Real Talk: How to Draw the Line Between Idealism and Realism

Juliane Caillouette-Noble (Managing Director, The SRA): 
Oliver, can we start with an introduction? Tell us who you are, where you are now and a little about what led you there in your career. 

Oliver Truesdale-Jutras (Culinary Director, Desa Potato Head): 
My name is Oliver Truesdale-Jutras. I’m a chef turned culinary director — it’s my first non-chef title, actually. I’ve been in the industry since I was very young. My father was a chef, so I started out doing dishes ages ago and decided early on to pursue a path in sustainable hospitality. 

I started at a restaurant (now closed) called C, which partnered with the Vancouver Aquarium’s Ocean Wise programme. Together they created Canada’s sustainable seafood programme, similar to Monterey Bay Aquarium’s work in the US. 

I then worked at a restaurant called Domus, also closed now — this was a long time ago. That’s where I met my wife. We didn’t use any middlemen; everything was direct from farms and producers — farmers, fishers, growers — straight to the restaurant. 

After that I moved through San Francisco and Australia, working in extremely fine dining restaurants to get my chops. I was also exposed to a side of the industry that irks me: the pursuit of excellence at the cost of all else. I understand the appeal but reject the notion, and it seems the world increasingly does too. 

I started a company doing pop-ups around the world: Japan, Sri Lanka, Morocco, Denmark, the Netherlands, France (twice), back to North America, and more. While in the south of France, Cynthia Chua, who owned Open Farm Community, came to our restaurant. At the end of the meal, she pushed two tickets across the pass and said, “Get your asses over here— come see what’s up.” We did, loved it, moved to Singapore, and led that project for six years. We got it into the Michelin Guide and helped pioneer farm-to-table in Singapore, which has complexities beyond places like Canada. 

Most recently I had my own company focused on regenerative hospitality. I’ve now landed at Potato Head as Culinary Director in Bali, which is ultra-exciting. Potato Head has been an iconic name in sustainable hospitality for a long time. I couldn’t be happier to be there. 

Juliane: I love the winding path that brought you here. For this conversation, I want to explore the balance between idealism in sustainability — our vision for hospitality’s future — and realism, the reality for operators. That connects to your point about fine dining’s pursuit of ‘excellence above all else’ fading. In sustainability, we often have an idealised vision and then a disconnect; people lose hope. What does that tension mean to you? 

Oliver: I see it as a tension between vision and pragmatism. I’ll offer a humble brag: I don’t think I’m the best chef — many friends outclass me in multiple areas. What I do very well is take ideals and render them into reality, better than most. I’m also good at diplomatically explaining to visionaries how and when we must compromise to make a vision real. 

Early in my career, working under creative geniuses, I saw dishes that, operationally, would crush the team. You need to make the dish feasible. Now I’m juggling real visionaries bringing mind-boggling architectural and operational visions. My job is to ask: how do we do this to the best of our ability without sacrificing human wellbeing or sustainability — and make it fun, profitable and engaging? That’s where my real talent lies. 

Juliane: That talent comes from lessons learned. What lessons along the way helped you navigate between the lofty and the practical? 

Oliver: I joke that I’m “the business end of the hippie stick.” Growing up, I saw ideals that resonated but failed in the real world, typified by the hippie movement: great ideals that didn’t counter corporate America’s rampage. I realised I needed to transform ideals — mine and others’ — into something that functions. 

Early on with sustainable seafood, for example: we were a busy restaurant, and a supplier didn’t have enough. How could we rearrange a dish so that the available certified product was sufficient without switching to non-certified supply? Those plate-level details translate into bigger decisions. Say someone wants a building of two overlapping boxes that symbolise something important, but operationally the hoods must go here, the pipe must run there. You balance visionary creativity with operational reality. 

A big part is empathising with both sides. I love the vision — now let’s not mess it up in the build. When visions fail at the finish line, everyone gets hurt and jaded: the creative team, operations, everyone. So, we get stakeholders together, make sure the vision is real, identify the most important elements, prioritise, and then render it into reality. We’ll even mock up spaces — tape table footprints on a rooftop, run a ‘fake service’, and learn where we’re colliding, then adjust the space or the service flow. 

Visionaries aren’t always the most pragmatic. Few will drill down to the stewarding station — but if stewarding fails, the restaurant fails. Knowing operational priorities and visionary priorities (and where they overlap or clash) is like weaving. 

Juliane: I love that you frame it as radical empathy for both sides, and how that empathy materialises as good operational practice. 

Oliver: Another part is explaining clearly to both sides why something must be a certain way. Some visionaries are 'my way or the highway’ but, in my experience, if you explain cogently why something won’t work, most people won’t force it anyway. 

