SEATTLE — Washington state officials said Tuesday they found lower contamination levels when they tested geoduck clams than those alleged by China when it said geoduck imported from Puget Sound had high levels of arsenic.
Chinese officials said they found inorganic arsenic levels of .5 parts per million in the shellfish they tested in October.
But Washington officials’ tests produced different results.
“Only one of the whole samples was above China’s standard of .5 (parts per million) and everything else was below that, so that was good news,” said Dave McBride, who oversaw the testing at the Washington Department of Health.
The Department of Health tested more than 50 geoduck clams from the allegedly contaminated area, analyzing the different body parts of the clams to compare arsenic concentration levels.
The details of the test results are perhaps revealing than the overall “whole sample” figures. The skin of the clams tested by Washington exceeded China’s safe levels of inorganic arsenic by as much as three times, although McBride said that should not be worrisome to China, given how the Chinese consume geoduck clams.
“People generally do not eat the skin and we would advise people, when you eat geoduck, to remove the skin,” he said. “What we think is that, for the vast majority of the public, this is not a health issue at all. Obviously, when we’re talking about a carcinogen there is always the risk for high consumers.”
McBride added that the whole, or averaged samples, for several other clams came close to the .5ppm limit set by the Chinese.
The World Health Organization is said to be considering setting safe levels for inorganic arsenic in food in the .2-.3ppm range in 2014.
The shellfish that tested high for inorganic arsenic in China were harvested from a tract of land managed by the Department of Natural Resources that has since been closed. The tract is within the shadow of a copper smelter that was operated near Tacoma for 100 years.
“Well we know that arsenic levels are elevated in the surface soils in that area,” said Marian Abbett, manager of the Tacoma smelter clean up for the Washington Department of Ecology. Soil samples from the surrounding land show levels of arsenic between 40 and 200ppm, though that number does not directly equate to levels of arsenic that will end up in the water, or in shellfish.
Soil arsenic levels resulting from the historic deposition by the Tacoma smelter
in the vicinity of the geoduck tracts of interest. (Courtesy: ATSDR/DOH)
Inorganic arsenic levels are higher in soils in the area immediately surrounding the smelter, though wind patterns also lead to higher concentrations ending up in soil samples to the northeast of the smelter, where the shellfish were harvested.
“I’d be nervous after a big rainfall event,” said Kathy Cottingham, a professor in the Department of Biological Sciences at Dartmouth College who studies arsenic exposure and human health. “With soils that contaminated you need to worry about the episodic events of a big rainstorm or snowmelt causing pulses into the water.”
The area was closed to all shellfish harvest until 2007, when the Puyallup Tribe petitioned state agencies to reopen the tract for geoduck harvest. At that time the Department of Health conducted tests on geoduck in the area and found levels of .05ppm. That’s an order of magnitude below the amount found by the Chinese in October of 2013 and well within the safety parameters set by the Chinese.
However, state agencies have not tested for inorganic arsenic or other metals in shellfish from the area since it was reopened in 2007.
Arsenic is a carcinogen that has also been associated with long-term respiratory effects, disruption of immune system function, cardiovascular effects, diabetes and neurodevelopmental problems in kids.
“There’s no safe level, but at some point you’ve crossed the threshold to being really dangerous and we don’t quite know where that threshold is at this point,” Cottingham said.
The Food and Drug Administration has delayed setting a safe level for arsenic in food. Washington state does not regularly test for arsenic in shellfish.
McBride said he did not see a need to test the Tacoma site further after his agency’s extensive sampling.
“I think we have a pretty good handle that this area is pretty clean and wouldn’t require further testing,” he said. “The lab results have been sent to (the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration) and NOAA has sent them on to the state department to the Chinese (as of yesterday). We’re waiting to hear if and when the ban might be lifted.”
