Telus has expanded its Indigenous Advisory Council with six Indigenous leaders, including two new youth representatives.
Formed last year, the ten-person council aims to help Telus hear from Indigenous about issues and ideas, which the carrier says will inform its business.
The new council members are as follows:
Youth advisor: Magnolia Perron — Mohawks of the Bay of Quinte (Ontario)
Youth advisor: Taylor Behn-Tsakoza — Fort Nelson First Nation (British Columbia)
Clint Davis — Inuk from Nunatsiavut (Labrador)
James Delorme — Klahoose First Nation (British Columbia) and Cowessess First Nation (Saskatchewan)
Victoria LaBillois — Mi’gmaw from Listuguj (Quebec)
Shaun Soonias — Red Pheasant Cree Nation (Saskatchewan)
Telus says council members have been selected “through a robust recruitment and verification process designed to protect the integrity of the council and ensure a diversity of Indigenous perspectives.” They all have expertise in areas such as health, business, technology, law, finance and sustainability.
Sauble Beach, a sandy stretch of land parked on the eastern shore of Lake Huron, is the second longest freshwater beach in the world—behind Wasaga Beach, near Collingwood. Eleven kilometres in length, Sauble’s shallow waters and powdery sand attract millions of beachgoers each year. But the beach’s ownership has long been a point of contention, until now.
On April 3, an Ontario judge ruled that the Saugeen First Nation are the rightful owners of a 2.4-kilometre section of Sauble Beach. The piece of land in question has traditionally been open to the public, extending into Sauble Beach North and encompassing the iconic “Welcome to Sauble Beach” sign. This new section adds to Sauble Beach South, which was already part of the Saugeen reserve, granting the First Nation ownership over the majority of the beach.
“This is a huge victory for our community and our people,” said Saugeen Chief Conrad Ritchie, in a statement. “We have been fighting to have the beach recognized as part of our reserve for generations. The beach is central to our way of life and, out of all our vast traditional territory, this is the land our ancestors chose to reserve for their future generations.”
The dispute over Sauble Beach can be traced back 170 years. The Saugeen asserted that when they signed Treaty 72 in 1854, establishing their reserve, the federal government improperly surveyed the land. The feds acknowledged their mistake in the 1970s, placing their support behind the Saugeen’s claim over Sauble Beach. But the Town of South Bruce Peninsula and the Ontario government opposed the claim, forcing the Saugeen First Nation to take the issue to court in 1995.
Over its 30-year history, the legal dispute has taken combative turns, such as in 2014, when federal government officials proposed a negotiated settlement, granting the Saugeen First Nation ownership of the beach with the clause that it would co-manage Sauble with South Bruce Peninsula. The town, however, turned this proposal down, deciding to continue fighting for ownership.
The beach is the town’s crown jewel. Paid parking around Sauble, which South Bruce Peninsula operates, costs approximately $30, generating a significant portion of the town’s annual revenue. With ownership transferring to the Saugeen, that could disappear.
Parking is only one of the cliffhangers left lingering in the wake of the court’s ruling. There are several private landowners who fall within the reserve’s new boundary. The town is waiting on an additional ruling from the court to see whether these landowners will be granted life interest, allowing them to remain where they are. There’s also the question of whether the beach will be open to the public. Over the last few years, Sauble Beach South, which was already owned by the Saugeen, has been made private, fencing the land off for cottagers who lease land from the First Nation.
The Saugeen did not respond to comment on the beach’s future, but Chief Conrad Ritchie said in a statement: “While the court recognized the importance of Sauble Beach to our people, we recognize that it is important to others as well, including as a tourist destination. We look forward to working with all of our neighbours to keep it a special place.”
South Bruce Peninsula Mayor Garry Michi said in a statement that the town has yet to decide whether it will appeal the decision. “Our immediate priority is to gain clarity on beach maintenance and governance issues until the final terms of the court’s ruling are settled later this year. Town council will be reaching out to the Saugeen First Nation to discuss these matters and will be working to find a mutually acceptable interim resolution.”
A second court proceeding will be held to determine whether the federal government owes damages to the Saugeen First Nation for incorrectly surveying its reserve.
Hockey may be Canada’s game but it has a poor track record of including marginalized groups.
At a summit in Toronto this past January, in front of a crowd of 400, the non-profit organization the Carnegie Initiative announced that it was partnering with Toronto Metropolitan University (TMU) to conduct a study on how to establish the first professional hockey franchise led by First Nations owners.
