Angela Hirst
Ph. Natalie McComas
Stranger #2
Angela Hirst, co-founder Cooks Co-op
When Elaine Chia mentioned Angela Hirst, I immediately began my research and discovered just how remarkable Angela’s journey has been. What struck me right away was the strong sense of community she has nurtured around her—a thread that runs through her work with Wandering Cooks and now the Cooks’ Co-op. Trained in architecture, Angela has become, in many ways, the architect of her own career—skillfully weaving together her professional knowledge with a deep passion for food as a source of nourishment, beauty, and celebration. Her approach draws deeply from the principles of permaculture, where the focus is less on structures themselves and more on the invisible systems that connect them. Angela has mastered the art of designing these hidden networks—systems built on trust, shared values, and mutual care. As she wisely said, sometimes it’s about planting a seed in the right context, with the right conditions, and letting an ecosystem grow. And that’s exactly what she continues to do.
How would you introduce yourself?
Usually... awkwardly! When I was running Wandering Cooks, it was easier — I could latch onto that identity. But now that it’s no longer there, I often find myself wondering how to answer that question. I’m not great at small talk, so when someone asks me to tell them about myself, I think: “What should I say? Which version of me?”
Right now, I’d say I’m at the beginning of something new. I’ve been swimming in unfamiliar waters for a while, but I’m starting to find my footing again — or maybe, to land somewhere new. I’m currently working on building a food cooperative, experimenting with a decentralized model. That’s where I am at this moment in my career — figuring out what this next long-term project looks like.
You’re known as an internationally experienced chef, PhD recipient in food ethics, research student educator, cooking instructor, restaurant reviewer, and business owner. Could you share some key moments from your journey that led you to where you are now?
The key moments, for me, have always been the ones that pulled me back into food — often from somewhere else entirely.
When I started university, I was studying architecture. But through that path, I discovered permaculture — a form of landscape design that focuses less on the buildings themselves and more on the spaces between them. That was a turning point. It revealed to me what excites me most about design: the invisible systems that hold things together. I learned that you don’t always need a fixed strategy — sometimes it’s about planting a seed in the right context, with the right conditions, and letting an ecosystem grow.
That idea stayed with me. It reappeared during my PhD — where I returned to the metaphor of seeding. The philosophical foundation of that research gave me the space to explore my questions from a more interconnected perspective.
When I left academia and found myself cooking more practically, the same pattern repeated. I looked for kitchens and places where the conditions felt right — ones inspired by the provenance of their food, that cared about their suppliers, and that weren’t built on rigid hierarchies. I gravitated toward spaces that shared responsibilities, and I saw how that shaped not only the menu, but the spirit of the place.
That was clear when I staged at Petersham Nurseries Cafe Café in London, and even more so at Rose Bakery in Paris. Those experiences brought me back to Brisbane, where I found similar values at Food Connect — an organisation grounded in cooperation and participation in the local food and agriculture system.
Eventually, I applied that thinking to my own business — Wandering Cooks — where I tried to create the conditions for a different kind of food system. One that supports small makers and small farms, allowing them to flourish and strengthen one another.
That was a key moment. But I also realised how challenging it is. A business like that needs to connect to multiple revenue streams to stay viable, evolving, and resilient. That’s what continues to fascinate me: designing models that allow you to plant seeds — and then focus your work on tending, harvesting, noticing moments of magic, and encouraging them to grow.
What’s been the greatest challenge you’ve faced in your career — and how did it shape you?
Probably my relationship with profit and earning money. I’ve always felt a certain ambivalence toward profit — it’s never been at the forefront of how I approach my work. I don’t prioritise it, and that continues to shape the way I build things.
I’m not interested in creating businesses the way people expect them to be built — where profitability is the main goal, the thing you sort out first. That’s not how I operate. And that’s a challenge, because it makes sustaining a business in conventional terms quite difficult.
So yes, my relationship with money has been problematic — but only if your benchmark is traditional business success. It’s not problematic if you’re okay with always being a bit skint.
Your background is fascinating — spanning architecture, cooking, food ethics, and research into permaculture, cities, and landscapes. How have these different perspectives influenced your work so far?
I think I have a particular way of thinking about ethics — not as something abstract or fixed, but as something that plays out in the space between people, between communities, between regions. It’s in those relationships, those tensions, where ethics becomes real. And that way of thinking has definitely shaped how I approach business — especially the social side of it. For me, if I can bring people into a space together, something different happens. When people rub up against each other’s values, principles, and even discomforts — that’s where change and insight can emerge.
Permaculture has also been foundational. One of its central ideas is that, if something is designed well, it needs fewer external inputs to thrive. That really resonates with how I think about business models — how do you create the right foundations, systems, and strategies that allow something to evolve and become resilient, without needing to constantly control or force it?
And then there’s food — which, to me, brings in beauty, nourishment, sustenance, celebration. It’s kind of everything. It’s what ties all of it together.
Let’s talk about Wandering Cooks. How and why did you start it?
I started Wandering Cooks while trying to imagine what kind of food business I could run — a café, a restaurant, a shop. But every version felt too risky. The financial stakes were too high, and there was no room for failure. That’s when I realised the real issue: maybe it’s not just me. Maybe this lack of safety is stopping other food entrepreneurs — especially the ones who care about ethics and innovation — from even starting.