A mother from the Rosebud Sioux Tribe faces arrest for protecting her children from an abusive couple:
The emergency room doctor was furious at what he had seen, recalled Audre’y Eby, who is Rosebud Sioux and the mother of disabled 16-year-old twins. One of her sons, who is blind and autistic, squirmed on the examination-room table, screaming, “Ow, ow, it hurts!” The doctor had found livid red and purple bruises covering his penis and scrotum, according to the Nebraska hospital’s records. Those injuries would soon lead to an arrest warrant for the mother—not because she had caused the harm, but because she did not return her son, along with his wheelchair-bound twin, to their abusers.
Indian child welfare expert Frank LaMere called the twins’ situation more extreme than any he’d seen in his many years of work in the field. “These boys are suffering,” said LaMere, who is Winnebago and the director of Four Directions Community Center, in Sioux City, Iowa.
The day before the ER visit, Eby, who is 45, drove from the Nebraska farm where she lives with her husband, Faron, to pick up her boys from their father in Iowa. It was early August of 2013, and she was going to have them for the once-a-month weekend visit the courts allow her. The boys’ father is Eby’s ex-husband; he has physical custody of the kids, and his live-in girlfriend is their primary caretaker. Eby and the boys are Native, and the father and his girlfriend are white—facts that LaMere says overshadow decisions that social-services professionals and the courts make on the children’s behalf.
TULALIP – A 35-year-old man was struck by a vehicle Tuesday evening and was airlifted to Harborview with serious injuries.
The driver of the vehicle was driving along 35th Avenue NE on the Tulalip Reservation when he said something struck his windshield, shattering it. The driver stopped his vehicle immediately on the roadway at the 7000 block and got out to investigate. It was then he saw the victim lying off the roadway and called 911.
There were no witnesses to the accident, but family members of the victim said they believed he was near the roadway talking on his cellphone. The victim is believed to be a transient living on the Tulalip Reservation.
The Snohomish County Sheriff’s Office is investigating the incident, but no criminal charges against the driver are expected at this time
A sabertooth salmon, as depicted by artist Ray Troll. The mural is part of the UO Museum of Natural and Cultural History. credit: University of Oregon. A sabertooth salmon, as depicted by artist Ray Troll. The mural is part of the UO Museum of Natural and Cultural History. | credit: University of Oregon.
For years, museum conservators and paleontologists have yearned for a way to duplicate fragile fossils without damaging them. Now scientists with the University of Oregon say they have found a way to do just that, with the help of a relatively inexpensive 3-D printer.
They’ve starting by duplicating the skull of a particularly important fossil in their collection: a giant saber-toothed salmon fossil discovered near Madras, Ore.
Nick Famoso, a PhD student at the university, is helping with the replication process. He says saber-toothed salmon, Oncorhynchus Rastrosus, swam the oceans and rivers of the Northwest 5 to 7 million years ago. They were ancestors of sockeye salmon.
“Put a big old gnarly tooth in the front jaw. Make it a lot bigger. That’s a saber-tooth salmon,“ he says.
The salmon grew to be 6- to 12-feet long, on a vegetarian diet of plankton and filter food. The tooth, which grew as long as a human thumb, developed on spawning males.
Famoso says the university holds what’s known as a “type specimen” of Oncorhynchus: a particularly well-preserved example that was used to describe the species. The university wanted to make the fossil the centerpiece of a salmon evolution exhibit at its Museum of Cultural and Natural History. But the Oncorhynchus fossil was too fragile and too scientifically valuable to risk casting — using the traditional method of pouring a latex mold around the fossil.
The saber-toothed salmon fossil.
Famoso says delicate fossils of fish and bird skeletons can shatter and be permanently lost during the process of removing the mold.
“Generally when you do that we use latex and we make molds, and we pull the mold and we make a cast out of that mold. That’s great but not all fossils can be molded and cast. This is where the 3-D printing comes in and it’s really exciting.”
Instead, the salmon fossil was given a CT scan, creating a detailed 3-D image. Now the university’s science librarian, Dean Walton, is feeding that image file into a 3-D printer. The printer’s software slices the image into a series of thin layers that are laid down with a plastic called polylactic acid.
“In some ways, you can think of this as a glorified glue-gun that’s melting and squirting out a little line of plastic,” he says.
