I’ve been buying Christmas presents for my son-in-law for 10 years now, which is long enough to accept two things simultaneously. First, he’s clearly staying. Second, I’m still not entirely sure he’s the right one for my darling daughter.
This is not a complaint. More a quiet, ongoing assessment. He is kind, reasonably thoughtful, occasionally obtuse. He cooks with great enthusiasm and questionable restraint. He loves chilli – really loves it – which tells you something about his optimism.
But she’s happy. Genuinely happy. And so, every Christmas, I express my acceptance in the most civilised way I know.
I buy him food.
Food gifts are perfect for these delicate relationships. They are generous but temporary. Thoughtful without being sentimental. And unlike clothing, they don’t sit accusingly in cupboards if you get the tone wrong. Food says: I see you. I acknowledge you. Let’s eat.
Over the years, I’ve refined my approach. These are not novelty hampers or last-minute wine purchases. These are Australian food gifts with character – a little indulgent, a little clever, and quietly impressive.
A really good chilli oil (because he would expect nothing less)
Let’s start where he would start: chilli.
But not the kind that exists only to hurt people. I look for chilli oils that have complexity – flavour first, heat second. Spinifex Collections Chilli Oil (around $25) is handmade in Melbourne and has that lovely balance of crunch, fragrance and warmth. It’s excellent on eggs, noodles, pizza and anything he thinks needs “a bit more punch”.
If you want something slightly more restrained, Random Harvest Chilli Oil (about $19.50) is made with Australian extra virgin olive oil and works beautifully as a finishing drizzle rather than a dare.
Proper Australian honey (because bees matter)
We all love honey. We love it because it’s delicious, yes – but also because bees are essential and supporting local producers feels like a small act of goodness.
Ogilvie & Co Chilli Honey with Dipper (around $15–$20) is a favourite of mine. Sweet, gently warming and excellent with cheese or roast vegetables. It bridges his love of heat with my preference for balance, which feels symbolic.
A decadent barbecue sauce (not the sugary kind)
Barbecue sauce is dangerous territory. Too sweet and it ruins everything. Too smoky and it overwhelms. But the right sauce – rich, savoury, deeply considered – is a joy.
Grund’s Gourmet BBQ Sauce Gift Pack (around $35) includes flavours like blue-gum honey BBQ, chipotle and stout. These are sauces you glaze with, not drown in. They make him feel competent at the barbecue, which I believe is important.
Another reliable option is the Josh & Sue BBQ 3-Pack (roughly $30–$40), which includes smokey BBQ sauce, chilli jam and chilli & lime aioli. Everything gets used. Nothing lingers.
Native spice dukkah (to go beyond the normal)
This is where we step slightly off the well-trodden path.
An Australian Spice Dukkah with native ingredients like finger lime, lemon myrtle and mountain pepper (around $17.50) feels thoughtful without being showy. It’s wonderful with olive oil and bread, sprinkled over eggs or roasted vegetables, and says: I think you’re capable of nuance.
A finishing olive oil (the good one)
Every kitchen needs an olive oil you don’t cook with – the one you bring out when people are watching.
A Lemon Myrtle Infused Olive Oil from Native Australia Foods (around $24.50) is fragrant, distinctly Australian and perfect for fish, salads or vegetables. It elevates everything quietly, which is how the best gifts behave.
Something sweet, but grown-up
Sweet gifts matter, but they should have restraint. Dark chocolate with native botanicals, wattleseed shortbread, or a slab of quince paste dense enough to feel carved rather than cooked. These are pleasures, not sugar bombs.
After 10 years, I’ve learned that food gifts are not about approval or disapproval. They are about continuity. They say: You’re part of this family now – even if I still occasionally wonder how this all happened.
And perhaps that’s the real gift. Not the chilli oil or the honey or the sauce, but the quiet ritual of choosing something carefully, wrapping it well, and placing it on the table with the unspoken understanding that for another year, at least, all is well.
And if he uses every last drop?
Well. That counts for something too.
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