Edible Maritimes #2 Summer 2022

edible maritimes

the land ~ the sea ~ the people ~ the food

Summer Catch NO. 2 SUMMER 2022

Member of Edible Communities

This summer, try a Maritime egg on your burger

nsegg.ca

The Great Canadian Burger 1 3/4 lb ground chuck 1 egg, beaten 2 cloves garlic, minced Pinch red pepper flakes 1/4 cup onion, finely chopped 2 tablespoons parsley, chopped 2 tablespoons Dijon mustard 2-4 tablespoons bread crumbs, fresh 8 slices peameal bacon, cooked 4 slices aged Canadian Cheddar cheese 4 eggs 1 tablespoon vegetable oil 4 sesame hamburger buns, toasted 1 onion, cut in thick slices 8 slices tomato 4 pickles, sliced lengthwise Handful iceberg or leaf lettuce Condiments of your choice

In a large bowl, mix together ground chuck, egg, red pepper flakes, onions, parsley, mustard, and enough bread crumbs to hold the mixture together.

Divide into four patties.

eggspei.ca

Preheat barbecue to medium-high and oil grill. Grill patties, turning once, about 4 minutes per side for medium doneness.

Meanwhile, in a large non-stick skillet over medium-high heat, add oil and fry eggs sunny side up. Set aside.

Assemble burgers, on bun, with patty, cheese, egg, tomato, lettuce, onion, pickles and condiments of your choice.

Serve immediately.

Enjoy!

nbegg.ca

Visit the Egg Farmers in your province for great recipes and more.

TABLE OF CONTENTS 4

HELLO FROM US

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

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SUMMER FINDS Broccoli, scapes and chanterelles

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NOT YOUR ORDINARY FISHERMAN Vanessa Clements sets a future on the water

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A SWEET DANCE Kristen & Nathan Mutch and the hum of bees

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RAISING HIGHLAND CATTLE AND QUESTIONS A small-scale farmer gets real about raising cattle

IN THE KITCHEN Spicy Grillz heats up the food scene in Greater Moncton

IT TAKES A VILLAGE GROCER The revival of Brook Village Grocery

NO WHITE TABLECLOTHS / PAS DE NAPPES BLANCHES Simon Thibault reflects on Acadian food and language ARTFUL THINKING Nick Chindamo considers the moments in between A SWEET FINISH Our strawberry shortcake

On the cover: Vanessa Clements assesses the catch.

Photo by Al Douglas This page: PEI Sunrise Photo by Dave Snow

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Escape. Experience. Enjoy.

Located in the stunning, charming town of St. Andrews-by-the-Sea, the Algonquin is the perfect holiday retreat for families and couples and it’s an ideal location for those special celebrations. With incredible dining, a wonderful spa, an award-winning golf course, and in one of North America’s most historic towns, the Algonquin offers an unparalleled experience.

algonquinresort.com 506-529-8823

hello from us

edible Maritimes

the land ~ the sea ~ the people ~ the food

CO-EDITORS & DESIGNERS Sara & Dave Snow

Summer is camping, road trips, beaches, festivals, gardens, picnics, decks, and patios. It's farmers' markets, cold drinks, long days, warm nights, bonfires and starry skies. Summer is the making, growing, harvesting, raising, preparing, storing and stocking of the food we eat. Summer, in all of its manifestations, is an edible story that is best consumed outside.

Last summer, we made the most of a window of openness and we got married on the seashore. We were very lucky that family and close friends were there to celebrate with us — we look forward to many belated celebrations with those who couldn't be there.

Our backyard feast, with the sunset as our backdrop, was made possible by hours of chopping and layering, pouring and seasoning and mostly by the shared desire to partake in something delicious together outside.

When we gather over a dish, a meal or a recipe, we are sharing in a moment — we are sharing a story. While this issue is full to the brim with the stories of the work of food and the joy of food, the language of food runs through them — how we communicate about and through food is as important to our experience of it as the food itself. We hope you get the chance for a nice long read under a tree, on the beach or in a comfortable chair. Most of all, we hope you share something delicious (a meal, a story or both) with an old friend or a new one this summer.

Sara & Dave

CONTRIBUTORS Haqq Brice, Cecelia Brooks, Jennifer Campbell, Nick Chindamo, Janette Downie, Al Douglas, Noah Fecks, Inda Intiar, Georgette LeBlanc, Dawn-Marie Matheson, Kristen & Nathan Mutch, Jody Nelson, Rachael Robertson, Steve Rankin, Bev Tedford, Simon Thibault THANK YOU To all of you — our readers, contributors, advertisers, subscribers and our family for supporting local and independent print media. We couldn't do it without you!

SUBSCRIBE edible Maritimes is published 4 times per year + 1 special issue.

Subscriptions are $28 and available at ediblemaritimes.ca.

FIND US ONLINE ediblemaritimes.ca instagram.com/ediblemaritimes ADVERTISE WITH US dave@ediblemaritimes.ca Edible Maritimes 506-639-3117 PUBLISHERS Sara & Dave Snow Steadii Creative Inc No part of this publication may be used without written permission by the publisher. Every effort is made to avoid errors, misspellings and omissions.

If, however, an error comes to your attention, please accept our sincere apologies and notify us.

Thank you, © 2022 Steadii Creative Inc. All rights reserved.

Edible Maritimes is printed in Canada on paper made of material from well-managed, FSC®-certified forests, from recycled materical and other controlled sources.

Please reuse and redistribute this magazine - read it again and again or pass it on!

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su'n suwon We respectfully acknowledge that we are in Wabanaki territory, on the unsurrendered and unceded traditional lands of the Wolastoqey/Wəlastəkwey, Mi’kmaq and Passamaquoddy peoples, who have stewarded this land throughout the generations. This territory is covered by the Treaties of Peace and Friendship which the Wolastoqey/Wəlastəkwey, Mi’kmaq and Passamaquoddy peoples first signed with the British Crown in 1725 recognizing Wolastoqey/Wəlastəkwey, Mi’kmaq and Passamaquoddy title. We stand with them in their efforts for land and water protection and restoration, and for cultural healing and recovery. edible maritimes

*Summer is berry season in Wabanaki. The word su'n (pronounced soon) or suwon are the words used by Mi'kmaw and Wolastoqwey (respectively) for cranberry — essentially, the same word with different spelling due to systems of writing that are based on the english language.

Use either word and any Mi'kmaw or Wolastoqwey person will understand it to mean cranberry.

Thank you to Cecelia Brooks (Samuqwan Mi’kiju - Water Grandmother, owner of Soul Flower Herbals and co-owner of Wabanaki Tree Spirit Tours) and Dawn-Marie Matheson (Food security project coordinator with Ulnooweg Education Centre). .

summer finds

Summertime Broccoli A refreshing take on broccoli salad and the perfect addition to any celebration.

Serves 8 to 10 2 to 3 heads of fresh broccoli chopped into bite size pieces 1 small red onion, chopped 8 strips bacon, cooked and crumbled 1/2 cup sunflower seeds or slivered almonds 1/2 cup dried cranberries or golden raisins Optional: 1 cup coarsely grated sharp cheddar cheese For the dressing, stir together until well blended: 1 cup mayonnaise 2 tablespoons cider or white wine vinegar 3 tablespoons white sugar or maple syrup Salt and pepper to taste Combine broccoli, red onion, crumbled bacon, sunflower seeds or almonds and dried cranberries.

Add dressing to broccoli mixture and combine until well-mixed. May be eaten immediately but benefits from an hour refrigerated. Or prepare the day before or the morning of an afternoon or evening gathering.

Eat your broccoli!

RECIPE BY BEV TEDFORD PHOTO BY DAVE SNOW

Your friendly neighbourhood market be local. do local.

251 St. George St, Moncton, NB www.dolmafoods.com dolmafood Summer 2022

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Catering for any occasion, big or small.

At Fundy Foodie we create luxury boxes and boards using locally sourced products.

Date nights, picnics, or parties - we’ll make it beautiful & delicious.

@thefundyfoodie www.thefundyfoodie.com

wabanakitreespirit.com wabanakitreespirit@gmail.com 506-461-6806

Scapes & chanterelles RECIPE & PHOTOS BY DAVE SNOW

A simple way to enjoy those summer treats from your garden and the forest 2 cups dried pasta 2 tablespoons sea salt + a pinch or two 1 cup chopped garlic scapes 1 1/2 cups chanterelle mushrooms, cleaned 2 tablespoons olive oil 1 tablespoon butter Handful of cherry tomatoes (optiona) 1/4 teaspoon red chili flakes (optional) Glass of your favourite white wine Add 2 tablespoons of sea salt to a large pot of water and bring to a boil. Add 1 1/2 cups of pasta and cook to package instructions.

When done, drain and set aside, saving small amount of water for later.

Sauté olive oil, butter, scapes, mushrooms and tomatoes in a sauce pan on medium heat for 5 minutes stirring occasionally.

Add a splash of white wine, chili flakes, pinch of sea salt and fresh pepper.

Add pasta to pan and and toss with scapes and mushrooms.

Serve with a sprinkle of fresh parmesan. Enjoy!

in the kitchen

The spice and the vibe Spicy Grillz heats up the local food scene with Jamaican cuisine

WORDS BY INDA INTIAR PHOTOS BY HAQQ BRICE

“

support local as much as we can.”

Taylor and her business partner Hamerika MacNeil cook and manage the Jamaican restaurant, serving dishes authentic to their cultures and some fused with Canadian flavours.

