Touchy-Feely With Trees: Bunya Nuts

Do trees like to be touched? I can't tell if they're into it, but I’m definitely the weirdo in the forest who can’t keep their hands to themselves.

I lay my hands on their trunks, as if trying to absorb their stories and energy. If trees could talk, would they call me a groper? Probably. But can you blame me? There’s just something so magnetic as you press your hands into the texture of their bark.

Bunya Bunya (also known as the Bunya Pine, Araucaria bidwillii) has rough-textured bark with deep vertical furrows; the weathered skin of an ancient giant. The leaves are prickly, and form spiral patterns around the branches in a dance of ancient geometry.

Their shape defies the familiar figures of forests. Unlike the top-heavy crowns of oaks or the triangular spires of pines, its branches stretch outward in measured, horizontal layers. Even trees fail to live up to society's impossible silhouette expectations.

Bunya Bunyas are conifers, which means they produce cones—you know, like a pinecone. And when they come to play, they play to win. Huge 5-10 kilogram cones, filled with delicious nuts. Bunya Bunyas are out here dropping bowling balls on unsuspecting passersby – so don't get your head cracked open. If I'm going to die foraging, I hope it's from something dramatic like a trespassing-related altercation, not from getting smacked on the head by a falling nut.

The cones, once a prehistoric snack for dinosaurs, were a traditional food source for many Aboriginal people.

They taste yum. When boiled, they taste like chestnuts and roast potato. Eaten raw, they remind me of soft coconut flesh. You can also roast the nuts once boiled. I once burnt some in the oven, but used a microplane to finely grate them over cocktails, using it as a substitute for nutmeg. It was hard as a rock but tasted like buttery toasted almond, absolutely delicious.

These ancient nuts weren’t just food though—they were a significant part of culture.

It’s a common misconception that Aboriginal societies didn’t have a concept of land ownership because they were foragers. The truth is far more nuanced.

Families held deep, generational ties to individual Bunya trees, passing down their stewardship like heirlooms. Each tree could live for over 500 years, standing as a link between ancestors and future generations. People harvested only from their own family’s trees, and visiting groups respected that.

Aboriginal communities didn’t just gather what nature provided—they actively participated in sustainable land management. They planted Bunya seeds with care, even swapping them to keep genetic diversity strong. They managed the land with controlled burns, ensuring healthy forests, and protected Bunya Bunyas with a reverence that bordered on the sacred. There were strict rules against harming these trees.

And then there were the legendary Bunya Festivals. Bunya nuts have their seasons of abundance, arriving in summer every three years or so. When the trees were laden with cones, many different Aboriginal communities would gather together. Groups traveled to share in the bounty – some hundreds of kilometers away. Nuts were eaten, seeds traded, stories flowed, marriages arranged, and conflicts set aside.

For thousands of years, these gatherings proved that nothing brings people together like the promise of good food and good company.

But the arrival of white settlers brought devastation. The last ever Bunya Festival was held in 1901, crushed by racist policies that outlawed large gatherings of Aboriginal people. Many trees were felled for timber or cleared for farmland, severing the generational ties that families had nurtured for centuries. Imagine the heartbreak—of losing not just a food source, but a legacy, a connection to ancestors, and a way of life.

When I think about the injustices inflicted on Aboriginal peoples, my mind often goes to the Stolen Generations or the ongoing struggles of today. But there are so many other layers of loss—like the destruction of traditions, theft of what was sacred, and the silencing of stories.

While bountiful in northern NSW and QLD, you'd be very lucky to snag a cone in Melbourne.

But if you do – there's quite a few steps to harvest those nuts. Find a tree and look for fallen Bunya cones in late summer.

While dinosaurs chomped down a whole cone in a single mouthful, those big 10kg cones are fort knox of the nut world, and require you to smash them with an axe. Once smashed, you can pull apart each section of the cone to reveal tear-shaped brown nuts. It's a lot of backbreaking work, so try and convince someone else to do it for you.

Once you get the nut (after a lot of blood, sweat, tears, and a mild existential crisis), – it remains in a hard outer shell. After a lot of trial and error, I discovered the easiest way to shell the nut was this:

1. Pierce the tip of the nut with some wire cutters

2. Boil the nut in the shell for 1 hour and 15 minutes

3. Give yourself a pep talk reminding yourself not to slice a finger off

4. While still warm, wedge a cleaver/ chopping knife in the tip of the nut where the earlier cut was made. Tap the nut on a sturdy cutting board with the knife attached – in a hammering motion. After about 10 taps the nut is sliced in half.

5. Remove the thin green section (bitter) and scoop out the flesh with a tiny fork.

Extra tips:

- If your technique is bad, you'll start fantasising about improvising with a hydraulic press or running over the nuts with your car. That's already been tried and tested, and I can testify it didn't work

- Don't shock the nuts in ice water after cooking – it hardens the shell

- Bargain with God all you want

- Don't try cutting an uncooked nut in half unless you live in close proximity to a hospital

- Hammers aren't useful.

So, what can you do with these nuts? Once you’ve survived the shelling ordeal—and possibly questioned all your life choices—you might be too exhausted to cook. But push through. Stir-fry the boiled nuts with garlic and chili, or use them in place of gnocci. Puree them with sugar and water to create a rich, nutty paste perfect for piping into croissants or choux pastry. Use them in cakes or baked goods, or blend them into hummus as a chickpea substitute.