What Makes Sustainable Food & Drinks Writing Great — A Tobago Perspective

On any given morning in Tobago, you’ll find me standing in a market aisle with my phone in one hand and a notebook in the other, trying to capture the sound of vendors calling out the day’s harvest.

Behind every voice is a story of land, lineage, resilience, and choice. And it’s in those stories, more than the recipes or the plates themselves, that great sustainable food and drinks writing truly begins.

For me, writing about Tobago’s sustainable and ethical food and drinks scene isn’t simply a matter of describing flavors. It’s documenting a living archive.

A bridge between the Tobago of “years of old” and the Tobago that is still unfolding through our farmers, fishers, food artisans, culinary festivals, markets, and cultural memory.

When writing is great, it does three things: it roots the reader, it respects the past, and it reveals the deeper meaning behind what we eat.

1.) - Great writing begins with place, and Tobago is a place with soul

Tobago’s food culture isn’t just something you taste; it’s something you feel.

It’s the morning fog wrapping Plymouth’s jetty, the scent of smoke drifting from a traditional fish shed, the rustle of young dasheen leaves in a hillside garden.

When I write, I’m always trying to bottle that moment, because sustainable food writing must begin with the environment that makes the food possible.

It’s not enough to talk about “local ingredients.”

Great writing asks: Where were they grown? What ecological system supports them? Who depends on that system?

In Tobago, our stories are tied to reefs, forests, rivers, and generations of knowledge. To write sustainably is to make readers see that.

2.) - The past is a compass, and Tobago’s culinary past is rich

So many of our dishes are heirlooms held by memory.

I grew up hearing stories about how crab was caught “back in the day,” how cassava bread was baked on stone, how elders preserved fish long before refrigeration.

Today, when I interview cooks, farmers, and elders, those oral histories return like waves, reminders that sustainability isn’t a trend here. It’s a legacy.

Great sustainable food writing honours these roots.

It respects the foremothers who passed down pelau traditions and the forefathers who taught us how to read tides and seasons.

It frames food not just as nourishment, but as heritage, something carried from hand to hand, generation to generation.

3.) - The people behind the plate matter most

Tobago’s sustainable food and drinks scene is powered by people, each with their own philosophy of care.

- The fisher who refuses to take juvenile fish.

- The farmer who plants by the moon cycles her grandmother taught her.

- The young chef blending ancestral techniques with modern sustainability.

- The rum makers are reviving old infusions.

- The roadside vendors serving heritage dishes with biodegradable packaging.

When I write, their voices guide the narrative.

Great writing doesn’t speak for people.

It lets people speak through their craft.

4.) - Sustainability must be shown, not preached

Nothing pushes readers away faster than moralizing. Tobago’s food culture is full of tangible, everyday examples of sustainable practice, and when I write, I lean on those specifics.

- It might be the way a farmer rotates cassava and sweet potato to protect the soil.

- Or how a festival reduces waste by pairing food stalls with compost stations.

- Or how small bars along the coast incorporate local fruits instead of imported syrups.

I believe great writing allows readers to experience sustainability in action, through scenes, characters, and choices, without hammering them with instructions.

5.) - The sensory world brings the story alive

If I can’t smell the coconut milk simmering or hear the bubbling of a curry pot on a coal stove or feel the crunch of charcoal-baked bread between my fingers, then the writing isn’t done yet.

Great sustainable food writing “cooks with words” while still honoring the deeper issues beneath the flavors.

In Tobago, sensory storytelling isn’t embellishment.

It’s a cultural truth.

- Food is performance, memory, ritual, and gathering.

- A writer must let readers taste all of it.

6.) - A great story connects food to responsibility

As a sustainable food and drinks writer, I see my role as part documentarian, part witness, part advocate.

I’m writing in a time when Tobago faces real challenges:

climate change, shifting fishing patterns, imported food dependency, and pressure on local farms.

But I’m also writing in a time of innovation, from agri-tech opportunities to youth-led farming movements, from eco-conscious festivals to a new pride in Tobago-grown products.

Great writing threads both truths together: the beauty and the urgency.

7.) - The future of Tobago’s food deserves storytellers

Each time I interview someone or visit a farm or attend a culinary event, I’m reminded that Tobago’s food story is still growing.

New ideas, old wisdom, and modern creativity all belong in the narrative.

What makes sustainable food and drinks writing great isn’t just how it describes a dish.

It’s how it reveals the interconnected world behind it; the hands, the history, the habitats, the hopes.

As Tobago continues to expand its sustainable and ethical culinary identity, I see myself not only as a writer but also as a guardian of its stories.

Closing: Why I write the way I do

I write to celebrate Tobago.

To honour its elders.

To spotlight its producers.

To advocate for its ecosystems.

To bridge past and present.

To inspire future food storytellers.

Great sustainable food and drinks writing isn’t about perfection — it’s about presence.

Presence in the land.

Presence in the people.

Presence in the truth beneath each plate.

And in Tobago, the story is always worth telling.