The ingredients she can’t source locally, Taylor finds in Toronto.

In large cities such as Toronto, Montreal or Calgary, Caribbean food and shops are abundant and Caribbean carnivals are wellattended. Closer to home, Halifax and Dartmouth also have a growing number of Caribbean restaurants and shops.

F

amily, love, togetherness.” Those are the three words that describe the essence of Jamaican food for Novelene Taylor, co-owner of Spicy Grillz in Riverview, N.B.

The menu at Spicy Grillz includes Jamaica’s national dish ­— ackee and saltfish, a homey combination of salty, sweet and spice. In it, ackee — Jamaica’s national fruit — is served with salt cod, peppers and other vegetables.

Well-known Jamaican dishes like jerk chicken and jerk pork are among the most popular with customers. While the oxtail, tenderly stewed with butter beans and spices, is also quickly making its way up the ranks. Taylor is also working to get the permit to sell Jamaica’s Red Stripe Beer at the restaurant to complement the menu.

Taylor moved to Montreal from Jamaica when she was 13. She then lived in Toronto for many years with her husband, who grew up in New Brunswick. The financial crisis in 2008 led them to look to New Brunswick to buy a house and settle down in Riverview, a town on the south side of the Petitcodiac River, across from Moncton and Dieppe.

She met MacNeil at the Moncton Hospital, where they both worked as nurses. MacNeil hails from the Cayman Islands, just a one-hour flight northwest of Jamaica.

Customers looking for “Jam-Can fusion,” as Taylor calls it, can find dishes such as island poutine (spicy poutine with jerk chicken or jerk pork) and reggae wings, which includes ruminfused wings.

As with many restaurants, the pandemic hasn’t been easy for Spicy Grillz. Taylor and MacNeil have had to lay off staff and rely on the help of their teenage daughters.

"It's been up and down, but we're hoping it goes back up and stays up,” Taylor says.

Nevertheless, the restaurant is spicing up the food scene in Greater Moncton. For more than a decade, Taylor hadn’t seen any authentic Caribbean restaurants in the area. Spicy Grillz is currently the only one that offers dine-in service to customers, in addition to take-out and delivery.

Their customers come from everywhere. Some are locals, and some travel from across the province. Others are newcomers to New Brunswick who have moved from Ontario and Quebec and are already familiar with Jamaican food.

"A lot of people that used to live in Ontario come here to get jerk pork. And at least the consensus that I get is that the food is pretty good,” she says.

“That makes us happy because here in the Maritimes, we don't get all the ingredients we need. So we have to do with what we have.”

Taylor relies on local suppliers as much as possible. "Most of the stuff is local,” she says. “We also have local delivery. We try to Summer 2022

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Having lived most of her life in Montreal and Toronto, Taylor said she never really missed much of her cultural food because it was available there. But seeing the lack of it in Moncton set her and MacNeil on their entrepreneurial journey together.

They decided to open a restaurant when the Riverview space became available for rent. Spicy Grillz opened in September 2021, after a trial run with a food truck at the 2018 multicultural Mosaic festival proved to be a success.

Taylor is happy to be able to bring both the Jam-Can fusion food that she grew up with, as well as the more authentic Jamaican cuisine that MacNeil is well-versed in.

“It feels good because we get to share our culture and a lot of people travel, so they already had a taste of what Jamaican food is like. They may come here and relive the experience a little bit, you know?” she says.

the future. But for now, Taylor and MacNeil will focus on what they know best.

For those on the fence about trying Jamaican food, Taylor says: “Just do it!”

Not a fan of spice? Taylor and MacNeil encourage customers to tone it down or dial it up to their own preference.

"You have to be adventurous and just try something once. If you don't like it, then try something else until you find your favourite,” she said.

Spicy Grillz 567 Coverdale Rd., Riverview, N.B. Open Tuesday through Thursday, from noon to 7 p.m., and from noon to 8 p.m. on Fridays and Saturdays.

A whole Caribbean vibe The music and the interior in the restaurant add to the Jamaican vibes Taylor and MacNeil want to offer.

When I visited the restaurant, the cheerful song “I love my life” by reggae musician DeMarco was playing on the speaker. It fit the island-inspired decor of the restaurant, with walls painted a hue of yellow and the names of Caribbean countries written in chalk across the top of the walls.

“Because we're not the only Caribbean people here in Moncton, we just try to bring the Caribbean vibe so everyone can partake,” she adds.

Taylor says they wanted the space to be infused with Caribbean cultures, particularly that of Jamaica, and also represent their African heritage.

“The Jamaican flag has red, green, and gold. The green is for the mountains, the black is for the people and the yellow represents the sun,” she explains. “So we have the yellow, the green and the pictures have flashes of red, just to bring everything together.”

On a wall in the back of the restaurant a flag of Jamaica hangs next to a tapestry depicting Bob Marley. That’s where customers often have their picture taken.

"Bob Marley always teaches us about love, and us as Jamaican people, we're jovial people,” she says. "We just want to share the vibe, the culture, the love.”

They hope to feature dishes from other Caribbean cultures in

Inda Intiar is an Indonesian immigrant based in the part of Mi'kmaki that is also called Moncton, N.B. She's a storyteller at heart, and loves writing about cultures and travels.

Haqq Brice is a photographer who has been based in Moncton for more than seven years. He enjoys mixing photographs, poetry and cultures.

Pro-tip from Taylor: to prep your chicken for a spicy finish, rinse in vinegar, lemon juice or lime juice.

Left: Table view with Jamaican highlights.

Top: Spicy Grillz' famous Jerk Chicken just out of the oven.

Bottom Right: Novolene Taylor (right) with her daughter Tzy (left) and Hamerika MacNeil's daughter Chloe (center).

Previous page: Ackee and Saltfish with biscuits.

Cover page: Tzy serving up a plate of spicy goodness.

Summer 2022

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Summer 2022

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Not your typical lobster fisherman Vanessa Clements is a passionate 28-year-old lobster fisherman who hopes to one day own her own licence and boat, just like her father.

WORDS BY JENNIFER CAMPBELL PHOTOS BY AL DOUGLAS

Left and top: Vanessa Clements tosses a lobster buoy in before setting the trap. The buoy, attached to the trap, marks the trap's location for the fishermen.

V

anessa Clements looks like an Olympic gymnast, bouncing from her fishing boat several feet up onto the wharf and back down again. It’s 1 p.m. and Clements has been awake since 3:15 a.m., when she climbed out of bed and had breakfast before donning a bright pink T-shirt and fluorescent green hip-wader suspenders — held together at the back with a small bungee cord so they actually fit her tiny torso. She then packed her lunch in a hand-held cooler and left her Mill River home to get to Howard’s Cove wharf — a 10-minute drive — to board the Native Council’s lobster fishing boat on which she serves as the “second man” of three and assistant to the “first man” or captain.

Now, nearly 10 hours after her alarm went off, and after having checked, fished and delivered the delicious red yields from 250 traps, Clements bounds out of the boat on sheer adrenaline.

The vessel is set deep within the harbour and requires a leap to get up on the wharf. She grabs one of two heavy ropes that will secure the Hannah Grace in place and then she’s back in the boat, heaving 85-pound bins of lobster onto the side of the boat and then helping the “third man” heft them up to the waiting

arms of wholesalers who will escort them off to those who will sell them. Much of it will go to a plant and be sold as tails and claws, some will go to restaurants and retailers and still more will go offshore to well-heeled foreigners who know the east coast of Canada has the best sea creatures in the world.

An afternoon jaunt After spending the morning checking her 83 groupings of three traps (and one with four), connected to a pair of buoys — one green and one striped black and white, the colours serving to indicate who owns them —she’s back at shore to take a curious reporter and photographer out on the water to show them what it takes to put lobster on our plates.

Normally, her day would be ending, so does she mind going back out? Her large smile, complete with deep dimples, says no.

“I just love lobster fishing so much,” Clements says, moving blithely around the boat like a cat who always lands on her feet while her landlubbing visitors are tentative on the slippery floors of the fast-moving vessel.

Summer 2022

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Left: Fishing boat coming into Howard's Cove wharf.

Top: Vanessa Clements assesses lobster size.

Her father, Blair Clements, has also been on the water for nine hours and yet, after clearing the creatures off his boat — B.C.’s Place — he’s also happy to go back out. Lobster fishing courses through their veins. Blair’s father, Cecile, bought his first licence for 50 cents in 1960. It eventually went to his son, Tony — Vanessa’s uncle — and was then sold outside the family.

Vanessa hopes to one day purchase her dad’s licence, which she estimates is worth $1.5 million between the licence, the boat and the gear.

September, she fishes closer to home, off the northwestern tip.

“I’m saving my money,” the spunky 28-year-old says with another smile.

Asked how she developed the muscles to be able to heft the “pans” — large plastic bins, brimming with lobster weighing 85 pounds each — around the boat at the end of a long day, she said she just kept working at it.

Blair, 57, fishes on B.C.’s Place with his wife, Cindy, and their 30-year-old son, Ryan, and the father-daughter duo are using that boat for the afternoon jaunt.

Vanessa, who is allowed to work on the P.E.I. Native Council’s boat because she is Indigenous through her father’s side, fishes both seasons on P.E.I. Between late April and June, she fishes the south and east end of the island while in August and

Hard seasonal work Her day starts early as part of a tradition that allows fishermen and women to get back in time to meet the buyers on the wharf and allow them to get the red sea bugs as quickly as possible from the boat to their next destination, whether to a processing plant or to the plates of curious tourists who show up on the wharf to buy direct from those who fish them.

