Wenlu Qin – Preschool Kaiako
As the footsteps of winter approach, the Matariki star cluster is about to rise. This term, we are using the nine stars of Matariki as our guides to start on a food-learning journey: searching for the gifts of the stars.
In modern life, food often appears to children as boxed goods or supermarket products. They are familiar with the crunch of a chip but may have never seen the potatoes that grow in the mud. This time, we are doing more than just learning the names of the stars; we are re-observing the world and rebuilding our connection with nature by harvesting, touching, experimenting, cooking, and tasting. We are rediscovering a sense of reverence for the land, the ocean, and the sky. The children have discovered that every star guards a specific energy of the natural world.
When we discussed the gifts of Mother Earth, I brought treasures hidden in the soil, but the children showed an interesting cognitive gap. Because we have handled potatoes often in past terms, everyone recognised them instantly. However, when faced with a pile of kūmara of different shapes and sizes, still smelling of the fresh earth, most children fell into a thoughtful silence. While they were familiar with potatoes, the reddish-purple kūmara was a mystery. Finally, Teddie recognised it.
Session 1: Tupuānuku (Protector of the earth and food grown within the soil)
This was exactly the lesson we needed to bridge. We slowed down and acted like archaeologists conducting sensory measurements: observing the skin colour, weight, and scent of different kūmara varieties. The children discovered that kūmara differ not only in size but also in their skins: some deep purple, some reddish-pink, and others pale yellow. When the skins were peeled, the young chefs exclaimed, “Wow, it’s orange inside!” “This one is white!”
Tasting raw kūmara was a magical moment where the young chefs keenly captured nature’s code: “The orange one tastes like a carrot: sweet; but the white one tastes like the soil.” This discovery of the “soil taste” is precious. It helped the children realise that food is not born in plastic packaging; it was once tightly bound to birdsong, rain, and the deep earth.
Through chopping, boiling, and straining (learning to use a sieve), the chefs observed the kūmara transform from hard to fluffy in the boiling water, its colour becoming more vibrant. As they shared the sweet mash in the classroom, they cheered for the beautiful sweetness. I believe what they felt was not just a bowl of mash, but a sweet gift from the earth
Session 2: Tupuārangi (Protector of the forest and food grown on trees)
On a cool late-autumn day, we looked for food from above. The children knew well that apples come from trees and belong to the sky and forest, but this “taken-for-granted” knowledge often masks the deeper observation of the mystery of plant life.
To reshape this curiosity, we didn’t cut the apple vertically as usual. Instead, we made a gentle horizontal slice. The moment the apple was opened, the children almost held their breath: at the centre of the fruit was a perfect, five-pointed star. It was natural magic! We named it “The Shadow of the Tupuārangi Star”. The children realised that stars are not only in the sky but also tucked inside the fruits nurtured by the trees.
During the making of this version of apple crumble, the children used their hands to feel the texture of butter and flour rubbing together and merging between their fingers. They weighed, smelled, observed and tasted, carefully layering the chopped apples and topping them with crumbs.
As the beautiful smell came out from the oven, this warm dessert helped the children understand Tupuārangi’s generosity: the forest prepares energy for us before winter arrives. This warmth is not just about temperature; it is a perception of the natural cycles.
Session 3: Waitā (Protector of the ocean and its food)
While the land is familiar, the deep ocean is a world of unknown gaps for children. When I showed photos of seaweed, the children were lost. In their experience, green plants belong only to the land, so they pointed at the photos and said, “These are trees in the water” or “Leaves that fell into the water.”
To break through this perception, I brought roasted seaweed. However, due to my oversight, I accidentally bought the “Hot and Spicy” flavour, turning our exploration into an unexpected spicy adventure and a bravery challenge. Surprisingly, this left an indelible mark of Waitā on the children.
Together, we cracked and whisked eggs, fried them, and sprinkled crushed seaweed on top before rolling them up. We joked, “We are wrapping the ocean in an egg roll.”
