My Spiritual Snack Journey at Dark Mofo Winter Feast

I was hit by all kinds of deadly sins the moment I stepped inside the Dark Mofo Winter Feast, part of the annual Dark Mofo festival in Hobart, Tasmania.

First came gluttony—rows upon rows of food stalls flanked both sides of the wharf. And this was before we even saw what was outside. Then pride crept in as I spotted the tabla player suspended in a floating room above us.

And yes, there was anger too—mostly at myself—for forcing down a flavourless Korean twisted potato earlier that day at Salamanca Market. To be fair, we hadn’t planned to come to the Dark Mofo Winter Feast that night. We had just arrived in Tassie a few hours earlier and had planned to have an easy first night in. We were already walking back to the car when we noticed a flock of Hobartians streaming toward the pavilion. We turned around and followed them.

Dark Mofo Winter Feast: A Feast for the Senses

Once inside, we did a full loop, scouting our must-eats between Nepalese rice, giant cheese wheels, lobster bisque, seafood chowder… gluttony was definitely winning.

But Dark Mofo Winter Feast isn’t just about food. It’s a feast for all the senses.

Candles everywhere. Music humming in the background. A red tinge lit up the entire venue. Crowds flowed like smoke—fluid, alive. And yet, when we needed a seat, we easily found one. Strangers at long tables scooted over without fuss to make space.

Dark Mofo Winter Feast had that “breaking bread in heaven with your loved ones” kind of vibe—except, in this case, it started with me guarding Liz’s sando while she went to fetch a non-alcoholic drink.

A Dark Mofo Rite of Passage

I started my Dark Mofo journey the only way I could: with a possum bao.

This is Dark Mofo, after all—we’re honouring ancestral diets here with a $12 brushtail possum bao (ten-hour slow-cooked possum, pickled onions, chilli, and a balsamic ketchup mayo). Two bites. It was gone, and it was good.

Embodying the possum spirit I had just consumed, I went on the hunt for food again.

Bruce the Oyster & The 5 Flavours

Earlier, I had spotted Bruce—the-oyster standing in what looked like an aquarium stall. A scene straight out of Romeo and Juliet: He, behind glass. Me, staring at him longingly.

Tasmania’s oysters—especially wild Tassie ones—are worth the trip alone. I wasn’t going to miss out. I tried all five flavours, ranked by my faves: Fiery, Natural, Black Dog, Kilpatrick and Asian Style. Honestly? I could’ve gone for another round.

Gluttony reared its head again.

Fireside Purification

After one more round, we stepped outside with hot ginger toddies in reusable cups (they cost $6, and yes, I brought mine home as a souvenir).

If anything, the outside was even more alive. Fire pits everywhere. Smoky air. Food sizzling. Kids running wild. It felt like a Tassie tradition—Dark Mofo as a rite of passage.

There was a full pig on a spit, wallaby hanging on a drying rack, kangaroo roasting—it was raw, primal, and not for the faint-hearted.

Still floating from my possum high and eyeing the potential for wallaby next, I noticed something else—muttonbird, part of the traditional Tasmanian Aboriginal diet. I paused. Should I try it now or read more about it first?

A (Vegan) Moment by the Fire

After roaming around the outside stalls twice, Liz and I sat by the fire and shared a vegan cookie. The cookie was a mistake. The moment wasn’t.

For the first time in my life (and yes, it sounds strange coming from someone who grew up a Hindu), I understood the power of fire purification.

Surrounded by strangers, faces glowing in candlelight, air thick with smoke and food, I felt cleansed.

I was also proud to see two Indonesian stalls—Kaki Lima and a traditional martabak vendor. Tempting, but I passed. I’d like to have Indonesian food in a proper restaurant experience in Tasmania to add to my Indonesian Food Across Australia series—maybe next time, in Launceston. Mental note made.

Scallops, Cheesecake, and Cancelled Pasta

Liz then suggested heading back inside; she wanted to check out the homemade pasta stall. I told her I’d follow—after I stopped by Chef Analiese Gregory’s stall to get what I’d been eyeing: scallops. I ended up ordering both the Wild Wakame Butter Scallop and Three Friends Baby Abalone, served with black garlic and shiitake mushrooms. Both were phenomenal.

Then I went to find Liz, who was still waiting for her pasta. I offered to top up our cider and get us some cheesecake, which she had also been eyeing since we arrived.

I did both and waited in the middle of the hall holding a $12 slice of Basque Cheesecake, wondering: What even is a Basque? And will this be a life-changing $12 bite?

A rather long wait later, Liz joined me—pasta-less and infuriated. Rightfully so. She had waited 45 minutes, and her pasta still wasn’t even cooked. She cancelled it in frustration. I was so glad I got the cheesecake on hand, ready to feed her anytime she instructed me.

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In the car on the way back to our Airbnb, I was super full, but still regretted not eating more. Gluttony clearly hadn’t left the building. I also semi-regretted not taking a selfie in the candlelit hall (I was too shy at the moment)

But most of all, I made a promise to come back for the wallaby, the muttonbird, and this time, with Fafa.

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