So I shifted focus. I didn’t want to open my own food business anymore — I wanted to build a place where others could. A home for people like me: passionate about food, but unable to take big financial risks. A space where they could test, fail, and grow without losing everything.
It took a year of planning — with the help of my partner and a patient kitchen contractor — to find a warehouse and design a space that could support the idea. It was funded entirely through personal debt, which was terrifying, and most of the early years were spent under a cloud of financial stress.
But I learned quickly. I made the kitchens more affordable, and found other ways to support the business — mainly through hospitality, events, and a bar. Eventually, it worked. The kitchens filled, the community grew, and the space became what I’d hoped: a launchpad for ethical food businesses, and a place where people could gather, share, and build something new together.
Food and community are deeply connected — as are many of your projects. How has this relationship contributed to their success, or perhaps, their struggles?
We’ve always prioritised community over profit — and that’s been both the strength and the struggle. Financially, it’s hard. But the upside is trust. People trust our motivations, and that trust builds a strong, lasting community. That’s been the foundation of everything we’ve done.
Can you share a specific moment when that connection really came to life?
In the early days of Cooks, we ran a Tuesday night series called “Conversations with Drinks,” where we invited someone from a small food business to share their experience. We didn’t even have proper seating back then — people just gathered to listen and connect. What made it powerful was the honesty. Because we were open about our own struggles, others felt safe to do the same. It shifted the culture. Instead of being protective or secretive, people began sharing, collaborating, and realising they could grow more by supporting each other than by competing. That spirit became core to who we were.
You once said, “We never have all the answers without the mistakes that precede them.” That’s a powerful message. In a culture where failure is hard to accept, how did you process the ending of Wandering Cooks — and what did you learn from it?
I struggled with it, deeply. While others celebrated what Cooks had achieved, I was hard on myself — questioning every decision, feeling like I’d failed. I didn’t trust myself to start again. So I stepped back. I spent three years working with the Sunrise Project, helping others, which gave me the space and perspective I needed. It also opened up new ideas about how we work and organise ourselves — I became fascinated with reinventing systems and structures. Slowly, as I began collaborating again with some of the Cooks community through a new Co-op, I realised I could be part of something new without carrying it all myself. I might still make mistakes, but they’d be different ones — and that felt okay. Now, I’m starting to see what’s worth celebrating from Cooks, especially because many of the same people want to keep working together. That tells me something real and good lived in that space.
Your vision is to enrich the quality, variety, and engagement in the food industry. What does that look like in practice — and how can it be scaled more widely?
In practice, it looks like what Wandering Cooks achieved—a meaningful shift in Brisbane’s food scene through many small, connected changes. It’s not about uniform growth but about a tapestry of diverse, grassroots efforts. Wandering Cooks created opportunities for many businesses, and while that momentum has slowed, the impact remains. For lasting change, there needs to be a continuous forum, like what Richmond Power Station in Melbourne could become—a place supporting many people, not just one driving it alone. As for scaling the Co-op, I don’t have all the answers yet. What matters most is taking the time to build strong principles and foundations, getting the way we work together right before thinking about growth. That careful, thoughtful process is key.
You’re now starting a new project rooted in the legacy of Wandering Cooks. Could you tell us about Cooks’ Co-op and what you hope it becomes?
I hope Cooks’ Co-op becomes what it wants to be. It began as a small project between three ex-Wandering Cookers, all deeply passionate about food sourcing and quality. Each of us brought different strengths—from food sourcing principles to running the market after COVID and building direct relationships with farmers. At first, I worried I might dominate the vision, but as we dreamed and planned together, it became clear that we all have our own views and are shaping it collectively.
Now, with 18 households involved and 35 suppliers, mostly direct producers, we offer over 500 carefully sourced products. Members pre-order once a month, and there are two membership tiers: one contributes work to the co-op for a small price benefit, while general members pay a bit more. All pricing is transparent, based on cost plus a clear markup. As the co-op grows, buying power lowers costs, making quality food more affordable.
Our focus is on affordable, thoughtfully sourced food that supports not only members but the wider food system. Over time, I hope the co-op will build a collective abundance where food access isn’t solely dependent on money. This project is about growing together, sharing decisions, and creating a responsible, connected food community.
Is there a dream project you’ve always wanted to realise, but haven’t had the chance to yet? What would it look like?
I think the Co-op is my dream project — an accessible alternative to supermarkets that truly supports small, ethical producers in a reciprocal way. I want it to be a thriving ecosystem I can step back from and be proud of, even without knowing all its details. Something beautiful that grows on its own, like a garden, without me being essential to its existence. That would be deeply satisfying.
Name a person that inspires you or that you admire.
Justine Wake. She’s a wonderfully creative human with her own art and art therapy practices. I’ve chosen her because she has a stand out presence. Singular, extraordinarily generous. There is something like a fairy godmother about her.
A postcard for Justine
“Your willingness to leave both beauty and its ravaged edges on a page. At all my turns in life, l’ve found a picture from you. Feathers from a fellow bird.
Someone who I feel understands love, friendship, family. Endurance, abundance, generosity, from the inside out. You are at its beating heart.
I hope you’ll always create us pictures of what its like to be there.
Much love and admiration.”