The Carnegie Initiative, which is named after Herb Carnegie, a black hockey star in the 1940s and 50s who spent much of his life fighting for equality in the sport, aims to make hockey more diverse and inclusive. This was the organization’s second annual summit.
The study referred to as The Spirit Project is being led by TMU professors Richard Norman and Cheri L. Bradish. According to Norman, the study will involve undergraduate students connecting with stakeholders, such as Ted Nolan, a former NHL star, a Carnegie Initiative board member, and a member of the Ojibway tribe. The stakeholders will provide the students with a broader knowledge of the current hockey landscape and First Nations culture. Using this information and their own research, students will develop a viable plan for creating a First Nations-led hockey franchise. The plans will be presented to the Carnegie Initiative in April.
“It’s not necessarily looking at playing at the NHL level,” Norman says. “Although, I think down the road, there’s always the possibility of an expansion franchise. But really, what I think it’s looking at is multiple leagues, men’s and women’s, and also how this might play out on the international side.”
First Nations have a long history with hockey. According to the nonprofit organization Native Hockey, Europeans first observed ice hockey being played by Mi’kmaq Indians in Nova Scotia in the late 1600s, using a frozen apple as a puck.
Fred Sasakamoose from Saskatchewan was the first Native player in the NHL, lacing up for the Chicago Blackhawks in the mid-1950s. He was followed by other great players, including Theo Fleury and Carey Price.
One of the goals of The Spirit Project, which will be carried on by graduate students after the April presentations, is to see whether an Indigenous team could play as its own nation on the international stage. “There are examples around the world, like Maori nations playing rugby as a separate entity from New Zealand,” Norman says. This could include men’s and women’s First Nations teams squaring off against Canada in the Olympics.
The international stage, however, may still be a few years off. In the short term, Norman says he hopes the study will provide grassroots initiatives to help connect First Nations youth to hockey. “The professional franchise would act as a conduit so that there’s representation from the front office to the coaching staff to everywhere, showing how Indigenous folks can be connected with the game and the different aspects of how that comes together,” he says. “Then also looking at on-ice and off-ice activities for indigenous youth to help their skills and development throughout the process.”
To support these initiatives, students will look at travel time to games, how to create leagues that provide different levels of play, and what the development of the sport, in terms of social change, looks like for First Nations youth.
“Looking into the future, there are going to be tensions,” Norman says. “But if we’re looking at true reconciliation and the decolonizing of our sports systems, and what that looks like, I think it does ask those deeper questions of what does nationhood look like, and what is sovereignty going to mean within the Canadian context.”
JACKSON’S FALLS DESSERT BANNOCK. PHOTO BY LIAM MOGAN, FOOD STYLING BY RUTH GANGBAR, PROP STYLING BY LAURA BRANSON
This simple bannock recipe is adapted from the Public School House restaurant at Jackson’s Falls Country Inn in Prince Edward County, Ont., where First Nations owner Lee Arden Lewis features Native-inspired cuisine. The bannock gets baked over prepared hot coals in about 20–30 minutes.
Jackson’s Falls Dessert Bannock
This simple bannock recipe is adapted from the Public School House restaurant at Jackson’s Falls Country Inn in Prince Edward County, Ont., where First Nations owner Lee Arden Lewis features Native-inspired cuisine. The bannock gets baked over prepared hot coals in about 20–30 minutes. Serves 6–8.
2tspsalt 1 tbsp ground dried sumacoptional (See TIP below)
1⁄2 cup vegetable oil
21⁄2–3 cups water
1⁄4 cup buttermelted Nutella, whipped cream, chopped strawberries or cinnamon sugar, to taste
Instructions
Choose clean, green sticks about as thick as your thumb; peel the bark off their ends (about 8″).
In a medium bowl, mix flour, baking powder, sugar, salt, and sumac (if using). Add oil and just enough water, a little at a time, to form soft dough that’s not too sticky. Knead lightly in bowl, adding a little flour as needed, with well-oiled hands for a few minutes, until dough is elastic; divide into 6–8 pieces.
Roll each piece into long, 1″-thick ropes with your hands. Heat peeled ends of sticks over coals; wrap dough coils firmly around warmed ends.