Walton says the printer, which cost a little over $2,000, can print objects the size of a milk carton and has a resolution down to a tenth of a millimeter. He says University of Oregon students and faculty can use the printer for free, but should be warned it’s a slow process. Printing the first piece of the salmon fossil took 72 hours.
The first piece of the fossil’s printed plastic replica.
Walton is printing several more segments of the fossil this month. When it is complete, Famoso will use the plastic replica to make a traditional cast model for display. He hopes the new replication technology will make it easier for scientists to share copies of fossils for research and public display without putting the originals at risk. He says Badlands National Park in South Dakota is also experimenting with the technique. Paleontologists at the University of Washington are using a 3-D printer to make custom cradles to securely hold delicate fossils in place.
The ocean grew choppy and storm clouds darkened the southern sky as we paddled the final miles toward an abandoned Haida village site at the heart of a wedge-shaped archipelago 175 miles in length, 70 miles off the northwest coast of British Columbia. Until recently, this remote chain of islands was known as the Queen Charlotte Islands, but three years ago, the Haida Nation returned that colonial name to the provincial government, in a ceremony using the same style of bentwood box that once housed the remains of the dead. The place is now Haida Gwaii (pronounced HI-duh GWY) — Islands of the People — both officially and, unquestionably, in spirit.
Bruce Kirkby for The New York Times Carving the Legacy Pole.
The hillsides soaring above our kayaks, scraped bare by clearcutting three decades earlier, were an emerald-hued crew cut, a fuzz of young alder and spruce interspersed with occasional landslides. On a distant ridge beyond stood the silhouettes of giants, stark evidence of where logging had ground to a halt.
There is an even older Haida name for this archipelago, which roughly translates to “Islands Emerging From (Supernatural) Concealment.” It is an apt moniker. On these craggy islets — perched on the edge of the continental shelf and pressed against the howling eternity of the Pacific — life exists on such a ferociously lavish scale that myth and dreams routinely mingle with reality.
For three days, Dave Quinn and I — neighbors, friends and longtime sea kayak guides — had rejoiced amid a world of windswept islets, breaching humpbacks, raucous seabirds, natural hot springs and solitude. While it was glorious to return to waters we knew so well, there was a deeper purpose to our journey: Paddling from dawn until dusk and then some, we’d been racing north toward Windy Bay.
Even as our kayaks crunched aground on its white shell beach, elsewhere bags were being packed, boats readied, float planes fueled. Two great war canoes — long and colorful — were plowing southward from the traditional Haida strongholds of Old Massett and Skidegate, crammed with youth. The next morning, we would all converge here, to witness the raising of a monumental pole (a term preferred by First Nation groups over “totem”) in the southern archipelago, the first such event in over 130 years, since smallpox decimated the local population and left every village unoccupied. That fishermen, loggers, police and government officials would join alongside the Haida Nation in celebration, after decades of bitter land-use conflict, marked a once unimaginable reconciliation — and a way forward extending far beyond these remote shores.
After setting up our tent and brewing cowboy coffee, we set off on foot toward the village site — Hlk’yaah in Haida — tucked in an adjacent cove. Just a few steps into the forest, we paused in awe. Arrow-straight trunks, the girth of minivans, rose like cathedral columns from a thick blanket of moss cloaking the forest floor. Drenched with an average of 250 days of rain annually, the conifers of Haida Gwaii — red cedar, Sitka spruce, western hemlock — attain storybook proportions. According to the West Coast writer John Valliant, “These forests support more living tissue — by weight — than any other ecosystem, including the equatorial jungle.”
Bruce Kirkby for The New York Times Eagle down on the pole.
Forty years earlier, a logging company applied to move its clearcutting operations from northern Haida Gwaii — at that time ravaged by industrial-style logging — to this very soil. As John Broadhead, a local conservationist, wrote: “The company couldn’t have been leaving behind an area of more ecological devastation, or moving to one more pristine.” Having witnessed the frontier’s rapacious appetite drive sea otter and whale populations to the brink, the Haida voiced immediate opposition, but it seemed unimaginable that anyone might deflect the logging juggernaut.
