’s about cooking, sharing, and making plant-based food so undeniably good that it speaks for itself. That’s how you truly change the way people eat.

Speaking of awareness, we know what impact the traditional gastronomy sector has on soil consumption, but maybe we could counteract this phenomenon with botanical gastronomy.
The impact of gastronomy is relatively small when you compare it to total food consumption. Restaurants alone won’t change the world. But chefs do influence public opinion and can even contribute to shifts in food culture. That’s where the real potential lies. Botanical gastronomy can play a crucial role in introducing new plants to our menus, plants that go beyond what supermarkets offer year-round. It’s important to remember that many of the ingredients we now consider staples weren’t always widely accepted. We haven’t been eating broccoli for that long, and in the last century, the introduction of garlic in the Netherlands was met with strong resistance, people were actually angry about it. Now, imagine shifting our dependence on crops like potatoes, soy, rice, wheat, and corn toward something more diverse and resilient: what if we worked more with chestnuts as a starch source instead? What if we embraced more perennial crops that restore soil health rather than depleting it?

I can imagine it, and there is nothing utopian about it. The myriad of food forests that dot the world are objections to the blind exploitation of soil and its resources, and are driving the transition.
As chefs, we have a role to play in this transition. We can experiment, refine, and showcase new ingredients in ways that make them desirable. When something delicious and exciting appears on a restaurant menu, it opens the door for broader acceptance. In that sense, botanical gastronomy can help reshape our food system, not through mass production, but through inspiration and cultural change.

Many pretend otherwise, but European culture is a consequence of cultural mutations and has been for centuries open to exotic plants, albeit in a cadenced manner, as you mentioned. On your menus, and thus in the Food Forest Ketelbroek from which they originate, there are several exotic plants that are unfamiliar to Western taste, but are excellent candidates for enriching the biodiversity of these agroforestry systems. I’m wondering if, among them, there are some that could become a permanent presence in our gastronomy.
There are several strong candidates that could become a permanent part of our menus and, more broadly, our food culture. One of the most fascinating is Chinese mahogany, a tree with beautifully feathered leaves that taste remarkably like French onion soup. We’ve even managed to extract a broth from its wood that, surprisingly, has the deep, comforting flavour of chicken soup. It’s a plant with immense culinary potential, both in terms of flavour and sustainability. Then there are walnuts, which are universally recognised as a healthy and nutritious food source. Every dietary guideline advises eating more of them, yet when you check the packaging, most walnuts come from Turkey, China, or California. But these trees grow perfectly well in our climate. Beyond the commonly known native varieties, we should be looking at pecan, hickory, and black walnut, which all thrive here and could reduce our reliance on imported nuts. Another overlooked opportunity is the Nashi pear. This incredibly juicy fruit is currently flown in from Asia, but it grows just as well in our region. It could be a direct supermarket contender, providing a delicious alternative to the fruits we already know. Then there’s bamboo, a fantastic vegetable that is not only delicious but also easy to preserve. It offers a unique texture and a sustainable growth cycle, that aligns perfectly with agroforestry principles. And for a more dramatic flavour experience, we have Szechuan pepper berries. These bring an exciting, electrifying taste sensation that’s still quite rare in Western kitchens, but could add a whole new dimension to European cuisine.
All of these plants have the potential to enhance biodiversity, reduce our dependence on imported goods, and introduce bold new flavours to our gastronomy. It’s about embracing the multicultural plant society that nature offers us and making it part of our culinary identity.

In considering your philosophy, it occurs to me that educating people’s taste for new experiences, and thus change, comes through the kitchen, and therefore that cooks have great responsibility. Besides your dishes, there must be other channels or tools that are necessary to communicate your ideas.
I consider myself fortunate to have the opportunities I have, to share these ideas through podcasts, interviews, television, and, most recently, my first cookbook. These platforms allow me to reach a wider audience and bring the conversation about botanical gastronomy, responsibility, sustainability, and biodiversity beyond the walls of De Nieuwe Winkel. But the single most important condition that makes all of this possible is that we must ensure we are the very best at what we do. That’s the key to having real impact. If we were just a friendly neighborhood restaurant, no one would be talking about this. Excellence creates influence. When a restaurant is recognised at the highest level, people listen – not just diners, but also farmers, producers, and even policymakers. That’s why our focus is always on making plant-based cuisine not just sustainable, but undeniably delicious and world-class. If we can prove that botanical gastronomy can stand shoulder to shoulder with the very best kitchens in the world, then change follows naturally. So yes, I use every channel available to share these ideas, but in the end, the most powerful tool remains the food itself. If we can seduce people through taste, we don’t need to convince them with words. That’s where the real transformation happens.

In this era of transformation – of political, climatic, and social transitions – I cannot help but ask (secretly hoping for a word of comfort) one of the acknowledged pioneers of sustainability in his field to predict what botanical gastronomy will be like in ten years.
A decade is a relatively short period when it comes to major transitions. If we look at the great social shifts in modern history – whether it’s the abolition of slavery, women’s suffrage, or the civil rights movement in America – these were long processes. The pioneers who initiated them rarely lived to see the full realisation of their vision. And yet, when we look back, we tend to think of these changes as inevitable. But they weren’t. They happened because people committed themselves fully to making them happen. Nothing about progress is automatic: it requires moral ambition, dedication, persistence, and often a willingness to push against the norm.
The same applies to botanical gastronomy. In ten years, we won’t yet be at the point where it is the default. But I do believe it will have secured its place as an undeniable part of the culinary landscape. Right now, plant-based cuisine is still something that sparks debate, something people feel the need to argue for or against. I expect that in a decade, it will be far less controversial, simply part of the natural evolution of how we eat. What excites me most is the thought of what kind of incredible food will emerge once the world’s greatest culinary masterminds will start focusing on plant-based gastronomy. We are only at the beginning, and already we are discovering new flavours, techniques, and possibilities that challenge everything we thought we knew about cooking. If more top chefs around the world will dedicate themselves to this shift, I can only imagine the extraordinary, delicious food that will follow. Because in the end, the best way to transform how people eat is not by telling them why they should, but by making it irresistible. And this kind of pedagogical practice – more than anything – will drive real change.