Hold bannock over hot coals, turning sticks occasionally and being careful not to burn, cooking for about 20–30 minutes or until puffed, evenly browned, and cooked in centre. Remove bannock from sticks; brush with melted butter and dust with cinnamon sugar or fill generously with Nutella, whipped cream, and chopped strawberries.
Notes
TIP Staghorn sumac is a wild-growing plant known for its tight, bunched clusters of fuzzy red berries with seeds inside. You can buy it in Middle Eastern stores or online from suppliers such as Forbes Wild Foods. It adds a lemony flavour and can be used dried and ground.
Keyword Bannock, Jackson’s Falls Country Inn, Lee Arden Lewis
Since my first article came out in Cottage Life, I’ve had a lot of interactions with people who genuinely want to understand appropriation. They’ve seen something or done something that they have questioned, based on what they read. The reality is that when something is new, as the issue of appropriation versus appreciation is, it takes a while to get used to it.
Recently, somebody sent me a note asking about a piece of clothing they’d bought. Once they got it home, they weren’t sure if it was okay for them to wear. Would it show appreciation for the culture, or would it be appropriation? The first thing to ask is where the clothing originated. If, say, you bought a pair of moccasins, and there’s no indication of who made them, that’s a red flag. Remember, part of the criteria for something to be considered appropriation is profit. If somebody gains financially from taking elements from Indigenous cultures, that’s appropriation.
The person who messaged me knew they’d purchased their clothing from an Indigenous creator, so wearing it was perfectly fine. Indigenous artists don’t make clothing or books only for Indigenous people. I write books because I want everyone to read them. This creator makes clothing because they want everyone to wear it. Reading my books or wearing products from an Indigenous creator isn’t appropriation. I think it’s pretty great.
This story was originally published as “If the shoe fits” in the Mar/Apr 2022 issue of Cottage Life.
What is a powwow, anyway? Contrary to a common, and ignorant, idiom, having a powwow is not participating in an informal meeting at the office. But they aren’t the same as they used to be either. Prior to 1876, powwows were a ceremony to mark alliances with other tribes or to celebrate a good hunt. They typically occurred once per year, where people would drum, dance, eat food, and heal. But with the introduction that year of the Indian Act—a piece of legislation widely recognized as racist—various Indigenous ceremonies (as well as the potlatch, ghost dance, and sun dance) were outlawed. This lasted until 1951 with the removal of some of the discriminatory sections. Today, powwows are acts of reclamation that help maintain connections to traditions, songs, regalia, and community.
And you’re welcome to join in! It doesn’t matter if you’re non-Indigenous. If you’ve been hesitant to go because you’re worried that you might say or do the wrong thing, don’t overthink it. It’s okay to make mistakes—just be open to being corrected. Nobody’s going to yell at you. Promise. There really aren’t any hard and fast rules, as there are in traditional ceremonies such as the sweat lodge.
For the most part, it’s just about being respectful. But here are a few basics to get you started. Don’t bring alcohol. Do pack a lawn chair or a blanket. Being comfortable is allowed! If there’s a circle that’s been cleared by a crowd, walking through it is considered rude. There’s probably dancing going on in the middle.
Keep in mind that we aren’t there to perform for you, so ask permission before you take pictures. And even if you are allowed to, don’t stop dancers and ask to take a selfie with them, and don’t call their regalia a “costume.” Regalia is traditional clothing worn by Indigenous people for ceremonies like powwows. Stand for the Grand Entry, where an Elder will lead dancers into the arena. If an eagle feather falls on the ground, don’t pick it up. It’s guarded until it can be properly retrieved and returned to its owner. When in doubt, watch the crowd. Do what they do. Oh, and bring some cash so you can try some food. If I ate meat, or gluten, I’d start with a bannock burger or a bannock taco. Really, anything with bannock.
Powwows aren’t hard to find either. Search online for sites that publish the powwow trail. Communities have set dates so that dancers can do a tour across Turtle Island, and they try hard not to overlap with each other. Hope to see you there.
This story was originally published in the May 2022 issue of Cottage Life.
When Victorian naturalist Alfred Russell Wallace referred to feathers as a “masterpiece of nature…the perfectest venture imaginable,” he wasn’t exaggerating. Wondrous in design, feathers are marvels of evolution—derived from reptilian scales—that enable birds to soar. But it is their beauty that has entranced humans worldwide for centuries. “Where else do you find such an obvious example of iridescence in nature? Birds did it up really well,” says Mark Peck, the manager of the Schad Gallery of Biodiversity at the Royal Ontario Museum (ROM) in Toronto.