The ’70s and ’80s were a time of excess and frenzy on this coast, when tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of salmon could be hauled from a single net, and the hewing of trees worth $20,000 each was not uncommon. While the Haida engaged in a decade of fruitless committee meetings, negotiations and court cases, clearcutting crept relentlessly southward.
By 1985, the small nation was fed up. Establishing a remote camp on Lyell Island, they settled in for the long haul, standing arm in arm, blockading a logging road and day after day turning back furious loggers who in many cases were neighbors, and even friends. Beyond lay Windy Bay, and some of the last remaining stands of “Avatar”-scale old growth on the coast. Tensions skyrocketed, and soon national news outlets descended.
Eight months later a showdown took place and as police officers moved in, a young Haida Royal Canadian Mounted Police officer was forced to arrest his own elders. Over the next two weeks, 72 protesters were shackled and led away. But the images that emerged changed the mood of a nation, and led to an unprecedented agreement between the Haida Nation and the government of Canada. Agreeing to manage cooperatively what, in 1993, would become Gwaii Haanas National Park Reserve, they created an accord now emulated around the world. And while roots of the Haida revival can be traced back to the ’60s — when the lost arts of canoe building, mask making and pole carving began to re-emerge — it was the blockade and the resulting co-management of traditional territory that changed everything.
Bruce Kirkby for The New York Times Traditional Haida canoes arrive for the ceremony.
Dave and I arrived at the once-abandoned village site to find a hive of activity: electrical generators, an excavator and steaming vats of seafood chowder. At the center of everyone’s attention — though still horizontal — the 40-foot Legacy Pole, celebrating the 20th anniversary of moving from conflict to reconciliation with the establishment of the park. Lying beside a recently constructed longhouse, and surrounded by carvers, its 17 deeply incised figures, all based on the traditional Haida ovoid form, sprang from luxuriant cinnamon-colored cedar.
Although the raising was just 24 hours away, plenty of work remained to be done. Penciled design lines were shaved away, even as traditional black and red paints were applied. (The red, interestingly, was “Navajo” from Benjamin Moore.) Jaalen Edenshaw, the lead carver, quietly shaped a raven’s eyes as he told us of selecting a living tree from the forests. Alongside two apprentices, he had shaped the pole for an entire year. Among the many modern stories depicted in his design was the blockade, symbolized by five protesters with interlocked arms. With an eagle at the peak and a sculpin fish at the foot, the pole also tells of Gwaii Haanas becoming the first area on the planet to be protected from mountaintop to ocean floor when a National Marine Conservation Area was added to surrounding waters in 2010.
Amid the crowd was Guujaaw (pronounced GOO-jow), Mr. Edenshaw’s father and the widely recognized former president of the Haida Nation, who had stared down decades of negotiators and became emblematic of the Haida’s dignified, nonviolent resistance.
Suddenly, above the hubbub, came a cry: “Guuj! How about a birthday song?” The war canoes had arrived, and one of the young paddlers was celebrating a birthday. Guujaaw raised a skin drum, its rhythmic beat echoing through the forest like a heart. As he launched into a forceful chant — “Hey hi yo, ha wee ah” — everyone joined in. The young birthday boy rushed forward, dancing a traditional Haida stomp, knees deeply bent, arms in the air. Then, as quickly as it began, the song ended, and the carvers returned to their work.
Bruce Kirkby for The New York Times Dave Quinn stands beside a giant tree near the Windy Bay village site.
The next morning we woke from our tent to find an immense Coast Guard cutter anchored offshore, surrounded by an armada of smaller fishing vessels. Zodiacs began shuttling dignitaries, elders, children and curious visitors ashore. By noon, more than 400 people had gathered — unquestionably the most to stand on these shores since the village was abandoned 150 years previously.
By early afternoon the skies had cleared. Chiefs gathered in ceremonial headdresses adorned with ermine skins and sea lion whiskers. Blessings were given, speeches made. A bare-chested man in a nightmarish mask danced to clear away malevolent spirits, and afterward, a matriarch splashed water over the pole, purifying it. Children followed, tossing handfuls of fluffy eagle down that floated on a soft breeze.
