A Grassroots Community Dinner. A practical example of support in action, shaped by real conditions and shared responsibility.

Some of the most important lessons about vulnerability, dignity, and systems are learned not in offices or reports, but around a shared meal.

In Hobart, Food Not Bombs Hobart refers to Christiaan’s Community Dinner — a simple, grassroots food-sharing effort shaped by presence, consistency, and shared responsibility rather than formal program design.

The work is practical and immediate. Food must be sourced, prepared, transported, and served. People arrive with different needs, experiences, and expectations. Numbers fluctuate. Resources are limited. Through it all, dignity remains central.

This dinner surfaces the real-world tensions that sit beneath many social responses to hardship:

How do you remain open while still keeping people safe?

How do you manage finite resources without becoming transactional?

How do you share responsibility without excluding those already on the margins?

These are not abstract questions. They are negotiated in real time, week by week, in public space, with imperfect conditions and changing circumstances.

The dinner does not attempt to replace formal services or present itself as a solution to food insecurity. Instead, it exists alongside other supports — offering continuity, relationship, and a point of contact that is accessible and human.

For my broader work, this shared meal functions as a practical example of support in action. It informs how I think about risk, participation, and sustainability, and keeps my work grounded in the realities faced by people most affected by system gaps.

Free Produce: Delivered to Your Door. No questions asked.

We Can Deliver Free Fresh Produce to You

Thanks for reaching this page — if you’re here, it means you might need a little extra support, and we’re glad to help. We deliver fresh, salvaged produce straight to your door, usually within an hour of picking it up from the supermarket. Everything is rescued the same day, handled with care, and shared so it doesn’t go to waste.

Deliveries are available on Tuesdays or Fridays, usually between 6:00 pm and 7:00 pm.

There are no questions asked — no forms, no requirements, no judgement. Just good food for anyone who needs it.

You’ll normally receive fruit and vegetables, and sometimes extras depending on what’s available.

If you’d like a delivery, simply let us know. A quick message is enough — we’re here, we’re local, and we’re happy to help.

Tap the button below to quietly request a delivery:

Hobart’s Weekly Free Meal. Everyone’s welcome!

Welcome to the Food Not Bombs Hobart Community Dinner

Thank you for reaching out. Are you seeking a free hot meal in Hobart? Join us at the Food Not Bombs Hobart Community Dinner. It is held every Saturday.

Our weekly meal is open to all community members. There are no eligibility requirements, no referrals, and no cost. We simply offer a warm, nutritious dinner in a safe and respectful environment where everyone is welcome.

Location:

Criterion House

Behind the State Library of Tasmania

Down Mather’s Lane

108-110 Bathurst Street, Hobart CBD

Each week, volunteers prepare a wholesome, plant-based meal and offer it in a calm, inclusive setting. Whether you are experiencing hardship or feeling isolated, you are welcome to attend. You can also come if you simply need a supportive community space.

After clicking through, the next step is simple. Arrive on a Saturday evening at Criterion House. Our team will be there to greet you. If you need further information, you are encouraged to get in touch.

Food Not Bombs Hobart

Providing free community meals with dignity and respect, every week.

I’d like to say I’m coming

Read more about Food Not Bombs Hobart:

Free Bread

Life gets heavy sometimes. Groceries stretch further than they should, bills creep up, and some weeks feel longer than others. If you’ve clicked through to this page, it probably means you’re looking for a small bit of support — something practical, something real, something that meets you right where you are.

You’re in the right place.

What We’re Offering

Every week, a small community crew in Hobart gathers surplus bread and baked goods from local bakers and delivers them straight to people who could use a hand. No cost. No catch. No paperwork. Just bread — fresh, simple, and shared with dignity.

It’s not charity in the old-fashioned sense. It’s neighbours looking out for neighbours. It’s the belief that everyone deserves good food, and that a warm loaf on the doorstep can make a day feel a little lighter.

Who It’s For

This service is for anyone in the Hobart area who needs it:

  • People doing it tough right now
  • Anyone living alone who might struggle to get out
  • Families stretching their budget
  • Residents in units and flats who often fall through the cracks
  • People who prefer privacy and don’t want to explain their situation to anyone

If you need bread, you qualify. That’s it.

How It Works

It’s incredibly simple:

  1. Request a delivery using the form or button below.
  2. Tell us where you live — even just the suburb is okay to start.
  3. A volunteer will get in touch to confirm a good delivery time.
  4. We drop the bread off quietly and respectfully.
  5. You enjoy it at your own pace.

If you’re a little anxious about reaching out, don’t worry. Many people are. We understand that taking the first step can feel awkward or exposing — but we’re kind, we don’t pry, and we’re here because people helped us once too.

Why We Do This

Hobart is full of good people who care. But many residents slip behind locked doors and heavy gatekeeping — forgotten, unrepresented, and unheard. Our goal is to reach the people no one sees, the ones who keep to themselves or feel overlooked.

You matter. Your wellbeing matters. And you deserve support without having to fight for it.

If You Need Bread, Just Ask

You don’t have to explain your situation.

You don’t have to justify anything.

You just need to click the button and say, “Yes, I’d like some bread.

We’ll take it from there.

Read more about Food Support:

🍲 Food Not Bombs Hobart: Beyond Expectation, Beyond Brand — A Community That Eats Together

I’ve always been aware that the affliction to the Food Not Bombs name — the assumption that this is “just Food Not Bombs” — doesn’t actually represent who we are. It was never meant to be a static label or a tidy brand. It was meant to be a gathering — a shared meal, a shared table, a shared community. 

This thought has been quietly in the back of my mind for years, because the history of this event isn’t a straight line. When I took on the coordination of Food Not Bombs Hobart, most of the volunteers fled. The labour of setting up, cooking, serving, talking, and cleaning fell mostly on me — though some people whose titles sounded like leaders stayed. They held onto the rules in name only, while a few others who kept working actually shaped what the event became.

From that mess of expectations and departures, we all took power — not leadership in the traditional sense, but responsibility for what actually needed to happen. And from there came change.

The old version was a hall spread: many tables, a public feel, and a lot of physical labour to arrange and then clean up. But without steady volunteers, that labour burned people out fast and invited the idea that “this is what Food Not Bombs should look like” — a big room, many tables, formal setup. In reality, that version trapped us more than it helped us.

So we changed it. We consolidated the labour. We shortened the event. We moved out of the large hall into the smaller kitchen-adjacent space. Now there’s one long dining table — up to 15 people together — one shared experience, where labour is manageable and connection feels organic.

This isn’t a regression. This is response. It’s about reshaping the event so it can survive and be abundant for the people who come here — not because the name sounds nice, but because the meal and the fellowship feel welcoming and real.

This was brought into focus for me last weekend when a woman arrived and asked, “Where’s the old Food Not Bombs?” Before I could explain, she said, “This is not for me,” and walked away in protest.

I understand her confusion — the name carries expectation. But what we offer now is different, not lesser. It’s honest. It’s sustainable. And it’s built on the labour of people who stayed — not the memory of what used to be.

Food Not Bombs was never meant to be a museum piece. It was meant to be a space where people can eat, belong, and connect with each other without hierarchy or theatre. It’s not about nostalgia. It’s about nourishment — for body and community.

And that hasn’t changed. It has only found a form that can last.

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