The most valuable commodity (second only to diamonds) on the sinking Titanic turned out to be feathers—more than 40 cases—worth more than $2.3 million in today’s dollars. These extravagantly expensive plumes traveled en route to milliners’ shops as part of the feather fashion craze that had gripped Europe and North America in the 19th century—with disastrous consequences for birds. The harvesting of egret feathers during breeding season, when the gleaming white, wispy plumes are at their most spectacular, drove the species to the brink of extinction. But it wasn’t just egret feathers on hats: exotic species were all the rage, including quetzals, birds of paradise, hummingbirds, parrots, and toucans. Things reached such a fevered pitch that adorning a hat with mere feathers eventually proved insufficient and entire flattened, taxidermied birds would rest atop the ensemble. By the early 1900s, more than five million birds were killed per year in service of the millinery industry.
Initially, the blame fell on the greatest hat consumers: women. In 1912, in a scathing call to arms, William Hornaday, the director of the New York Zoo (now called the Bronx Zoo), wrote that “The blood of uncounted millions of slaughtered birds is upon the heads of women.” And yet, it was largely thanks to fiercely vocal women conservationists who vehemently opposed the feather trade that legislative change took place. In 1918, the U.S. Migratory Bird Treaty Act prohibited the buying, selling, trading, or bartering of bird parts and brought the hat feather frenzy to an end.
Of course, long before the birth of that feather fad as fashion—it may have been launched (at least in part) by Marie Antoinette, who topped off her coiffures with hats piled high with glamorous ostrich feathers—Indigenous people worldwide had already been putting an emphasis on self-adornment. The Aztecs brought featherwork to colossal heights. The imperial aviary in Tenochtitlán, in present-day Mexico, employed dozens of people to oversee the flocks of arresting, spectacular birds, including coloured honeycreepers, toucans, spoonbills, macaws, and parakeets—all sourced from the furthest reaches of their empire, often by the thousands. The Aztecs plucked feathers from these birds to decorate clothing, battle shields, tapestries, elaborate headdresses, and religious regalia. And they often extracted taxes from conquered lands in the form of feathers or birds. With the conquest of the Americas and colonization, exotic feathers eventually made their way to European courts and, in addition to becoming a hugely popular fashion trend, they also highlighted the power of imperial expansion.
A curious and sordid black market for exotic feathers exists today in the world of fly-fishing among fly-tiers who have revived the Victorian practice of elaborate plume-made flies resembling insects. Not only have there been numerous feather heists from natural history collections in the past several decades—the most famous of which became the subject of the acclaimed book The Feather Thief—the ROM recently instituted background checks for anyone spending unsupervised time among the prized feathers. “The most commercially valuable feathers in the collection are the pheasant and grouse family feathers due to the market for tying flies,” says Mark Peck.
Yet feathers do more than denote status and power; they also tell stories and teach us how to live. Indigenous naturalist Joe Pitawanakwat stresses the importance of learning from birds, and he sees feathers as an “acknowledgement of the teachings that the birds carry.” A member of the Wiikwemkoong First Nation, he says that coming in contact with a bird feather “enables us to tap into the stories that the birds are sharing.” For example, bird species with red eyes teach people about mourning and how to manage grief; a common loon feather reminds Pitawanakwat of the bird’s plaintive call and tells him that “it’s okay to cry—that’s why their eyes are red.”
One of the most revered feathers among many Indigenous communities is the eagle feather, for its ability to “relay messages to a spirit world,” says Pitawanakwat. The eagle feather becomes a communicating device. “When we use eagle feathers in prayer, and when we’re smudging, those feathers are responsible for taking the message where it needs to go,” Pitawanakwat says. “Feathers are kind of like a tattoo. There’s a story to each one.”
And yet those very stories and the knowledge, both spiritual and practical, passed down from elders, is currently at risk: how to set traps according to a bird’s moulting season; how to design two types of regalia for powwows, one with iridescent feathers for daytime, and another with non-iridescent feathers for nighttime; how to use owl feathers for fletching to ensure that the arrows fly silently.
“I always say thank you when I find a feather in a forest,” says Pitawanakwat. “It’s a gift and a responsibility that’s presented to me to learn what this bird has to share.”