“I’ve never been to a gym a day in my life,” she says. “When I first started fishing as a career, I was struggling. I worked my ass off to develop the strength to do the job.”

Clements is convinced she actually has to work harder because she’s a woman. “I never want my crew to think we’ll be less

Summer 2022

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Above: Lobster just off the boat will go to wholesalers, restaurants and retailers.

Right top: Blair Clements tosses his daughter the line as they dock their boat.

Right bottom: Fishing boat heading out to check the traps.

efficient because of me,” she says. “I hope at some point, there’s a day when it’s normal to have women lobster fishermen.”

For her part, she had a very immediate female role model — her mom, Cindy.

“My mom fished until she was eight months pregnant,” Clements says. After that revelation, it seems surprising Clements isn’t at least part mermaid.

Now that she’s strong enough to do the job and heft the lobster easily as well as pulling up 150-pound traps from depths of 115 feet, Clements makes a point of staying active in the off season so she doesn’t lose her strength. This past winter, for example, she trained for a televised boxing match between reality TV stars.

A few years back, she applied and was accepted onto Big Brother Canada, which was in mid-production in March 2020 when COVID hit and the lockdowns forced the show to stop filming almost immediately. It was her contacts with Big Brother who

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asked her to participate in the boxing match.

Clements thinks the novelty of being a female lobster fisherman — the latter masculine term is how she refers to herself — was what made her application to Big Brother compelling and what ultimately gave her the distinction of being the first Prince Edward Islander to be on the show.

“I think it was a big reason,” she says with a laugh. “They always wanted me to wear my oil gear [also known as her lobsterfishing wader/suspenders.] I grew up on a dirt road — for me to get that opportunity was amazing. There are people I’ll always been in touch with from that show.”

Out on the water It can be cold in the Gulf of St. Lawrence in September, but on this afternoon, the sun is shining and the wind is almost nonexistent. Clements has warned her passengers to wear rubber boots on board as feet can get wet between the water laden traps being brought on board, and the water washing up on the back of the trawler.

As Blair takes the boat’s helm, his daughter prepares to check her traps, which she’ll do only to demonstrate the trade because she’s on her father’s boat and he’s not allowed to fish her traps.

The boat — pretty well identical to the others in the harbour — has a sheltered section up front, partly protecting the captain and almost completely protecting his passengers, who can sit at a small table for two. Under the hull, there are beds for three — four if they’re willing to get cosy. This area would provide complete protection from the elements if things got rough on the water. But most of a lobster fisherman’s work is done on the side of the boat, hauling up traps from the ocean floor where the delicious bottom-feeders reside.

Clements smiles broadly the whole time she’s on the boat, but she knows her trade is not without its perils. The fury of the ocean is one, but the ropes can get tangled and take your feet out from under you, and the hydraulic trap hauler, a fixture on most boats, poses its own risks. She’s careful as she and her father activate the pulley and then haul in the traps onto the boat with brute strength. Because she’s already fished these traps for the day, there are only a few lobsters in each, already trapped between the time she first fished it and the time she returned with a writer and photographer. When she’s actually fishing her traps each morning, she’ll check the size of the fish with a stick and throw back the ones that are too small and the non-spawning females that are too big. When she’s fishing, she divides the canners from those that are over a pound and then puts them in refrigerated holding areas on the boat.

Today, wearing heavy vinyl gloves, she pulls them up, tosses out the ones that are too small, and then fixes the bait — a chunk of fish stabbed by a large metal poker in the centre of the trap — if it’s come undone. If there are crabs in the trap, she’ll toss some out and use others to fortify the fishy bait.

Ups and downs of the trade The fall fishery — from Aug. 5 to Oct. 10 on P.E.I — includes 225 boats and 2021 was a good year for lobster fishing. Clements doesn’t remember a time when lobster off the boat reached $10 a pound until this year, and in 2020, it was fetching between $5 and $6. She remembers a time when her father was getting $1.25 per pound, but he’s been fishing for decades.

“2020 was a terrible year,” she says.

In addition to low prices, there was a quota, which limited market lobster catches to 200 pounds a day and canners to another 200 pounds.

“When you’re catching 1,200 pounds, it’s hard to throw those

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back,” she says. Asked about other things she’s lost overboard over her years of fishing, she laughs again. “I’ve lost about 10 pairs of glasses and a whole lunch can.”

As the afternoon comes to a close, it’s hard to imagine Vanessa Clements doing anything else — except maybe participating in a televised boxing match with other reality TV stars. But that would be just to stay in shape so she can lobster fish again next season.

Jennifer Campbell grew up in New Brunswick and ate her first lobster at the age of two, with help from her great grandfather. She eats every part of the lobster including the antennas, which do contain a bit of meat.

Al Douglas is a documentary, product, lifestyle and food photographer on Prince Edward Island. He has reportedly cooked many a lobster, as well as other crustaceans, on the beach and in the kitchen.

Hungry for lobster? Check out Jennifer's piece on lobster rolls at ediblemaritimes.ca

Find these, and more local favourites, at the Spice Box:

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Support local

It takes a village grocer The revival of Brook Village Grocery, a store with heart

R

ural Unama’ki - Cape Breton is full of treasures – the people and places that spark the magic we all need a little more of in our lives. Brook Village Grocery is one of these treasures.

Chelsea Alpacas opened to the public four years ago. On 18 acres halfway between Chelsea and Wakefield, Geneviève Rousseau, her husband Marc Charron and their two daughters, keep 15 alpacas in a lovely post and beam barn and neat paddocks nestled against a wooded hillside.

The road to Brook Village winds through the string of valleys and farm country that spans the inland stretch between Wycocomagh and Mabou. It is not on a popular tourist route, so visitors are locals, seasonal residents and those in the know, but Cape Bretoners don’t think twice about travelling across the island for something special. BVG, as the store is affectionately called, has all kinds of special on offer.

When you pull up to the store, it feels like a village general store frozen in time. That is just what it is, but with a twist.

You open the door and the warmth washes over you — the smell of cinnamon buns baking, the radio playing, neighbours talking about the weather, and the welcome of one of the amazing women who are the heart of this place.

There are fixtures around the store that hint at its legacy — the now defunct cookstove, antique cash register, old deep freeze, historic photos and many odds and ends from times gone by. Woven throughout these nods to the past, are all of the essentials of a farm community general store alongside an abundance of international and locally produced grocery items you’d be hard pressed to find anywhere else on the island. Owner, Karen Allen, strikes a careful and respectful balance between the traditional items and specialty items.

You can still order in a pair of rubber boots, get your pickling supplies or pick up some nuts and bolts. After all, the store has been a fixture in the community for almost 150 years, and many of the neighbours are multi-generational patrons. Allen and her team make sure they are taken care of, even stocking their favourite treats, such as salty Dutch licorice.

Brook Village is a farming community, and Allen values contributing. Alongside the store is a storage trailer stocked full of livestock feed. In the five years she has run BVG, Allen has quadrupled feed sales. This service draws local homesteaders, the horse race crowd from Inverness, and fills supply gaps for some of the larger farms in the area. Kintail Farms, just across the road, raises beef and lamb. BVG spares them from travelling many kilometres when bulk feed supply runs low during lambing season. Farmer, Andrew MacLennan, is a third generation customer. He is also one of BVG’s meat suppliers. This is as local as it gets.

WORDS BY JODY NELSON PHOTOS BY STEVE RANKIN

Several other folks in the neighbourhood are suppliers.

Neighbour, Andrew Thompson grows zucchini, peppers, melons and squash. Skye Glen Creamery, just down the road, supplies fresh whole milk, served in traditional glass

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Previous page: Karen Allen and Kathryn McIntyre prepare to open the shop, with their usual smiles.

Left: Brook Village Grocery at sunrise, is a welcome site for those looking for provisions or a treat.

Above: Allen whirls pretzel dough for the morning rush.

bottles, and "Squeaky Cheese" that every beach cooler needs.

Many other producers from across the island have a space on the shelves. Again, this is what local food is all about, but it is more than that. It speaks to the way rural communities survive and thrive by having each other’s backs and valuing each person’s contribution.

The smell of fresh baking will eventually lure you to the back of the store, where an extraordinary selection of cheeses awaits.

Cape Bretoners travel from far and wide to have their pick from a lineup of cheeses unlike anywhere else on the island. Some say BVG is among the top two or three cheese destinations in the province, notable for their focus on Canadian cheese producers, complemented by a nice mix of imported options. Allen has dived into her cheese monger role at BVG seriously. Its one of her many hats. She has started training through George Brown College. “Cheese is one of those things where a little bit of knowledge goes a long way,” Allen says. “People who love cheese love hearing about tasting notes or a bit of history. It adds to the shared experience.”

Recently, BVG also added a Cheese Club, one of the many creative and experimental offerings it has developed. Allen has an intuitive approach to growing her business. “I didn’t really have a plan,” she says. “I made it up as I went, just feeling out what the community needed.” Around here, community extends across an island with a lot of supply gaps, which Allen has been quick to turn into opportunities. “You couldn’t get a baguette to save your life. If you have cheese, you need a nice crusty baguette to go with it.” Now, BVG has married the two, grilling up gourmet grilled cheese sandwiches. As Allen and McIntyre explored this new territory of their business, they've leaned on the small business community, which is more like a network of friends.