Juliane: Let’s talk about relationships, especially with farmers — building direct, transparent relationships. You’ve worked in North America, Singapore and now Bali. What have you learned about building effective relationships down the supply chain? How can more operators get on board with direct relationships? 

Oliver: There’s a geographic component. In Singapore, we often had to pull threads through suppliers, but we’d insist: I may not need to buy directly from the farmer, but I do need to know what the farmer is doing. Too many restaurants just say, give me lamb, whatever — maybe New Zealand lamb — but they don’t truly know. Ask them what the farm looks like and they couldn’t tell you. 

After my apprenticeship at C, I toured Canada working on organic farms. I bought a van, put a mattress in the back, and drove across the country. It taught me that organic farming is the only job I’ve ever turned down as too hard. The commitment is immense: every day you ache and do it again the next day. Chefs work hard, but farmers are another level. Chefs should visit farms to understand labour, costs and waste. Farmers are paid little, and then 30% of product might end up in landfill. The system is mad. That’s why I prioritise farmer relationships. 

In North America, farm-to-table has come a long way. Upper-tier restaurants often buy direct from farms or commit to futures: cash up front for security, collaborating on what to plant. Those relationships are meaningful, and I want more of them. 

In Singapore, the context is unique. Agricultural land went from 47% to under 2%. The farming community is tiny. In our first five years, two of the last organic operations closed. There’s almost no organics, biodynamics or regenerative farming at meaningful scale. There’s now a new project in Johor; our former Open Farm Community farmer is taking over a palm oil plantation and implementing syntropic, no-input methods. Regionally, choices are scant. So, we’d tell suppliers from Australia and elsewhere, if you can get top-tier ethical product, I won’t go behind your back to import directly — but I need transparency. In Singapore, there’s a lot of obfuscation: big catalogues with no farm names, no websites, no photos. That was staggering. 

Open Farm Community was designed to reconnect people to food — toddlers in the garden picking leaves, and through our menu. Procurement didn’t love that we used 47 suppliers compared to other group restaurants using three, but I believe the pinnacle of cooking is curating amazing, responsibly grown products — the earth’s best — into people’s mouths. 

Juliane: In Asia, top-tier historically meant imported European luxury products. Do you see growing recognition that responsibly grown local ingredients offer better flavour, because they’re fresher, not shipped and methods matter? 

Oliver: Yes and no. Most people recognise this for the typical chef-product lexicon. My worry is that regenerative or flavour-focused methods are used on crops that already have cachet, while indigenous products are ignored. I don’t yet see flavour-driven farming for indigenous products. Chefs may want indigenous ingredients for competitive edge or heritage, but they aren’t always focused on how those are farmed. It’s harder to source. It’s easy to find responsibly farmed beets, but I don’t need responsibly farmed beets in Asia. I want, say, ginger flower grown for flavour. When I moved to Singapore, ginger flower blew my mind, but I’ve never seen it cultivated with a ‘make one perfect tomato' Japanese-style approach. I hope to see that for South-East Asian indigenous plants. 

Juliane: As we deepen our understanding of biodiversity, what goes on the plate has to change. We can’t say ‘regenerative farming' and then just serve beets. It must reflect a sense of place. 

Oliver: Exactly. Translating biodynamic principles to South-East Asia is a good example. Some principles are place-specific, like burying a cow horn of manure. There isn’t a strong cattle culture in many areas here, so what’s the local analogue to introduce the right microbiome to soil? I haven’t yet met the person who’s fully localised those principles, but I want to. 

I love concepts like Indonesia’s tegalan — the in-between zone of wild and cultivated, where much food is gathered — or Japan’s satoyama, the forest just outside the village. How do we maximise those spaces for restaurants and inform menus from them? That’s where the most interesting product often is. 

Juliane: That fits the theme of 'in-between spaces', between operational and ideal, cultivated and wild. Practically, how do restaurants support those farms? Do we need better sharing of who the suppliers are and where the farms are? Many people say they don’t know where to start. 

Oliver: Sometimes people don’t look because it would make life harder. A cursory search turns up nothing, and they stop. Also, the economic opportunity isn’t always clear to farmers. Farmers are pragmatic; most aren’t making much money. If you say, “I’ll buy your entire production next year if you farm in a way you’d love to but don’t think is feasible,” and you agree on what to grow, I’ve never met a farmer who says, “No, I grow what I want - go away.” 

At Potato Head, we’re lucky: in Bali that conversation is easier, and we have a transition mechanism to help farmers shift methods. Farms are small in Indonesia; we now work with around 500 farmers and can take their production. Our volume helps drive method shifts. I’d like to see more people having those conversations. 

I don’t think it should fall solely to the chef. Chefs are creating menus, running restaurants and managing staff schedules, labour, food costs and waste. Expecting them, on their day off, to explore farms and understand agriculture deeply enough to co-create systems with farmers isn’t realistic. 