This article was originally published in the August 2022 issue of Cottage Life.
When we went to the cottage, my father used to sit by the lake and just be present. He’d take in the wind and the water, letting them speak to him. I think, as well, he would recall his childhood on the trapline, and the small lake through the trees where he used to swim and play. When I went to the trapline with him for the first time in 2018, I understood how the land gives us life as soon as we hit the water. My father, scanning the surroundings, remembering how his family used to live, looked ten years younger. And when we stepped onto the trapline, it felt like I’d come home, a feeling I’ve come to understand as blood memory. The land lives within me.
This notion of the land shows up in my book, The Barren Grounds, with messages about our relationship to it and how we should be treating it better. One of my favourite things about being an author is seeing how kids respond to those ideas. During school presentations these days, land acknowledgements are a pretty standard way to start, but lately, a few classrooms I’ve visited have written their own after reflecting on what the land means to them, coming up with something like: “We are grateful for the trees and rocks that we can build forts with; we are grateful for the fields that we have to play soccer, baseball, and tag on.” Simple but meaningful.
Land acknowledgements lead me to think of treaties because they are both linked to the land. Wherever you are, you’re likely on treaty land. The saying “We are all treaty people” means that we each have rights and responsibilities under these agreements, meant to benefit everybody—for example, treaties granted land to the crown for development. In exchange, they made promises to Indigenous people. Treaties are a contract between two parties, and in many cases, these obligations, such as hunting rights, have not been met. Treaties are meant to guide the relationship between Indigenous and non-Indigenous people as well as the use of the land.
What does your feeling about treaties say about how we view the land, as well as each other? The starting point is self-reflection. When you’re out in nature, and your feet are on Mother Earth, what does that mean to you? The next time you’re standing by the lake, feeling the cool breeze against your skin and the water tickling your toes, clothed in calm, maybe just listen. How would you write your acknowledgement of the land and all that it provides? And what can you provide to it? Maybe it’s respect and love, and to make sure that it stays healthy and can continue to gift us with the stuff of life. Maybe all we can do is thank it and live better with one another.
Have you noticed that during this pandemic, masks have become the new rearview mirror decoration? I’ve liked that, because masks have replaced the dream catcher as regularly featured mirror decor, a choice that has bugged me for years. Along with headdresses, the dream catcher is one of the most appropriated and exploited Indigenous symbols. There are lots of dream catcher tattoos out there. Miley Cyrus has one. Now, there are claims to Cherokee ancestry in her family, and that might be true, but guess what? Dream catchers aren’t actually from the Cherokee. Whoops.
Whoever you are, if you’re going to display a dream catcher, you should at least know its meaning, value, and symbolism to the appropriate Indigenous people. I’ll get you started. The dream catcher is a part of the Anishinaabe culture. There is no way to determine how long the dream catcher has been around—colonialism’s impact extends to our histories as Indigenous people—but it was first documented in the 1920s by anthropologist and ethnographer Frances Densmore. Dream catchers are traditionally constructed out of a hooped willow branch and a sinew net inside the hoop. Objects such as beads are often woven into the webbing.
As the name suggests, dream catchers are used to filter dreams, blocking bad ones by catching them in their net, and allowing only the good dreams to pass through, easing their way down the feathers to the person dreaming, typically a child. That’s why they’re often made out of willow and sinew; they aren’t intended to last forever.
They break down as the child ages. I’ve always hung my dream catchers by windows—which makes sense to me, because dreams probably don’t bust through walls, but traditionally dream catchers were hung over beds.
Of course, dreams aren’t exclusive to Indigenous people. We all have them. And the use of dream catchers, appropriately, has spread, first through the pan-Indian movement of the mid-twentieth century, to the shared symbol of hope they are today.
A dance group from Red Lake Indian Reservation, for example, has travelled to many schools that have experienced shootings and gifted them dream catchers. So, I’d say it’s okay to use dream catchers, but try to respect their purpose. And unless you’re planning to fall asleep at the wheel, maybe leave the job of rearview mirror ornaments to fuzzy dice.
This article was originally published in the June/July 2022 issue of Cottage Life magazine.
Photo from Feast for all Seasons: Traditional Native People’s Cuisines
These Indigenous chefs are leading a culinary movement from Coast to Coast to Coast—and beyond. Get to know their faces and stories, and find out how to get a taste of the action.