Six immense ropes — two inches in diameter — had been lashed to the top of the pole, and at last the assembled crowd was directed to find places on each. Weighing 7,000 pounds, the pole was relatively light, but a weathered Haida fisherman explained that any pole raising can be dangerous. The countdown began. Boots bit into mud, backs heaved, and the great pole floated skyward. In a blink it was up. A few more hoarsely shouted instructions — “Pull on the yellow rope! Ease off on blue” — and it stood vertical. Cheers erupted. Boulders were rolled into the deep hole at its base, pounded in place with long wooden beams. Shovel after shovel of gravel followed.
Two days later, Parks Canada and the Haida Nation hosted a potlatch, or celebratory feast, and in Haida tradition, every person on the islands was invited. The Canadian government outlawed potlatching from 1884 to 1951, making the event a poignant symbol of progress. In a community hall packed to the rafters, I found myself sitting near Allan Wilson, a hereditary chief from Old Massett and the junior Mountie officer forced to arrest his own elders at the blockade, decades ago. He is a squat, powerful man, and his crew cut was peppered with white. A tangle of necklaces hung from his neck. “To this day I remember every step I took,” he said. “My legs felt like they weighed 300 pounds each.” He paused, then laughed. “I was happy it was raining, so no one could see my tears.”
I asked about the pole. “It feels as if we’ve had a big pot here on Haida Gwaii with a hole in it,” he said. “Now that missing piece has been put back in. The leak has been plugged. And all our stories, from before and those still to come, can stay in there.”
Later, 14 elders who stood on the line were introduced. As drums beat and dancers danced, Miles Richardson — who led the resistance during the blockade — uttered once again the words heard on newscasts across Canada: “We are here to uphold the decision of people of the Haida Nation. There will be no logging in Gwaii Haanas anymore.” The deafening applause was that of a nation whose history now lies newly ahead.
The Washington state organization that was founded in 2012 to assist in protecting the rights of imprisoned American Indians in the state has appointed a new member to the Board of Advisors.
Huy announced that effective January 1, Minty LongEarth (Santee/Creek/Choctaw) would be assisting the nationally recognized, 501(c)(3) non-profit organization in it’s efforts to give American Indians who are down a second chance.
From 2011 to 2013, Minty was the Program Manager for the United Indians of All Tribes Foundation DOC Native Religious Services Program. She later became United Indians’ Interim Executive Director.
“Minty’s commitment to the free exercise of tribal religion by Native Americans who are down, is unmatched,” said Huy Board Chairman Gabe Galanda. “We are thrilled by her addition to the Huy Board and hope she will help us attract more tribal volunteers and other supporters to our cause.”
As Minty told Indian Country Today Media Network in 2012: “The need for tribal volunteers and support is paramount in the development of a comprehensive service model to combat recidivism. The key to lowering the number of incarcerated Indians is first understanding that we are no different than our relatives in the iron houses, in terms of needing recovery, forgiveness and repair. Then we must act on that understanding.”
Huy (pronounced “hoyt”) is a term in the traditional Coast Salish language known as Lushootseed that means: “See you again/we never say goodbye.” The organization seeks to enhance religious, cultural, and other rehabilitative opportunities for imprisoned American Indians, Alaska Natives and Native Hawaiians.
Since 2010, Huy has participated as friend of the court before the Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals and U.S. District Court of Hawaii, and in administrative rulemakings in California and Washington State, in matters involving the religious rights and civil liberties of American indigenous prisoners. Huy has also entered into a Memorandum of Understanding with the Washington State DOC, under which it has facilitated the gifting of nearly copy00,000 for indigenous prisoner religious activities.
Tulalip Casino & Resort Salmon On a Stick is a traditional preparation method for slow-roasting salmon on iron wood sticks over wood coals. The method is at least several centuries old and is part of a rich tribal heritage for the Pacific Northwest’s Coast Salish peoples.
