As a child, as macabre as it might sound to someone whose childhood wasn’t lived in a pair of Red Bands, one of my favourite memories was when my father butchered a sheep for our table.

He wasn’t trained as a butcher, but he was of that generation of old-school farmers that just got in there, boots and all, and taught himself the skills needed to get the job done.

We had a killing shed, and I would watch from my seat on a box in the corner as he deftly removed the skin from the carcass, and piece by piece, every part of the animal would be transformed into food for our family.

He would let me hold the still-warm heart in my hands, and from that, I had a deep respect for the animal we had raised with so much care and attention, which would now keep our bellies and our freezers full.

This was the 80s, and times were tough.

We were farming in Hawkes Bay, and the sector was not too dissimilar to where we are now. Like so many others at the time, my parents had to operate on the smell of an oily rag.

They were self-sufficient way before it was the woke thing to be.

My Dad milked a cow called Alice, and I distinctly remember him being a soft touch and always giving fresh milk to the farm cat.

My mother had an adept green thumb and a passion for gardening. We had an extensive vegetable garden, and I have many memories of being in the garden with her when I was tiny.

Digging for potatoes was like a treasure hunt to five-year-old me, and shelling peas with my Nana while we chatted away about everything and anything was golden.

We had chickens, so we were never short of eggs, and at one point, pigs were even added to the mix.

While none of this was about education, and all of it was about keeping us fed in the healthiest and most cost-efficient way possible, it gave me a profound connection to the value of food, the taste of fresh, seasonal produce and a respect for the skill required to be a food producer.

For many of you, your rural childhood may be quite similar to mine, and because of that, you are more likely to have a healthy respect for New Zealand farmers and farming.

For our urban friends, who may not have had that experience, that connection between the food on your table and the skill and dedication it takes to produce it can be lost.

There are many ways to create connections between consumers and food producers, but one avenue that often gets overlooked is New Zealand’s restaurant scene.

Good chefs are storytellers.

They become narrators of our farming stories by championing quality, sustainably grown New Zealand produce and creating dishes that showcase the quality and flavour of locally sourced ingredients.

Restaurants like Inati, King of Snake, Black Estate, Amisfield, and Hayz at the Anchorage are paving the way for a fresh approach to farm-to-table dining experiences.

As consumers demand to know the provenance of their food, restaurants connect dishes to growers, where the farming story and the food story intertwine and the gap between farm and fork closes just a little bit more.

By Claire Inkson