There’s something extraordinary about honey. It’s not just a sweetener—it’s a time capsule. A jar of honey can carry the story of a landscape, a moment in the season, and the quiet, relentless work of thousands of bees. When you start to explore the different types of honey from around the world, you quickly realise just how diverse and complex this simple substance really is.
Each variety is shaped by the flora the bees forage from, whether that’s wildflowers in North America or eucalyptus trees in South Africa. When bees predominantly visit one type of flower, they create what’s known as monofloral honey—like acacia or manuka. These honeys tend to have more defined and distinctive flavours. MulSimontifloral honeys, on the other hand, are a blend—often rich, layered, and unique to the region and season.
In Europe, you’ll find honeys like acacia—light, floral, and slow to crystallise. Or heather honey from the UK, known for its strong, almost herbal taste and jelly-like texture. Chestnut honey from Italy offers a robust bitterness, perfect alongside strong cheeses.
North and South America give us the citrusy brightness of orange blossom honey, while the darker, more intense buckwheat honey feels almost medicinal in its richness—deep, malty, and perfect for winter cooking.
Asia brings complexity with rare honeys like Yemen’s Sidr honey—golden, smooth, and revered for its health benefits—or lychee honey from China, with its fruity perfume and gentle sweetness.
In Africa, you’ll taste boldness. Eucalyptus honey from South Africa carries a tang and an edge, while Ethiopia’s white honey—light, buttery, and smooth—is a quiet standout, crafted by small beekeeping communities.
And here at home in Oceania, we’ve got some of the world’s most talked-about honeys. Manuka, of course, leads the pack, not just for its antibacterial properties but for its thick, earthy complexity. Tasmania’s leatherwood honey is another standout—floral, spicy, and aromatic. It’s a honey that demands your attention.
What ties all these together is the idea of terroir—a word often used in winemaking, but just as relevant here. Honey carries the signature of the land. Soil, altitude, rainfall, the type of bloom, even the time of year—all of it leaves its mark. And when we don’t overprocess it—when we leave it raw, unfiltered, unpasteurised—it retains those signatures. You can taste the difference.
Pairing honey is part science, part art. Lighter honeys like acacia are beautiful in tea or over yoghurt. Stronger varieties, like buckwheat or chestnut, come into their own when paired with meats or sharp cheeses. There’s something incredible about a drizzle of leatherwood over aged cheddar or a smear of Manuka on sourdough toast.
Honey reminds us that nature doesn’t rush—but it never gets it wrong. Each spoonful is the product of thousands of tiny journeys, collected and concentrated into something golden, powerful, and real.
So next time you open a jar, take a moment. Think about the place it came from. Think about the bees. And taste what the world has to offer—one drop at a time.