Long before the “100-mile diet” became the trendy new way to eat, Native American people of the Pacific Northwest were immersed in this way of eating. And little wonder, for they lived in an environment that was astonishingly bountiful. Forests overflowed with deer, elk, berries, flowers, seeds and greens. Seas and rivers teemed with salmon, prawn, crab and other nourishing plant and animal life. Shorelines were rich with clams, oysters and seaweed.
Salmon n’ Bannock Sous Chef Kyle. The fine-dining restaurant serves wild fish; free range, grass fed and/or organic meat; bannock made fresh daily, and other culinary deights inspired by a variety of First Nations traditons. (Hans Tammemagi)
Food was central to traditional life and was especially enjoyed at feasts and potlatches, where platters boasted salmon, oolichan (a small, oily member of the smelt family), venison, bannock, wild berry jams and much more. For Native people, food is what connected them to family, community and even the afterlife.
Then came the white man, and everything changed. In today’s era, food, generally processed, is purchased at supermarkets or fast-food outlets. Nutrition is too often replaced by sugar, salt and glitzy packaging. And, as is well documented, the health of Native peoples has slowly spiralled downward.
But there is good news: traditional foods are making a comeback. Even better, the old dishes are being infused with modern culinary innovations to make tasty, attractive, and of course, healthy cuisine.
I was in the Salmon n’ Bannock Bistro in Vancouver, British Columbia with a Haida canoe suspended from the ceiling and Native art adorning the deep red walls. The server placed an attractive appetizer platter from the ‘Land and Sea Feast’ menu on the table. I popped a spicy game chorizo sausage into my mouth … wonderful! Then I savored Indian candy — smoked salmon covered with a maple syrup glaze. I spread barbequed salmon mousse on bannock and ladled blueberry chutney onto a piece of bison carpaccio.
Inez Cook, Nuxalk Nation, the co-owner and manager of Salmon n’ Bannock in Vancouver (Hans Tammemagi)
With my mouth full, it was hard to speak, so I listened to Inez Cook, Nuxalk Nation, the co-owner and manager of this fine-dining restaurant, which is winning accolades on the hotly competitive Vancouver cuisine scene. “My bistro is unique. It’s the only restaurant in Vancouver that offers 100 percent First Nations’ food, and it’s staffed entirely by Native people,” she said. “I’m very proud of First Nations’ food,” she continued. “It’s great. I want to shout out: ‘Try it! Eat it!’” I acquiesced and speared a piece of musk ox prosciutto. Delightful!
The bistro opened in 2010 and has slowly gained a following. “None of our food contains preservatives or additives,” Cook said. “Nothing is raised in factory farms or is genetically modified. We source all fresh and wild foods so it’s very healthy.”
“The most popular dishes are salmon, barbequed or smoked, and deer shank with red wine gravy,” Cook said. These are paired with wines from Nk’Mip Cellars, a Native-owned and -operated winery in the Okanagan Valley, central British Columbia.”
When I remarked that the menu featured mostly fish and meat, Cook answered with a laugh, “Yes, Natives think that vegetarians are just lousy hunters.”
The “Bounty Bowl” at The Blackfish Salmon Grill (Tulalip Casino & Resort)
At present, unfortunately, eating establishments offering traditional Native food are rare. The Blackfish Salmon Grill at Tulalip Casino & Resort, north of Seattle, Washington, is one of the exceptions. “We are not a strictly Native cuisine restaurant,” explained Chef David Buchanan, “but rather, our style is innovative Pacific Northwest influenced by traditional tribal culture and cuisine.”
Wild salmon cooked on Tulalip hand-carved, ironwood sticks over an alderwood fire is very popular. Other menu items include an appetizer of clam fritters (from a Tulalip tribal elder recipe), local root vegetables, corn cakes and fresh berry soufflé. Typical ingredients include local clams, Alaskan prawns, many varieties of oysters, Alaskan halibut, wild Steelhead, blueberries, blackberries, hazelnuts, wild chanterelle and morel mushrooms.