Inez Cook
Photo courtesy of Salmon n’ Bannock Bistro/Instagram.com
Inez Cook
Photo courtesy of Salmon n’ Bannock Bistro/Instagram.com
Bizhiki Tartare at Salmon n’ Bannock Bistro
Photo courtesy of Salmon n’ Bannock Bistro/Instagram.com
House smoked salmon burger with sweet potato wedges at Salmon n’ Bannock Bistro
Photo courtesy of Salmon n’ Bannock Bistro/Instagram.com
Elk steak with Hasselback potatoes and smoked Mornay sauce at Salmon n’ Bannock Bistro
Inez Cook from the Nuxalk Nation (Bella Coola) is a culinary connector, Sixties Scoop survivor, world-traveller, and visionary. For the past dozen years, Cook has shepherded this gem of high-level culinary art and dining experience, Salmon ‘n’ Bannock restaurant in downtown Vancouver. She has also brought many Indigenous culinary superstars together when she collaborates with Dine Out Vancouver’s World Chef Exchange.
Photo from Feast for all Seasons: Traditional Native People’s Cuisines
Chef Andrew George
Photo from Feast for all Seasons: Traditional Native People’s Cuisines
Toody ni juniper duck in Feast for all Seasons: Traditional Native People’s Cuisines
Photo from Feast for all Seasons: Traditional Native People’s Cuisines
Curried dandelion greens with caramelized onions and cashews from Feast for all Seasons: Traditional Native People’s Cuisines
Photo from Feast for all Seasons: Traditional Native People’s Cuisines
Niçoise salad with poached smoked salmon from Feast for all Seasons: Traditional Native People’s Cuisines
Andrew George Jr. is a member of the Wet’suwet’en Nation in British Columbia. A forerunner of the Indigenous culinary resurgence, chef George was a member of the first all-Native team at the World Culinary Olympics, in Frankfurt, Germany in 1992, and was the head chef at the Four Host First Nations pavilion, 2010 Vancouver Winter Olympics. His cookbooks Feast for all Seasons: Traditional Native People’s Cuisines (Arsenal Pulp Press, 2010) and Modern Native Feasts: Healthy, Innovative, Sustainable Cuisine (Arsenal Pulp Press, 2013) remain current classics of Indigenous culinary approach and technique. Chef George is now an international consultant on Native menus for restaurants and hotels. He also teaches culinary arts to Indigenous students as director of Indigenous initiatives at the Industry Training Authority on the unceded Coast Salish Territory, traditional land of the Musqueam people.
Get a taste: With his cookbooksFeast for all Seasons: Traditional Native People’s Cuisines (Arsenal Pulp Press, 2010) and Modern Native Feasts: Healthy, Innovative, Sustainable Cuisine (Arsenal Pulp Press, 2013).
Jenni Lessard
Photo courtesy of Jenni Lessard
Chef Jenni Lessard
Photo courtesy of Jessi Lessard
Bison tenderloin with yarrow and sage atop nettle and sunchoke puree’ with bison broth
Photo courtesy of Jessi Lessard
Three Sisters Salad
Photo courtesy of Jessi Lessard
Cream of morel mushroom and fiddlehead soup
Photo courtesy of Jessi Lessard
Wild rice floor blini
Jenni Lessard is a citizen of the Métis Nation of Saskatchewan and secretary of the Indigneous Culinary of Associated Nations. She lives and operates her Inspired By Nature Culinary Consulting business on Treaty 4 Territory in the Qu’Appelle Valley, near Regina, SK. In Lessard’s words, she “is particularly devoted to knowledge seeking and spends time visiting with and harvesting members of the plant nations.” (Lessard is referencing the teachings she has received around plants, animals, birds, fish, and all other beings in nature who are considered relations and relatives.) She then takes that knowledge and the food she forages to create incredible and transformative experiential events at Wanuskewin Heritage Park. These Han Wi Moon Dinners feature all locally sourced and foraged ingredients, and Lessard weaves her menus around traditional storytelling and the significance of Wanuskewin as a gathering place on the Northern Plains for thousands of years. Lessard also mentors Indigenous youth in the kitchen, passing along valuable knowledge, skills, and inspiration for the next generation.
Get a taste: At a Han Wi Moon Dinner at Wanuskewin. Find the 2022 dates here.
