In a world where convenience often triumphs over conscience, it’s all too easy to overlook the true cost of our food. We talk about supporting local farmers and buying direct from producers, but how many of us take that same care when choosing where to eat out? It’s one thing to shop at a farmers’ market; it’s quite another to ask your favourite gastropub about the provenance of their Sunday roast.
Since the Covid-19 pandemic, public interest in where our food comes from has grown significantly. Yet, this heightened awareness isn’t reflected in the UK’s current state of food security. On 11th December, DEFRA released its latest report showing a “notable decrease” in the number of food secure households. The timing could not have been more poignant. On that very day, around 700 tractors gathered outside Parliament, protesting proposed changes to inheritance tax relief—changes that threaten the future of British family farms and, by extension, our national food security.
As a farmer who sells produce end-to-end, I’m not directly tied to supermarket contracts or beholden to their razor-thin margins. Still, I’m continually explaining why my pork is different—why it tastes better and why it costs more than what you can pick up off a supermarket shelf. When I attend farmers’ markets, I have the chance to tell my full story: the breed of pig, the foraging they enjoy, the regenerative methods that enrich the soil. These in-person conversations turn a faceless transaction into a meaningful exchange of knowledge and values. As small-scale pig farmer Benj Wilson put it: “The point that keeps being missed is that the cheap meat and food we’re producing is incredibly expensive. We’re not paying for it at the supermarket, but through soil degradation and our own health.”* Every time I quote him, I’m reminded that the true cost of cheap food always emerges somewhere else—whether in our environment or our health.
Farms Not Factories; Wise Farmer, Ben Wilson
My perspective is shaped not only by my time on the farm, but also by years spent in hospitality. Before becoming a farmer, I ran a pub for over 15 years. Every Sunday morning, we held a staff briefing before the lunch service, discussing the provenance of each ingredient. We made sure the team knew exactly which farm the beef came from, where the vegetables were grown, and the story behind our suppliers. Customers appreciated that transparency, rewarding us with the titles “Best Roast Dinner in the UK 2012” and “Runner-Up” the following year.
That pub still thrives today, serving one of the best Sunday roasts in the area. But it makes me wonder: how often do we choose where to dine based on the sourcing of their ingredients? These days, many restaurants highlight “local produce” on their menus, but has it simply become a tick-box exercise, a quick route to an AA rosette or another culinary accolade?
When I began farming, I imagined selling to local pubs and restaurants as a natural extension of my business. The idea was that diners would enjoy my pork, then perhaps seek it out directly. But the reality for a small-scale farmer is that selling at trade prices leaves very little profit. When retail demand soared, it became hard to justify selling at half the price just to appear on a menu. Why should a farmer undercut their own work, especially when every penny is needed to maintain high welfare standards and keep the farm sustainable?

This perception changed the day a head chef from a five-star hotel rang me, determined to feature my pork on his menu. When he asked what price he needed to pay, my answer was simple: retail. To my surprise, he agreed. He understood that ethically reared, flavourful pork is worth more, and he recognised that by paying the farmer fairly, he was supporting the entire local food ecosystem. This chef’s choice was a turning point—proof that some establishments are willing to put their money where their mouth is.
This leads us to a wider point: if you believe in local, high-welfare produce, it’s worth thinking carefully about where you dine out. Shouldn’t restaurants that claim to source from small farms pay a fair price for that produce? If they do, shouldn’t the menu price reflect that fairness? As customers, we can’t demand cheap meals out while expecting farmers to be paid properly, their soils kept fertile, their animals well cared for, and their methods sustainable.
Ultimately, supporting local producers means more than just buying direct on a Saturday morning. It means asking a few questions when you sit down to eat, and recognising that a higher menu price may well indicate that farmers are being treated fairly. In doing so, we protect our food security, uphold animal welfare standards, sustain rural communities, and ensure that future generations inherit vibrant, living landscapes instead of depleted fields.
So next time you choose a place to dine, ask about the provenance of the meal on your plate. By doing so, you join a movement that places quality, transparency, and sustainability ahead of short-term bargains. It’s a small act, but if repeated often enough, it can redefine relationships between farms, restaurants, and consumers—creating a system in which everyone prospers.
I always ask,even when I know what the answer will be. The more we ask, the more the message will get through. Maybe. If there are chefs in Australia using quality meat, I haven’t seen them so I probably don’t eat at those places 😞 too expensive or unattainable for me. We have a local chef who does food for different events and his food is always amazing, not only because he is an amazing chef but he chooses to source local and ethical meat most of the time. He doesn’t do it often enough.
Purchasing such products is not only an investment in your health but an investment in a small family Farm as well as the biosphere on earth. Anytime you have an opportunity to make an investment as opposed to an expense, take it.