Juliane: Agreed. Sustainability often piles unrealistic expectations on roles that aren’t desk-based. One solution is recognising a distinct role in restaurants. We name roles like CDP and sous chef; why not a role for this? For example, JKS Restaurants in London: Holly Letch started front-of-house at Lyle’s with a passion for sustainability, took on that work with James and the team, and is now their Sustainability Manager. We need to name, pay and support that role. 

Oliver: Exactly. More broadly, we tend to socialise downstream costs across society. If businesses had to deal with their own waste, they’d create roles to minimise it. Many of my targets intersect with procurement. Our organic targets aren’t on individual venue chefs; they’re shared between me and procurement. Venue chefs say what they need, and procurement and I talk to farmers about growing organically at the needed volumes. It spans culinary, sustainability and procurement, working together toward KPIs. 

For small operations, it’s tougher. If you’ve got four in the kitchen and three front-of-house, hiring a dedicated sustainability person who doesn’t do service is unlikely. Realistically, the role doubles up — maybe a front-of-house person works an extra day focused on this. It doesn’t need to be full-time. Like social media often lands with a server who’s great at TikTok. For hotels and groups, the role should definitely exist. For small restaurants, outside support and community networks can help. 

Juliane: Looking ahead, what’s on the cutting edge of sustainable hospitality that you’re watching — trends, ideas or shifts? 

Oliver: First, industry collaboration. I’m seeing unexpected partners stepping up. A Bali-specific example: Finns — known as a party venue — is one of our partners on our Community Waste Project. I wouldn’t have expected that. I also see more ethics-based decision-making across the value chain, not just from the most environmentally progressive organisations. That gives me hope. 

Large hotel groups are becoming more agile on sustainability. They recognise ESG reporting and legal frameworks are coming fast, so they’re preparing to move quickly, even if they’re not fully there yet.  

Juliane: I’ve wondered whether reporting is the main driver. Europe has equivocated on what reporting looks like, so I think risk management is driving it now. Forecasting the future, people see supply chains at risk — flooding, extreme weather, drought — and sometimes properties themselves are at risk.

We saw that this week with the typhoon video from Hong Kong: The Fullerton’s doors smashed in. There’s also a shift toward fewer but higher-value tourists; tourism models are changing. Waste programmes, like Potato Head’s, are critical because waste is literally washing up on the beach. If you didn’t act, property values would drop. No one wants to sit on a plastic-covered beach. 

Oliver: And one venue acting alone isn’t enough — it has to be collective. Collaboration is necessary, and I love that. My only worry is economic uncertainty. When times get tough, people sometimes revert to worse behaviour. If high-value tourists dry up, what happens to collaboration? Does it become a penny-parsing exercise that helps no one? Overall, though, I’m very optimistic about in-industry collaboration. 

On technology: people are bullish on certain tools, but I see bigger practical applications in other sectors first. Hospitality is still a human business. Tech can drive efficiency, but it won’t move the needle as dramatically here as in, say, derivatives trading. Unfortunately, industries where workers are undervalued become testing grounds for tech because the perceived human collateral is ‘less important’. I’m cautious about AI solutions. Where tech can shine is education — preparing people before they enter hospitality. (For example, The HosPro Academy — though I’ve left it for Potato Head — shows interesting directions.) 

I don’t think AI or robots can replace service. We’re social animals; hospitality triggers are deeply ingrained. 

Juliane: There was a New York Times piece about Stephen Ells, the Chipotle founder, trying to create a robot-operated casual concept. It’s struggling. The skills in hospitality — multitasking, reading people, anticipating accidents, reacting to the unpredictable — are intensely human. Computers and robots rely on predictability; restaurants are never the same day to day. Technology has a role, but replacing service isn’t it. 

Oliver: Agreed. Outside of AI, delivery tech has been the single biggest disruptor in the past decade, especially during and after COVID, and that will continue. I can imagine ‘hometels' or 'home restaurants’ emerging: companies set up your own space as a restaurant experience. Deeply personal, lower CapEx, for people reluctant to leave home. Haidilao already offers something similar: they’ll come to your house, set up a full hot-pot table, and return to clear it. That’s a glimpse of what might come. 

Juliane: We’re living through socially volatile times, so the pendulum will swing. We’ll likely see two extremes: people fully embracing home-based, digital comfort, and people fully rejecting it. Hospitality may bifurcate to serve both. 

Oliver: Exactly. The problem for unmanned restaurants is that, beyond convenience, there’s no incentive to go. They can’t connect to place. Traditional restaurants — where everyone’s daughter worked before college, someone’s son was in pot wash, you see neighbours when you dine — won’t go away. Restaurants that belong to a neighbourhood will always matter. You can try to replace them, but you won’t.  

Juliane: That’s a perfect place to end it. Thank you so much. 

Oliver: Thank you.