Before tasting in the classroom, we discussed Waitā again. When asked where seaweed comes from, some still answered “from trees”. But this is precisely the value of our learning experience: we are using Waitā’s gifts to correct these perceptions distanced by urban life. They are beginning to understand that the ocean has more than just fish and shrimp; it has seaweed forests as much as those on land, giving us the special taste of the sea.
Watching the children’s faces turn red as they ran for water, yet seeing them persist in trying more and even feeling excited by this hot sensation, I saw a primitive response to the power of nature. I felt incredibly proud: facing an intense sensory stimulus they had never experienced, the tamariki showed amazing bravery.
Session 4: Waitī (Protector of freshwater and the creatures that live within it)
This week, our guide was Waitī, the star that silently guards our streams, rivers, and lakes.
When discussing streams they had visited, some children’s ecological awareness deeply touched me. Someone noted it tasted “like soapy water”, and another said, “Maybe polluted”, concluding with a sigh that “That is not good.” This might be the core of food education: awakening a desire to protect our natural ecosystem.
We then started a lively discussion about freshwater creatures that they could think about: tuna, eel, slippery fish, red snapper, and octopus. The kitchen bustled with excitement when talking about eels:
“Have you ever seen a real eel?”
“Yes! They are very big! And they are slimy to touch.”
To simulate the taste of freshwater creatures (as I could not get any eel from my local shops), I brought a can of smoked fish fillets. Our first challenge was the tool: the can opener, a completely new experience for these young chefs.
However, the moment the can opened, a second “sensory storm” hit the kitchen! An uncomfortable, smoky, fishy smell filled the air. The children let out a dramatic, “Woooooooaaaaw!” while pinching their noses and burying their faces in their elbows. Yet, showing incredible bravery, they didn’t back down and accepted my offer to taste it. Accompanied by exaggerated expressions, they quickly adjusted and began smashing the fillets to make it “nicer”.
To balance the strong fish flavour, we introduced cream cheese, which the children loved. Then we squeezed in fresh orange juice, creating a magical chemical reaction. “This time it’s even better!” they cheered. Finally, they spread the mixture onto crackers with professional focus. During this, a beautiful moment unfolded: Emma was incredibly thoughtful, carefully preparing a tiny portion on two separate crackers specifically for Maisie. This act of kindness flowed as gently among the children as the waters of Waitī nourishing the land.
Soon, 20 Waitī crackers were ready on the platter. Even though we had to borrow a creature from the ocean (Waitā) this time, the name stuck beautifully in everyone’s hearts, reminding us all of the vital importance of freshwater in our lives.
Next time you visit the supermarket, walk in the park, or beside a local stream, why not explore with them: Which foods belong to Tupuānuku on the earth? Which are the gifts sent to us by Tupuārangi from the trees? And what secrets of Waitī are hidden within the flowing waters?
He aha to whakaaro? (What learning do I think is happening here?)
Throughout these four sessions, we have seen the children transform from supermarket consumers to passionate explorers and guardians of our environment:
They learnt to eat not just with their mouths, but also to smell the soil and smoky fish, find stars in apples, feel the crunch of seaweed, and test their strength against a can opener. This multi-sensory engagement creates a deeper “chemical reaction” with the natural world. It allows them to realise that potatoes aren’t just fries, apples hide starlight, seaweed isn’t a factory-made paper strip, and a fishy smell is nature’s raw code. This return to awareness is the first step in repairing our broken link with nature.
The nine stars of Matariki were once distant and unreachable. But through the soil of Tupuānuku, the trees of Tupuārangi, the ocean of Waitā, and now the flowing streams of Waitī, the stars have become something tangible, tasteable, and deeply felt.
By understanding food through the lens of Māori culture, the children are cultivating a profound Te Taiao (reverence) for nature. When they noted with worry that a local stream tasted “soapy” or “polluted”, the seeds of environmental stewardship were instantly planted. Whether facing unexpected spiciness or an intense, uncomfortable fish smell, the tamariki demonstrated incredible bravery.
He aha ngā wā me ngā āhei (opportunities and possibilities?)
We are continuing to seek the other stars of Matariki in the garden and kitchen, using our hands, our senses, and our hearts to feel how this world sustains us.