Allen had no baking history so reached out to Tart and Soul, run

by Lisa Brow and Saf Haq, friends from her past life as a brewer in Halifax. Tart and Soul consulted for the BVG team, training Allen and McIntyre as they got their bakery up and running.

Operating a business this complex requires Allen to wear a lot of hats, but it truly takes a village: the business community, the supportive neighbours, the loyal fans and customers, and,

Summer 2022

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Top: McIntyre rings up a customer's order.

Bottom: The cheese selection awaits discerning, cheese-loving customers.

most critically, the staff team. “They’re the best,” Allen says with heartfelt sincerity. “During a time when people are having a hard time finding staff, I’m lucky to have them.” Chatting =with the staff, it bceomes clear it's more than luck.

When Allen arrived on the scene, the store had been for sale for several years. People were afraid it was going to close.

Allen received a warm and supportive welcome. “People are appreciative of what they have in small communities,” she says.

“This business truly is a part of the community."

edible maritimes

the land ~ the sea ~ the people ~ the food

BVG is a store with heart and a reminder of what rural community is all about.

Brook Village Grocery 3842 Highway 252, Whycocomagh, NS facebook.com/brookvillagegrocery | @brook_village_grocery Jody Nelson stewards a piece of land on Hunter’s Mountain, Unama’ki, where she invests her heart in her farm, her two boys and her community.

Steve Rankin is a Cape Breton based photographer, exploring the island's past, present and future.

Side Bacon Salmon Sausage Back Bacon Deli Meats and more 274 Route 175, Pennfield, NB 506-755-2992

ediblemaritimes.ca

Allen is part of a long legacy of owners, with many family ties in the area — folks who still have stories to tell about the place.

Neighbour, Duncan MacDonald has been coming in for his basics and the good company since the 1970s. He picks up some milk, eggs and Jam Jams. Allen adds a complementary wedge of gouda to thank him for clearing their snow. Duncan remembers Johnny Tullock running the shop. “Back then you could come in to fill your jug with molasses. Johnny would get talking with the boys and forget he was pouring," Duncan says.

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Kathryn McIntyre is the community outreach and front of house manager. Besides being a ray of sunshine greeting you when you walk in the door, McIntyre coordinates the cheese club, online cheese tasting sessions, social media, and more. She has a history of summering in Cape Breton, but like so many, covid-19 interrupted life as she knew it. Serendipitously, she ended up in Cape Breton year-round, and found she had some time on her hands. “I just started out giving Karen a hand, then it turned into a beautiful thing…a spark in my career.” McIntyre says she had experience working in specialty foods, namely Ratinaud in Halifax, so she was no stranger to the scene, but the real magic is in the close friendship you can see they share. Rounding out the team is Lyndsay de Bont, logistics and back of house manager, another friend and neighbour. Work relationships in rural communities can be as important as family. This place can be isolating, especially in the winters. One gets the sense the BVG women are there for each other through it all.

A sweet dance Kristen and Nathan Mutch, of Halcomb Honey & Hives, share a passion for bees in their quiet, if buzzing, corner of the forest

WORDS BY SARA SNOW PHOTOS BY KRISTEN MUTCH

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hen a honeybee finds a wonderful patch of flowers, she has a remarkable way of sharing this news with her fellow bees. Along with the smell of those flowers on her antennae, she brings information. “Bees are incredibly smart,” Nathan Mutch explains. “And interesting.

When the bee returns to the hive, a dozen or so bees gather around her as she does a dance — a dance to communicate where the flower patch is.” If she does the waggle dance, she zig zags a waggle run, circling back to do it again, several times depending on how far the source of nectar is. The angle of the waggle, in relation to an invisible line to the sun, tells the other bees the direction of the patch. If she does the ‘round dance’ — walking in a circle then turning and walking that same circle — the patch is very close. If she shakes the nectar source is very abundant and if she trembles she is overloaded. The dancing of the bees is something you’d likely only notice if you spend a lot of time with a lot of bees.

As apiarists, Nathan and Kristen Mutch spend a lot of time with bees where they live in the remote woodlands of New Brunswick, west of Miramichi and just north of the Plaster Rock-Renous highway. Back in the day, this two-lane highway was the most direct route from south eastern New Brunswick to the north west part of the province and to Quebec. It seemed to stretch on forever through the middle of nowhere, through dense forests of evergreen and black bears. It still does. New Brunswick is known

for its long roads through big forests and if you ask Nathan and Kristen they might tell you the remoteness and the quiet are part of the beauty of this place. “We’re really far out in the woods,” Nathan says, “If you walk off our back step you could walk for a hundred kilometres of forest.” It is in this place that Nathan and Kristen have grown a beekeeping hobby into a passion and a business, from two to ten hives in their first year, and doubling every year since.

With hundreds of acres, their space allows them to keep groups of hives in different locations so that the bees have enough space.

“We limit to no more than 30 hives in a bee yard (or apiary) — any more than that and bees start competing with each other,” they explain.

While their location lends well to beekeeping, the bears like it too. “There is nothing that causes us to lose more sleep from August through October than bears,” Kristen explains. “We have had more than one adrenaline pumping encounter with bears and our bees.”

All in a day’s work Beekeeping is a year-round job but July through August can be the most intense period. During this time, Nathan and Kristen go from bee yard to bee yard. “In the summer you want to be tending to the hives every 10 days or they’ll fill up fast and

Left: Honeybees heading into the hive, fully loaded.

Top: One of Halcomb Honey's bee yards or apiaries, surrounded by goldenrod, wildflowers, and a great forest.

Next page: Nathan tends to the hives in summer (top); Kristen and Nathan checking hives in winter (bottom) Following page: Honeycomb (top); Creamed honey in the making (bottom)

swarm on you — if they don’t have enough space they’ll move to another hive,” Nathan explains. While it’s important to stay on it, Nathan and Kristen have also found that beekeeping takes patience. “We used to collect honey every three weeks,” he adds, “but we’ve learned that just because the honey is there doesn’t mean it’s ready.” Through a complex process and lots of teamwork, bees work to to get it just right, including fanning it with their wings, bringing a nectar solution that can be upwards of 70% moisture down to 17%.

“When we first started, we were taking it off too soon, we were excited, you see all of this honey and you think it’s ready,” Kristen explains, “But if it’s too soon it goes off, it ferments.”

“So we learned,” Nathan adds. “Now we extract just after we collect from the blueberry fields, again in August, and then again in September.”

The ups and downs Nathan and Kristen moved to the region from Vancouver 15 years ago. Nathan grew up in Miramichi and met Kristen when he moved to Vancouver after high school. After living in Vancouver for several years, Nathan convinced Kristen to move east. They hadn’t planned on beekeeping, that came later. They are now five years in and while the Mutchs have grown their hobby into near full-time work, they continue the work they did prior to beekeeping — Nathan in computer and network administration and Kristen maintaining a lodge along the world-renowned Miramichi River — to support their growing business.

It has not been without its challenges. Last year, they lost nearly 35% of their hives. Winter of 2020-2021 was hard, not because of cold or too much snow, but because of temperature fluctuations. Through the winter, bees gather in close to keep each other and the queen warm. When temperatures fluctuate they expand to cool off and some fly off. If they don’t regroup quickly enough when the temperature drops, some will die.

“One of the biggest threats to bees right now is climate change.

Just in five years we’ve noticed so much change in the climate and the effect on bees.” Nathan and Kristen tell us. “The climate and the varroa mite,” Nathan adds, "a parasitic arachnid that latches on to the bee.” This spring has seen large colony losses in Ontario, Manitoba and Alberta where an early spring has lead to an increase in these mites. “Those massive losses we saw across North America about ten years ago — we’re seeing those again.”

Kristen and Nathan are no strangers to challenge. Kristen is a breast cancer survivor, three times over, and it was after a round of treatment that they discovered their passion for beekeeping and honey. “After her second round in 2017, she had finished

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edible MARITIMES

Summer 2022

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a lot of heavy chemo and radiation and we were looking for a relaxing hobby,” Nathan says. “It was going to be a relaxing hobby. We got our hives and immediately fell in love with them.”

Nathan and Kristen do it all themselves. From tending to the bees, building hives, cleaning the bee yards, designing and preparing products, bottling and packaging them. The Mutchs produce a range of honey products including lip balm, soap, deodorant, body balm, and, of course, honey — as honeycomb, liquid honey and creamed honey. Creamed honey is a process, spinning for 15 minutes every hour, over the course of 7 days. “We used to manually make the creamed honey but it is impossible to spin it every hour for 15 minutes when you are doing it manually. Last year, we invested in an automated machine. It is the best investment we have ever made for our honey business.”

The dance One night twenty years ago, in the midst of hundreds of dancing strangers at a Vancouver rave, Nathan and Kristen criss-crossed each others’ orbits and here they are. With such a beginning, it is no surprise they are now surrounded by the hum of thousands of dancing bees.

“If you’ve ever been to a blueberry field while the bees are on — it’s amazing,” Kristen says. “It smells unreal. And the sound.”

Blueberry pollination is one of their biggest revenue generators.

"I’m not sure how you would make a living at beekeeping without the pollination work, but we limit ours to blueberry pollination,” Nathan explains. “At the end of May, first week of June, we truck our bees up to these massive fields of wild blueberries and our bees stay there for two weeks.” The Mutchs carefully select who they partner with, ensure their bees are not exposed to any chemical spraying. They've developed partnerships that prioritize bees and blueberries.