Wild BC salmon with fried wild rice and mushroom broth
Photo courtesy of Murray McDonald/Instagram.com
Pacific halibut with chestnut pasta
Photo courtesy of Murray McDonald/Instagram.com
Cod gone wild with lingcod, spring vegetables, and sea foam
Photo courtesy of Murray McDonald/Instagram.com
Cornbread with butter & wojape
Murray McDonald garnered accolades as executive chef of the Ritz-Carlton in Toronto, then as the founding executive chef of Fogo Island Inn, NFLD. Understandably, there was much excitement when he brought his talents to the fine dining restaurant at Spirit Ridge Resort on the traditional land of the Syilx people of the Okanagan Nation. McDonald was not raised with an Indigenous identity, though his great grandmother was Montagnais Indian (Innu) from Southern Labrador. He now has the opportunity to explore Indigenous culinary creativity as executive chef of The Bear, The Fish, The Root & The Berry, located in Osoyoos Band land in Southern B.C.’s picturesque and prestigious wine country.
At 21 years young, Siobhan Detkavich walked into Top Chef Canada (Season 9, 2021) as the youngest contestant and the first Indigenous woman on this pressure-cooker TV show. No stranger to stressful situations, Detkavich says she’s been facing “racism, sexism, and all sorts of the -isms” since starting her cooking career at 16. Knowing that she would rise to the challenge, her goal was to represent her Cowichan and Pacific Islander Indigenous roots, pay homage to her ancestry, and inspire other youth to dream big. Regardless, her kitchen credentials—most recently as chef-de-partie at Mission Hill Winery, one of the Okanagan Valley’s top fine dining experiences—speak for themselves. Detkavich now resides in Kelowna, B.C.
Get a taste: Siobhan was the youngest chef—and first Indigenous woman—to compete on Top Chef Canada. This summer, she’ll be working on another television series. Stay updated by following her Instagram.
Paul Natrall
Photo courtesy of Paul Natrall/mrbannock.com
Mr. Bannock
Photo courtesy of Paul Natrall/mrbannock.com
Slow smoked pulled pork from Mr. Bannock food truck
Photo courtesy of Paul Natrall/mrbannock.com
Hickory-smoked maple bacon
Photo courtesy of Paul Natrall/mrbannock.com
Eclairs from Mr. Bannock food truck
Photo courtesy of Paul Natrall/mrbannock.com
Venison bannock burger from Mr. Bannock food truck
Paul Natrall is a proud second-generation Indigenous chef from the Squamish Nation in North Vancouver, B.C. Natrall owns and operates Vancouver’s first Indigenous food truck, Mr. Bannock, which won him a 2019 Youth Entrepreneur of the Year Award. Natrall is playful and inventive with his flavours and menus, creating his own Indigenous fusion cuisine. Natrall also focusses his mentorship with youth cooks to support a sustainable food supply, and transferring traditional cooking and preserving techniques through approachable Indigenous culinary experiences.
Get a taste: If you’re in Vancouver, order from or visit Mr. Bannock. Or try one of his recipes at home.
Chicken curry puffs with dipping sauce from CulinaToGo
Photo courtesy of the Culina Family/Instagram.com
Tasty salad at Culina on the Lake
Brad Lazarenko’s cooking philosophy has always been firmly rooted in place and has been consistently championing and supporting quality local farmers, food artisans, and ingredients since he opened his first Culina restaurant in Edmonton two decades ago. Currently, Lazarenko operates Culina To Go, Culina To Go at the Muttart, Culina on the Lake (at Hawrelak Park), Culina catering, and will be bringing a new version of his much-loved Bibo winebar back in the newly renovated Strathcona Hotel on Edmonton’s Whyte Aveue in 2022. As a proud member of the Metis Nation of Alberta, Indigenous foods are staples on his menus.
Get a taste: Stop in at Culina To Go for Lazarenko’s fabulous rendition of his Three Sisters Salad (a traditional dish featuring beans, corn, and squash with a dill-balsamic dressing with local Edam cheese).
Sheila Flaherty is Inuvialuk and is the founder of sijjakkut, a wholly Inuit owned company based in Iqaluit that preserves and promotes Inuit culture through inuksiutit (Inuit food) menus. Flaherty has shared her menus in events in Iqaluit, Nuuk, New York, Toronto, Ottawa, and Vancouver. In 2017, Flaherty participated in Season IV, MasterChef Canada, which brought inuksiutit dishes to a wide audience. Flaherty currently is serving as the Nunavut representative of the Indigenous Tourism Association of Canada.