This season has started off nicely for Halcomb Honey. Unlike some of the difficulties beekeepers are having in other parts of Canada, Halcomb bees are doing well. “Our hives are bursting,” Kristen reports. “We have never seen them so full and active this early in the year. Hopefully that is a good sign for the summer.”

And the bears? Stay tuned. We’ll be following up with the Mutchs later this summer to learn more about this years honey harvest, the high and the lows and the bears.

You can find Kristen and Nathan tending to their bees in Halcomb, N.B. or at the Newcastle Farmers Market. www.halcombhoney.ca

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edible MARITIMES

Slow cooked honey pulled pork A recipe by Kristen & Nathan Mutch Serves 4-6 2-4 lb pork shoulder 2 tablespoons paprika 2 tablespoons brown sugar 1 teaspoon black pepper 1 teaspoon cayenne pepper 1 teaspoon garlic powder 1 teaspoon onion powder 1 teaspoon salt 1 can of beer (honey beer preferred) ¾ cup of your favourite barbecue sauce ½ cup of your favourite raw honey 4-6 buns Combine paprika, brown sugar, black pepper, cayenne pepper, garlic powder, onion powder and salt and mix well.

Rub pork shoulder well with seasoning mix and place in your slow cooker. Add can of beer and cook on high for five to six hours (depending on size of pork shoulder).

Using tongs, remove the pork meat and put it in a large bowl, leaving the bone and fat in the slow cooker.

Take two forks and pull the pork apart to shred the meat. As you shred, scoop a 1/3 cup of beer/pork juice from the slow cooker with a ladle and add this to your pork as you shred so that the meat soaks in the juices.

Add your favourite barbecue sauce and honey. Mix well and let sit.

Serve on a sesame brioche bun (toasted). Top the pulled pork with some barbecue sauce and a drizzle of honey.

Enjoy!

Raising highland cattle, and questions One small-scale cattle farmer reflects on connection and process

WORDS BY RACHAEL ROBERTSON PHOTOS BY JANETTE DOWNIE

W

hen we first decided to raise cattle, I vowed that if my conscience wouldn’t let me eat the beef we raised (I knew the guilt would come), I wouldn’t eat beef at all. That was the deal I made with myself. Calum, my husband, was raised on a small farm in Scotland and was heading into this venture with his eyes wide open. Mine, on the other hand, were half-shut.

I grew up with very little beef in my diet. I would go so far as to say that when Mum cooked, we were predominantly vegetarian, with a little fish on Friday (a Catholic habit) and a Chicken Kiev after Tuesday night karate. Mum fully supported Linda McCartney’s vegetarian revolution of the '80s. McCartney and her husband Paul had championed the vegetarian boom of my youth in Scotland, going so far as to suggest that eating meat was murder. As a result, minced soy pies were a staple on our plates.

Fast forward 30 years and my husband and I, and our two sons, now farm Highland cattle in rural Nova Scotia. Who’d have thought?

I ate my first real medium-rare steak with Calum, at the age of 25. I never knew beef could be so tender and naturally flavourful and juicy. Overnight, I became a carnivore.

Today, we have nine head of cattle, with the intention of growing our herd to 24.

We name all of our animals. We wouldn't have it any other way.

Does naming them make it harder to eat them? Of course, it does. At the same time, naming affirms our love and affection for them, and it is this connection with our food is what we strive for.

The 2020 pandemic highlighted the need for connection with our food more than ever. With growing fears that borders would close and access to general grocery store items might become scarce, Nova Scotians turned to local farmers. In the spring of 2020, local meat sales went through the roof. Farmers debated whether to buy more animals to keep up with demand. Some farmers took the leap and upscaled, some chose to play it safe.

The demand did drop but the appreciation of locally grown and raised food continues to grow. Many consumers make a point of seeking local food wherever possible. And some have jumped on the homesteading wagon themselves, choosing to raise their own meat.

This is fantastic news for a little province that has highlighted, in its environmental goals and climate change reduction act (Bill No. 57), the need for “enhanced awareness of, improved

access to and increased production of local food.” Small-scale farming fits very well within such a strategy. Raising our own meat helps promote a more circular economy and a greater connection with that food.

Our first foray into cattle farming was when we brought home Shuggy and Helen in early 2018. Helen would be the beginning of our Highlands breeding stock and Shuggy was our steer, destined for a life of fun and frolicking in the fields and, ultimately, the freezer. I chose not to think too far ahead.

Highlands take three years to grow to market, and that seemed like a lifetime away.

We thoroughly enjoyed getting to know each of them — their temperaments, their likes and dislikes and how to avoid their ever-growing horns. Our shared confidence in farming cattle grew because Helen and Shuggy were such patient teachers. It was a joy to be part of their lives.

For us, connection is the knowledge that the cow was free to roam. Free to eat the juicy blackberries at the edge of the forest

Left and above top: Rachael and Calum Robertson tend to their cattle.

Above: Cuts of meat fresh from the butcher and ready for the deep freeze.

Summer 2022

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Above: Fiona, one of the Robertsons' Highland cattle, a hardy breed that originated in the Scottish highlands with long horns and a long, shaggy coat — and loads of personality.

and nibble on the crunchy chanterelles under the old growth canopy. Free to be loved if they desired and free to be part of a family, hairy and human.

• Four minutes to scratch behind his ears for the last time; • 30 seconds to watch him walk past a pen of pigs and straight into the discharge area.

We loved these animals with such gusto that when it was time to send one of them to the abattoir, we tried to find a way that would offer the level of compassion we wanted for them. We hoped for a setting where the butcher could calm a stressed animal, call him by his name or allow us time to grieve. Unfortunately, as we discovered, abattoir workers generally have zero time for any of this.

Time meant everything. A respectful end for the animal who will nourish our family. A goodbye that was peaceful and unhurried.

That small bit of time was a gift.

The role of a butcher, at the dispatch side of the abattoir, is to kill an animal as quickly as possible. The butcher has no connection to our animal any more than the next. It all comes down to a process, one that is severely restricted by limited time and huge demand.

We chose an abattoir based on advice from our breeder and other small homesteaders in the area. We took our allotted slot and dreaded every minute of it.

What time did we have at the end of his life?

• 10 minutes to feed treats and gently "persuade" Shuggy to exit the trailer;

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edible MARITIMES

When we left Shuggy that day, I vowed we would never kill another one of our animals. 21 days later our counter was full of little red paper packages of meat. Having access to all of that beef was overwhelming, but we kept things light-hearted. While sorting and weighing the packages we toasted our steer with a single malt and set the cast iron pan alight.

Despite my earlier feelings of discomfort, our first homegrown prime rib was insanely out of this world. The taste, the energy, the feeling of having loved such a beast was indescribable. The connection was instant and unavoidable. I was changed: This is how I wanted our family to eat meat. With the knowledge of where and how that meat was raised.

Calum and I definitely don't have it all figured out. Far from it.

We know we want to respectfully raise animals and love on them hard throughout their lives, but somewhere along the line there comes a disconnection that we continually come up against.

With the rising demand in butchery services, due to an increase in buying local and more homes growing their own, local abattoirs are at full capacity. Even if you find the perfect one, which we thought we had, there are no guarantees that they will be available when your animal is ready to go.

I’ve learned so much from growing our own meat. It’s a subject I never thought I’d end up studying, let alone living and loving.

But we do love it. And we love our animals. Still, we dream about having an unadulterated, energetic connection throughout their entire lifecycle.

What happens when we go to all the effort and time to raise our own meat and it turns out we have nowhere to have them butchered?

Let's hope it doesn't always have to be a dream.

Is homesteading just a dream? I hope not.

My hope is for greater government investment in local meat processing — more than Nova Scotia’s current 25 per cent contribution towards the setup of abattoirs and processing plants. Greater investment could increase the potential for local farms and homesteaders to support our local economy more than ever.

A summer refresher with oxymel Oxymel is Latin for acid (oxy) and honey (mel). It's an old fashioned herbal remedy, often called a Switchel, and makes for a light herbal addition to a cocktail and or tea.

To make your own oxymel: Add 1/2 cup fresh herbs or 1/4 cup dried (Rosemary, Thyme, Anise Hyssop) to a clean, sterile mason jar and fill with 2 cups organic apple cider vinegar. Stir to combine and cover with a non-metallic lid. Leave to infuse for 3-4 weeks, shaking every other day.

Rachael Robertson and her husband, Calum, uprooted from Scotland in 2013 with their two sons, in search of a rural life, living off the land. Their farm is nestled on the South Mountain in the Annapolis Valley.

Janette Downie Janette Downie is a photographer originally from Ontario and now calls the Annapolis Valley home. She is inspired by nature and in particular, the beautiful landscapes of Nova Scotia.

A recipe by Rachael Robertson Once infused, strain herbs from liquid, disregard the scoby if you were lucky enough to grow one, and add in your honey. Stir until the honey is dispersed and taste for sweetness. You are looking for your Oxymel to taste sweet and sour with a hint of sharpness to it.

To make our favourite summer cocktail: Fill a glass with ice and add your Oxymel and choice of local gin or vodka, fill up with soda and finish with a squeeze of lime. Cheers!

PHOTO BY DAVE SNOW Summer 2022

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Join thought leaders, writers, innovators, and industry experts in Denver as we celebrate 20 years of telling the story of local food and explore the ideas, challenges and changes that will shape our food

OCTOBER 1–2, 2022 | DENVER, CO

communities in the next decade and beyond.

For more information, visit edibleinstitute.com

Edible is pleased to announce Dr. Temple Grandin as our keynote speaker for this year’s Institute.