Get a taste: If you’re in Ottawa, stop in at the National Art Centre, where sShe has also been a Resident Chef bringing her modern inuksiutit vision to the rest of Canada and the world.
Shrimp with cold-truffled corn, tartare, quinoa and bechamel by Shane Chartrand
Photo courtesy of Shane Chartrand/Instagram.com
Quails are sleeping by Shane Chartrand
Photo courtesy of Shane Chartrand/Instagram.com
Duck with peas, watercress, and duck fat-cooked carrots by Shane Chartrand
Photo courtesy of Shane Chartrand/Instagram.com
Steak tartare by Shane Chartrand
Shane Chartrand, of the maskêkosak (Enoch Cree Nation), not only represents one of Canada’s leading chefs, but is also actively involved in the re-emergence of Indigenous cuisine in Canada. He has competed on television’s Chopped Canada (Season 2, episode 9), Iron Chef Canada (Season 1, episode 12), and Fridge Wars (Season Finale, 2020). He is a judge on Food Network Canada’s Wall of Chefs (Season 1). He was also featured in the award-winning documentary series Red Chef Revival. His award-winning cookbook, tawaw: Progressive Indigenous Cuisine (Ambrosia / House of Anansi, 2019) garnered a Best in Canada World Gourmand Awards, and then received a Best in World Gourmand World Culinary Awards. The name of the cookbook translates to “welcome; come in; there’s room.” As a high-profile chef in Canada, and Sixties Scoop survivor, chef Chartrand’s work revolves around education and exposure of the strength and beauty of Indigenous food, art, and cultures as a speaker, guest chef, educator, and public figure.
Duck hearts braised in red wine, white corn mush, pea tendrils, and olive oil
Pei Pei Chei Ow (pronounced: pe-pe-s-chew) means “robin” in Swampy Cree. It’s also the name given to Scott Jonathan Iserhoff in his childhood by his moshom Louis Shisheesh. Iserhoff now runs his eponymous multi-faceted company in amiskwcîwâskahikan, Treaty 6 territory.
Get a taste: Tuesday through Saturday, Pei Pei Chei Ow’s Indigenous exploration menus are available for breakfast and lunch at Whiskyjack Art House. Private group bookings are available there too. On Saturdays, Iserhoff has a table at the Downtown Farmers’ Market in Edmonton. Catering menus and cooking classes are listed on the company’s website.
Quentin Glabus was born in Edmonton, studied culinary arts in Lac La Biche, Alberta, and graduated from the Culinary Arts program at NAIT in Edmonton in 2000. Glabus’ mother is from the Frog Lake Cree First Nations, Treaty 6, but like many of his generation, did not grow up in learning his mother’s language and didn’t learn about Indigenous foodways or history. He had to explore and fill in the gaps through his own education. As a young professional, he spent time climbing the ranks of professional restaurant kitchens in Canada and in the US, before setting off for a globe-trotting cooking career. This included being executive chef at the Canadian Embassy in Tokyo, then Beijing, (if you wish to use Taipei, then I would write: Canadian Guest Chef Representative for the Canadian Trade Office of Canada in Taipei) and then three years in Rio de Janeiro. During his time as a Canadian Guest Chef Representative for the Consulate General of Canada in Rio de Janeiro and as a Private Caterer, he was the Executive Canadian Chef for Canada Olympic House for the 2016 Rio Olympics. Around the same time, he participated in the World Gourmet Summit, held annually in Singapore. Having been immersed in so many other culinary landscapes, this event was a very high profile opportunity to explore his own roots. “I just went there to turn heads, really. And to bring awareness to contemporary Indigenous cooking, in contrast to the cinematic ideas of “Native American stereotypes’.”
Currently Glabus is living in Tokyo, married to Vivian Hung, diplomat at the Embassy of Canada to Japan. Glabus is the Video Curator for A Gathering Basket Cookbook and member of the I-Collective. This group of Indigenous chefs, activists, herbalists, seed and knowledge keepers, is creating a new and Indigenous-driven culinary, agricultural, social and artistic narrative guided by Indigneous values. Glabus and colleagues, gained significant attention when their I-Collective digital cookbooks series was featured in the New York Times recently.