Dr. Grandin is a scientist whose ground-breaking work in animal behavior has helped shape standards of excellence for the humane treatment of animals around the world.

Save the Date!

October 24-30, 2022 WOLFVILLE, NOVA SCOTIA

PLANT-BASED CINEMA & CUISINE

Discover Nova Scotia’s unique terroir as we take you on an entertaining and scenic tour of our region’s celebrated wineries. Tours depart daily from Halifax or Wolfville. Sip and savour your way through wineries and vineyards and leave the driving to us.

Whether you’re looking for an opportunity to catch up with friends, planning a corporate event or seeking a romantic getaway, Grape Escapes has tours that cater to every group.

novascotiawinetours.com

PREMIUM HANDCRAFTED ICE CREAM FELTZEN SOUTH, NS www.getthescoop.online

139 Montague Street Lunenburg NS lunenburgbound.ca

No white tablecloths

Pas de nappes blanches

A note on translation: I’ve spent my life translating my thoughts from one language to another. As a francophone in Nova Scotia, it’s second nature. As an Acadian from southwestern Nova Scotia who speaks a distinct variation of French rooted in 16th and 17th century French grammar, expression, and phonetics, the stiffness of le bon français (whatever that means) doesn’t feel right in my mouth. To translate is to move an object/idea/place/consciousness to another, and in the spirit of that, this text is translated into a language that fits me, my ideas, and my place through verb tenses, pronoun usage (tu instead of vous, is much more common), and more. It is not a direct translation of text, but rather of ideas.

WORDS BY SIMON THIBAULT TRANSLATION BY GEORGETTE LEBLANC PHOTOS BY NOAH FECKS

Rappie Pie / Poutine Rappure

A

À

t this meal, there are no white tablecloths on the tables.

There is, however, long white oilcloth draped over a dozen or so folding tables. Seated around these tables are groups of women, the majority of them over the age of 60.

The occasional husband can be spotted, waiting for the dinner to start.

cte repas icitte, y point de nappes blanches. Ça(ce) qu’il y a c’est des nappes de plastique sur le fait d’une douzaine de tables pliables collées les unes contre les autres. Une bande de femmes, la plupart au-dessus de l'âge de soixante, baranquons (jasent) entre elles. Homme ou deux guettont (attendre) que le souper commence.

This dinner is taking place in a small seaside restaurant in the village of Meteghan in southwestern Nova Scotia. It’s one of the many french-speaking villages that make up a region known as Clare on municipal maps, the French shore amongst anglophones, or la Baie Sainte-Marie amongst its residents.

Tonight’s event is a dinner to highlight the work of Acadian women in preserving their culinary heritage, and has been organized by La société Madelaine LeBlanc, a women’s society named after one of the first Acadian women who settled the area. Madelaine was known for being a go-getter, a no-nonsense woman who took charge when it was needed. I was invited to speak, despite my gender, because of my appreciation for the caretakers, providers and creators of this kind of work.

J’suis dans un petit restaurant sur la côte à Meteghan, un village dans le sud-ouest de la Nouvelle-Écosse. C’est un des villages de la municipalité de Clare, la «French Shore » des Anglais, la Baie Sainte-Marie si t’es de la place. La société Madelaine LeBlanc, organisation de femmes de la baie Sainte-Marie, porte le nom d’une fondatrice de la place. Selon l’histoire, Madelaine, avait point frette (froid) aux yeux, se mouchait point de la patte, était débrouillarde, vaillante. Les femmes de la société m’avont (m’ont) invité même si j’suis un homme. Les femmes m’avont (m’ont) invité, je pense, parce qu’elles ont reconnu mon profond respect pour elles, pour toutes ces générations de femmes qu’avont (ont) œuvré au coeur des cuisines acadiennes.

In my case, that appreciation took the form of a book, called Pantry and Palate: Remembering and Rediscovering Acadian Food, one of the first new books published on Acadian food in a generation. It is rare for the society to open its doors to the greater public, so I make sure to thank them when I am invited to get up to speak.

At first glance, the room is a forest of greyscale and glasses. I look around and recognize certain faces. Mothers of children I grew up with. A former elementary teacher, or two. They’re here for the dinner, and to hear me talk about how cooking — a daily task — is often a story onto itself. A story of foodstuffs and foodways they recognize as their own, a role and responsibility that they, and generations of women before them, bore. I am here to say thank you to them, all of them, living and gone, for that work, that role, that story — the story that fed us, feeds us.

This is of us.

Amongst certain Acadians, there is a habit in our introductions.

When we introduce ourselves, we not only present ourselves, but our progenitors. Je suis Simon à Hector, à Ulysses, à William, à Celestin, à Isadore. I am Simon, son of Hector, son of Ulysses, son of William, son of Celestin, son of Isadore. It is a palimpsest, with my name being the most recent written.

This is not declaration made out of patriarchal reverence, though it would be easy to see it that way. No, this list of names is an open parenthesis, looking for others to possibly close it at their own end. This mnemonic recitation is both a habit and a story that lives in more than one place or point in time. Its function is to discover if you and I are perhaps related, once divided, now reconnected.

Pantry and Palate : Remembering and Rediscovering Acadian Food est mon livre/hommage à ce travail et un nouveau regard sur la cuisine acadienne. J’ai fait sûr de remercier la Société, surtout qu’elles invitont (invitent) rarement du monde d’en dehors (de l’extérieur) aux réunions. À table avec mes hôtesses, j’ai l’impression d’être dans une forêt monochrome grise et lunettés. Je reconnais certains visages : Deux enseignantes à l’élémentaire, des mères du monde avec qui j’ai grandi. Les femmes sont icitte (ici) pour le repas, pour m’écouter parler sur la cuisine, comment cette tâche quotidienne, un besoin, est une histoire en soi. Même si ellesmêmes n’ont pas l’habitude de le voir ainsi, n’avont (n’ont) pas pensé ni imaginé l’importance et la valeur de leur travail et de leur savoir générationnel. J’suis icitte pour les remercier, toutes et chacune des femmes devant moi et présentes, celles qui se sont éteintes, qu’on a oubliées. J’suis icitte (ici) pour remercier des générations de femmes, nos ancêtres qui nous avont (ont) nourris. C’est cette histoire-là, leur travail, qui nous a nourri.

Qui nous appartient. Qui est qui j’sons (nous sommes).

Y a une coutume dans le sud-ouest de la Nouvelle-Écosse, une façon que j’avons (nous avons) de nous présenter. En réponse à la question à tchisse que t’es un gars ? je me présente en nommant mon ascendance paternelle : Simon à Hector à Ulysses à William à Célestin à Isisdore, parce que c’est ça la coutume dans le sudouest de la Nouvelle-Écosse. En nommant ainsi ma ligné, je réponds à qui appartiens-tu? d’où viens-tu? qui est ta famille? Je me situe dans le regard de l’autre. Je confirme l’importance et la valeur de ma réponse.

Ce n’est pas une façon de tirer notre révérence au patriarcat, contrairement à ce qu’on pourrait penser. C’est une parenthèse Summer 2022

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That is the story of many Acadians. Once divided, now reconnected. We live in the past and the present, with hope for the future being cemented in that reconnect.

It is difficult to know where any of this started, this being the history of Acadian food, my history, the history of many regions. Five years ago, I got the chance to explore that history with Pantry and Palate: a collection of recipes, extended family anecdotes, culinary research and a reconnection with the women who came before me, via a series of old recipe notebooks. For the sake of argument and exposition — and with apologies for glossing over difficult and nuanced history — I will try to explain who the Acadians, my ancestors, are. (Again, I use the present tense. Time is a vague and fluid framework amongst us.)

The Acadians are the descendants of the first french colonists to North America. In 1755 — and the proceeding decade or so - the Acadians were forcibly removed by the British from the land that they had been occupying. The reason? They would not sign fealty to the Crown. They spoke french, but did not view themselves as French citizens. To the British, however, they were an unsteady variable in the machine that was mid-18th century North America, a figure needing to be erased. During this time, some Acadians hid deep in the woods, some fled for other areas that were sympathetic to them, and many were forced on ships and sent away. This expulsion is known as le grand dérangement.

Over time, some of the survivors of this grand dérangement returned to what is now known as Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, Prince Edward Island, as well as parts of Maine, the Magdalene Islands and even parts of Québec. Some finished their journey in Louisiana, going on to be known as Cajuns, an anglicization of the word ‘cadiens. This oversimplification does not express the multitude of racial, economic, linguistic, and religious interplays that fostered the birth of Cajun identity, but that’s another story best told by Cajuns.

The Acadian relationship to terrain is akin to our relationship to time: We are here, yet we are not. There is no nation, geographically speaking, of Acadie. And perhaps that is why we have survived. Having come from France, we were indeed colonists (and all that entails), so the idea of being rooted to any place is tenuous at best. At the same time, we would not sign our names to any nation across the sea, be it a false matriarch of a country we did not know, or the land of les goddamns.

When the Acadians were permitted to re-settle in Nova Scotia, the English were fearful we would congregate in large numbers. They ensured our communities would be far-flung from one another, surrounded by people who did not speak the same language as us, or practice the same faith. Acadian communities abutted other cultures and communities: English,

ouverte qui cherche à être fermée par la rencontre de l’autre.

Cette récitation mnémonique est à la fois habitus et récit qui englobe un vaste espace géographique et temporel, ce qui est tout à fait Acadien. Sa fonction est simple : découvrir si quelque part dans la lignée, il y a une parenté commune ; un lien, un maillon dans la chaîne retrouvé.

Il est difficile de savoir où « ça » a commencé ; « ça » étant l’histoire culinaire acadienne, mon histoire, l’histoire de plusieurs régions acadiennes. Cinq ans passés, j’ai commencé à explorer ce « ça » là dans Pantry and Palate. Le livre est inspiré de ma collection de recettes, des nombreuses anecdotes culinaires de la famille, de ma recherche culinaire et de mes liens avec ces femmL’es qui sont venues avant moi, mes ancêtres, grâce à leurs vieux livres de recettes laissées à leurs descendants. Pour mieux contextualiser ce que je raconte icitte, et en m’excusant à l’avance pour simplifier grossièrement une histoire difficile et nuancée – je vais tenter d’expliquer qui ce qu’ils/elles étiont, (qui étaient) ces Acadiens, mes ancêtres acadiens.

En gros, les Acadiens sont les descendants des premiers colons français qu’avont (qui sont) venu s’installer dans ça (ce) qu’on appelle les Maritimes astheure (aujourd’hui). Entre 1755 et 1763, les Acadiens avont (ont) été enlevés, hâllés (tirés), arrachés des terres qu’ils occupiont (occupaient). Pourquoi?

Parce que les Anglais (Britanniques, ou les goddamns qu’on les appelaient) vouliont (voulaient) que les Acadien.ne.s prêtent sermet d’allégeance à la couronne britannique. Les Acadiens parliont (parlaient) français mais se considériont (considéraient) pu Français. Mais les Anglais voyiont les Acadiens comme une population menaçante, acceptiont point leur promesse de neutralité en temps de guerre et avont orchestré la déportation de ces mêmes Acadiens. Ils nous ont chié d’un bord, comme les vieux disont. Quelques milliers avont réussi à se sauver et se cacher dans le bois mais la majorité, plusieurs milliers avont été embarqué de force à bord de bateaux anglais et ont perdu contact avec leurs familles, clans, dispersés d’un boutte à l’autre du monde.

Quelques années plus tard, plusieurs Acadiens déportés avont décidé de retourner aux anciennes terres. Aujourd’hui on trouve plusieurs régions acadiennes dans chaque province des Maritimes, aux Iles de la Madelaine, au Québec au Maine et surtout en Louisiane. L’identité des Acadiens restés en Louisiane s’a (s’est) transformé au fil des ans. Aujourd’hui on parle de Cadiens, Cajuns même s’ils partageont des racines avec les Acadiens des provinces maritimes.

La nature de la relation des Acadiens au territoire est souvent … comme sa relation au temps : flou. Aujourd’hui il n’y a pas de territoire acadien géographiquement et politiquement distinct des autres dans les provinces Maritimes. Nos ancêtres étiont des

Rhubarb pickles done two ways

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Irish, Scottish, or German; the first people of this region — the Mi’kmaq, as well as free men and women of colour, and former Loyalists. This mishmash of cultures and cuisines influenced much of the daily foodstuffs and practices found in Acadian households, from cornmeal and molasses in certain breads (a Loyalist influence), to the particular ways in which Germans used potatoes to thicken a meal and fill a belly.

I’m often asked what Acadian food is. My short answer — it is humble, homey, occasionally homely, and very comforting. At its core, Acadian food began as food of subsistence and survival, like much of the food in rural communities of North America.

Foodways were strengthened and fostered by the climes, connections and cultures that surrounded them. Think of one pot, one-dish meals, variations on potato, root vegetables (things that would grow well in less-than-perfect soil), salted meats and salted vegetables/herbs. Think of food that will sustain hours of work in the fields, out on a boat, or in the woods. Think of variations on a theme, whittled and whistled out of habit and comfort.

Many dishes are often recognizable in meals such as fricot, a meat and potato dumpling stew. The meat is often chicken, such as in fricot à la poule. Even the language is familiar yet unique: the word fricot is distinctly Acadian, but poule pulls at your ear.

And it is to be noted that it is poule, not poulet. A poulet would

colonisateurs, icitte pour coloniser. C’est aisé d’imaginer que ces mêmes colons aviont un rapport ténu avec le lieu, avec une mère patrie qu’était déjà loin de leur expérience vécue. C’est aisé d’ignorer et d’oublier une patrie qui te ressemble pus (plus). Les Acadien.ne.s vouliont pas signer une allégence à des patries, à une mère patrie qu’ils connaissiont pus.

Après la guerre, les Acadiens ont la permission de revenir en Nouvelle-Écosse mais parce que les Anglais aviont peur que les Acadiens se rassemblent, ils leur ont offert les pires terres aux quatre coins de la provinces, entourées de personnes et de groupes qui parliont point français et pratiquiont point la même religion. Les Acadies pour la plupart, francophones et catholiques (à l’exception de quelques familles huguenotes), étiont entourés par des Anglais, Écossais, Irlandais, Allemands, sans compter les Mi’kmaqs, les hommes et les femmes de couleur libre qu’aviont fui les États-Unis pendant la guerre civile.

Les familles et clans acadiens étiont séparées les uns des autres mais point vraiment isolées. Il y eu des rapprochements avec des voisins, surtout quand ça venait (on cherchait) à se remplir les tripes. Le pain à la mélasse et au maïs que j’aimons aujourd’hui vient des loyalistes. Notre façon de râper la patate vient des Allemands. J’étions différents mais j’avions un ventre vide en commun.

On me demande souvent la définition de la cuisine acadienne ; ce qu’elle est. Souvent, je réponds qu’elle est humble, simple, modeste et très réconfortante. C’est une cuisine de subsistance, comme le sont plusieurs cuisines et plats des communautés rurales en Amérique du Nord. On mangeait ça (ce) qu’il y avait à l’entoure (autour) et en saison. Le plat le plus souvent cuit dans un pot (prononcé « pote »), un chaudron. Des variations de la patate, légumes racines – tout ce qui pouvait facilement pousser dans une terre ingrate -, viandes salées et légumes/herbages salés, de quoi manger capable d’alimenter une personne pendant de longs après-midis de travail dans les champs, sur le bateau (prononcé « botte »), ou au bois.

Comme un air de musique joué d’un instrument qu’on entend point souvent, on a l’impression d’avoir eu vu (avoir vu) ces plats ; des plats comme le fricot; un stew à la viande avec des poutines (dumpling) de patate. On fait cuire de la viande de poule – on appelle ça un fricot à la poule. Point un fricot au poulet, mais bien un fricot à la poule. Un poulet est jeune, ses œufs beaucoup trop précieux pour le manger. Une poule par contre, est plus vieille et se cuit mieux dans un fricot qui mijote longtemps.

Au-delà du bouillon – assaisonné d’onions, de sel et de poivre – c’est la patate qui hâle/attire l’œil et la langue et que l’on décline en variations délicieuses de toutes sortes. La patate est la pierre

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angulaire de la cuisine acadienne. Elle se garde bien dans une cave à légumes, lieu que plusieurs, sinon la majorité des maisons acadiennes avaient jusqu’aux années 1970s quand la cave à légumes fut remplacée par une « chambre froide » et isolée.

La patate se cultive facilement, même dans les terres les moins fertiles. En plus des techniques culinaires les plus répandues : faire bouillir, écraser ou frire la patate dans un « hash » de viande/ poisson salé, dans les cuisines acadiennes, les patates sont aussi râpées dans une pulpe ou en shreds, le jus et amidon de la patate ensuite essorés de sa pulpe. C’est là, où ça devient intéressant, si l’on s’en tient strictement à la texture.

Left: Chicken Fricot / fricot à la poule Above: A notebook of recipes

be a young chicken, a pullet too valuable for its eggs. A poule, however, would be akin to an old hen, its flesh best suited for long slow simmers for a fricot.

Beyond the chicken stock — rarely flavoured with much more than onions — it is the small potato dumplings that catch the eye, and the tongue. Potatoes are cornerstones of Acadian kitchens. They store well in cold storage — root cellars were incredibly common in many rural maritime communities all the way up to the 1970s, with modern homes often having a designated and insulated “cold room” in the basement – and they grow relatively easily in most terrains. Outside of boiled, mashed, or refried in a meat/fish and potato hash, they are also rasped and grated into pulp or shreds, and then extricated from their starchy liquid. And that’s where it gets interesting, texturally speaking.

The history of rasping potatoes for this unique texture is apocryphal at best, filled with modern day conjecture at worst.

There are many written records — most of them early and mid-

L’explication historique de cette technique culinaire ; le râpage de la patate pour arriver à cette texture unique, est au mieux voilé d’un obscurantisme apocryphe, à son pire truffé de sophismes modernes. Ce que nous savons et retenons de sources écrites – des entretiens de folkloristes amateurs du début -20e siècle – c’est que les Acadiennes étiont (étaient) en contact avec les nouveaux arrivants allemands dans les années d’après-déportation des Acadiens. Dans ces cuisines allemandes, on avait l’habitude de râper les patates et de presser et d’essorer le liquide de la patate pour la préparation de nombreux plats; notamment le knödel ou dumpling. Ce dumpling, dans les cuisines acadiennes du Nouveau-Brunswick, devient la poutine dans une forme plus petite chez certains néo-écossais, dans un fricot.

Ces poutines n’ont rien à voir avec les poutines (frites, fromage en grain et sauce brune), de nos cousins québécois. En Acadie, la poutine est un terme générique employé pour parler d’un dumpling à base de patates, un plat exécuté selon la situation géographique de son créateur.trice. Dans un fricot acadien du sud-ouest de la Nouvelle-Écosse, la poutine est à peu près la taille d’une cuillère à soupe. Au Nouveau-Brunswick, la poutine est plutôt la taille d’une balle de balle-molle, farcie de porc salé, un repas en soit. Cette version ressemble drôlement au pält suédois, encore une autre version d’un dumpling à base de patates râpées et écrasées.

La patate râpée est aussi la figure de proue, ingrédient principal de l’énorme plat-casserole à la baie Sainte- Marie dénommé «pâté à la râpure » ou râpure tout simple. La patate râpée est essorée jusqu’à temps que tout le liquide saye séparé de la patate râpée.

La pulpe de la patate râpée qui reste est ensuite blanchie avec du bouillon de poulet qu’on brasse (tourne) pour transférer ensuite dans un gros bassin, dans ce qu’on appelle un bassin à râpure.

Dans ce mélange on ajoute la viande de la poule et à l’occasion du gibier ou des palourdes en bouteille. Le plat est ensuite cuit au four plusieurs heures jusqu’à ce qu’une belle croute dorée se fasse. On sert la râpure avec une bonne quantitée de beuree salée, picklés au bread and butter (cornichons), et même, dans certaines familles avec de la mélasse.

La cuisine acadienne est un répertoire de plats savoureux pour

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20th century interviews by folklorists — of how Acadians came in contact with German settlers after their expulsion. In many of those kitchens, the habit of rasping and grating potatoes — and the crucial step of squeezing and extruding all of the liquid found therein — is used in making various dishes, notably a potato knödel or dumpling. That dumpling would soon become a poutine, either as a meal onto itself, or as a small dumpling in a fricot.

These poutines bear no relation to our Québecois cousin’s dish of chips, curds, and gravy. Throughout Acadie, poutine is a generic term for potato-based dumplings, its execution varying on how and where it is served. In a southwestern Nova Scotian fricot, the poutine is not much bigger than the spoon used to shape it. In parts of New Brunswick, a poutine is a softballshaped potato dumpling studded with salt pork inside, boiled and served as a dish unto itself.

As for rasped potatoes, that pulp is instrumental in the making of a large casserole-style dish known as rapûre, or rappie pie.

Using that very same rasped potato pulp, the liquid is strained out of it, mixed with boiling stock, then placed in a large pan known as a bassin à rapûre to be studded with meat — most often chicken, but occasionally wild game or even bottled clams.

This dish is baked for hours until a sought-after crust appears on top, and served with copious amounts of butter, perhaps with sweet-sour pickles, and even molasses.

de grandes familles, pour nourrir la communauté. Au-delà de leur importance culinaire, les plats te rappelont (rappelent) tes origines, qui tu es.

C’est pour ces raisons que je suis icitte desoir. De parler de qui on est, qui je suis. Assis à table en attendant mon tour à parler chez ses femmes, dans un restaurant au sud-ouest de la NouvelleÉcosse, toutes ces idées, concepts et contextes s’apilottent dans ma tête. Je me rends compte que je suis icitte, parmi celles qui m’ont vu grandir et qui m’avont (ont) inspiré pour parler de cuisine acadienne, pour parler de ça qu’elles, au fond, m’avont appris. On m’invite à me lever et à me présenter et je réponds à la manière traditionnelle, selon la coutume : Je suis Simon à Hector, à Ulysses, à William, à Célestin, à Isadore. Je remarque des hochements de la tête, on reconnait les noms de ma lignée.

Mais je continue. « J’aimerais parler du travail des femmes ce soir.

J’aimerais parler des corps et des cœurs, de toutes ces femmes qu’avont (ont) nourri et rempli les ventres de toutes ces familles là et qu’avont (on) trop souvent passées inaperçues, qu’avont été (ont été) ignorées. J’aimerais recommencer ma présentation. » Je suis Simon à Jeanne à Rosalie à Ellé à Marie à Marie.

Georgette LeBlanc is an Acadian poet, writer, professor and translator living and working in Moncton (le Coude), New Brunswick.

Acadian food is food made for families, for communities. It is food made to fill and warm you, to sustain you and tell you who you are.

Back at the dinner, when I am invited to come up and speak, I introduce myself in the manner to which many in my community are accustomed. "Je suis Simon à Hector, à Ulysses, à William, à Celestin, à Isadore." There are nods of acknowledgement, a subtle ‘yes, we know those names’. “But I would like to talk about the work of women, tonight,” I say. “I would like to talk about the bodies and hearts that fed and filled bellies, and of the under-acknowledged but abundant trust that took place over generations. So, let me introduce myself again.”

"Je suis Simon à Jeanne, à Rosalie, à Ellé, à Marie, à Marie."

Simon Thibault is the author of Pantry and Palate: Remembering and Rediscovering Acadian Food. He and his work have appeared in The Globe and Mail, The National Post, CBC and Radio-Canada and many more. Find him at Simonthibault.com.

Noah Fecks is a photographer, film director and author located in Red Hook. Brooklyn, N.Y. Find more of his work at www.noahfecks.com 48

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Fring frangs / Potato pancakes

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Food as art

The artful in-between moments One small-scale cattle farmer reflects on connection and process

F

'

ood as art' is an interesting thought to ponder. The 'art of cooking' is a phrase that many use as a way of expressing the uniqueness in what they do — but, to me, art goes much deeper than that.

To me, the art of cooking is not in the act of cooking at all - it’s in the silent language that arises in the in-between moments.

The way that you move, think, feel, and express the blank space, as it were, between the moments of cooking is art.

Hear me out for a moment...

Step up to a table full of fresh ingredients — still slightly warm to the touch from the field that they were just plucked from — and paint a picture of their destiny in your mind.

Before you even pick up a pinch of salt to season a vegetable, you’ve already mapped its flavour trajectory in your mind. To say that the art is in the action would be doing a disservice to the creative process.

Entertain the thought that maybe the art is not in the action but in the seamless integration between conceptualization, and the physical action itself.

This, is the blank space, and this, to me, is art.

I offer you a journal entry from one such artful moment last summer: August 19, 2021 — Dinner for 6: I lit the fire early today. I wanted to see what would happen when the guests arrived and caught no sight of me — only smoke. Would they move to it - instead of to the table?

I sliced open a few varieties of squash that I had just harvested from the field, and admired their vibrant colour. I brushed them with saltwater, laid them over the steady spruce smoke, and allowed them to soften while I prepped the table for service.

30 minutes passed, and I caught a glimpse of the first arrivals. An older woman and her husband found their way to the fire, despite my instruction of following the path through the garden to the table. Little did they know, that this is exactly what I had hoped.

I watched the remaining guests arrive from across the orchard, and while the group interacted with each other, my mind wandered to the evening to come.

My initial plan was to plate the squash beautifully ­— artistically if you will — at the table, and speak of fire as the primary ingredient. I had planned to emphasize visual expression that

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evening - and wanted to showcase my artistic side.

As I stood there, squash in one hand, and a set of tongs in the other, I realized that what I was witnessing — a group of strangers, sharing an evening built around food and story-telling — was all that I truly cared to focus on.

I walked over to the group around the fire and introduced myself.

“Hi, folks. My name is Nick, and tonight you’ve inspired me more than you will ever know.”

We ate the squash with our hands, standing around the smokey pit, with the fire as the force guiding us through the evening.

Here, squash is ingredient, fire is purpose, and human connection — the blank space — is the art that brings it all together.

Nick Chindamo is a wild food enthusiast, avid outdoorsman, chef/storyteller in Epekwitk (Prince Edward Island), Canada.

WORDS & PHOTOS BY NICK CHINDAMO

a sweet finish

RECIPE BY SARA SNOW PHOTO BY DAVE SNOW

Strawberry shortcake Biscuits, berries and whipped cream Serves 6-8

6 or 7 cups fresh strawberries, trimmed and sliced in half ¼ cup + 1 tablespoon whiskey or rhubarb liqueur ¼ cup + 1 tablespoon honey 1/2 cup brown sugar 3 cups all purpose flour 1 tablespoon baking powder ½ teaspoon sea salt ¾ cup cold, salted butter cut into pieces 2 eggs ½ cup oat milk or milk 1 tablespoon maple syrup 1-2 cups whipping cream Combine fresh berries, ¼ cup whiskey/liqueur and ¼ cup honey, tossing gently to mix. Set aside while you prepare the biscuits.

Preheat oven to 375° and line a cookie sheet with parchment paper.

In a large bowl, combine brown sugar and flour. Add baking powder and sea salt and mix well. Cut in butter with a

pastry cutter or two knives until mixture is course.

In a small bowl whisk eggs, milk, and honey. Add liquid mixture to the flour mixture and combine until dough sticks together. No need to over mix. Divide dough into 6 to 8 portions and place on cookie sheet. Bake until golden brown — about 18-22 minutes.

Let biscuits cool. Just before serving, pour whipping cream into a cold mixing bowl (preferably stainless steel bowl) and mix on high, drizzling in 1 tablespoon maple syrup and 1 tablespoon whiskey or liqueur, until the cream forms soft peaks. [Mom tip: earlier in the day put your stainless steel bowl and beaters in the freezer. When you’re ready to make your whipped cream take them from the freezer and whipping will be a breeze.]

To serve, slice biscuits in half, add some berries, juice/honey mixture, and whipped cream, more berries and a drizzle of juice/honey mixture.

Enjoy... with any summer berry.

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