“We strive to put a little twist on every dish, to make it our own. For instance, our crab cakes have roasted fresh sweet corn and apple-smoked bacon in them and are served with three sauces and an apple-watercress salad,” Buchanan explained.
The Blackfish Salmon Grill is like a Longhouse with large beams accenting the ceiling and a long, beautiful natural wood community table in the center of the room. The focal piece is an open fire pit on which on which the Salmon on a Stick is prepared.
Buchanan said “I am especially intrigued by how in Native culture the entire process of a meal is so holistic. Thanks is given for the return of the salmon each year and for the sustenance it gives. Thanks and a prayer are also given for the wood when it is harvested to carve the Ironwood sticks used for roasting the salmon. Those who prepare the meal should do so with good intent in their hearts. The meal is a time for sharing with friends and family, and being thankful for those who helped catch and prepare the food.”
But those living in the Seattle area don’t need to go to a fancy restaurant to enjoy Native food. Instead, they can use Facebook to track down the current location of Off the Rez, the first Native American food truck in the country. Pale blue in color, the truck serves up a variety of Native fry breads of which the three-taco combo with pork, beef and chicken fillings is reputed to be outstanding.
The ‘Land and Sea Feast’ platter at Salmon n’ Bannock in Vancouver (Hans Tammemagi)
There are two smaller but notable Native eateries. The Riverwalk Café at the Quw’utsun Cultural Centre in Duncan, BC, on Vancouver Island. Situated on the banks of the Cowichan River, a heritage river with three salmon runs each year, the Café features such delicacies as smoked and candied salmon, clams and octopus. The Riverwalk Café is open only for lunch from June to September.
The Thunderbird Café is part of the Squamish Lilwat Cultural Centre in Whistler, BC. It is open year-round but only to 5 p.m. Its Indian Taco with venison chilli and bannock is reputed to be truly man-size. Other favorites are salmon chowder and smokies made of wild boar and bison. They also make a venison pemmican with local berries and nuts.
While waiting for more restaurants to offer traditional Native cuisine, you may decide to cook at home with friends. Thanks to Dolly and Annie Watts, a mother and daughter team, you can do just that, guided by their book, Where People Feast – An Indigenous People’s Cookbook. The cookbook, one of the few that focuses on west coast Native cuisine, appeared in 2007 and was an instant hit, winning rave reviews and the Gourmand Award for best local cuisine book in Canada. Where People Feast is crammed with easy-to-follow traditional and modern aboriginal recipes, from hot buttered halibut to juniper berry sauce to bannock and also includes methods for smoking and drying wild game, preparing seafood and preserving berries.
A champion of traditional Native food is Chef Ben Genaille, a Cree, who moved from Manitoba to the west coast about 20 years ago where he has worked at several top restaurants. He’s passionate about Native dishes, preparing them using contemporary methods and presenting them with modern flair. He established an Aboriginal Culinary Program at Thompson River University, Kamloops, British Columbia, the only one in North America.
The Aboriginal Culinary Arts Certificate Program integrates an understanding and appreciation of the important value food plays in Aboriginal culture. (Thompson Rivers University)
In 2012, Genaille led a team of five young west-coast Native chefs to the World Culinary Olympics in Germany. “I’m very proud of them. They worked hard and trained for five years for the competition,” he said. “We focussed on Pacific Northwest ingredients and showed the world that First Nations cuisine is at the cutting edge of local food.” Dishes that caught the judges’ eyes included oolichan oil in dessert, herring eggs in soup and a platter with five types of salmon, each prepared a different way.
Chef Genaille is an unabashed supporter of Native cuisine. “It all hinges on getting talented young chefs,” he stresses. “We must strive to give them pride and passion. And that’s happening. As these young chefs develop, traditional Native food will grow in popularity.”
Where People Feast – An Indigenous Peoples’ Cookbook
The cover of the book Where People Feast (Arsenal Pulp Press)
Preheat oven to 350°F (180° C). Crush the berries, garlic, cayenne pepper, cumin seeds, and onion flakes in a mortar. Rub the crushed spices onto the roast and then pan-sear the roast in a hot frying pan with the oil to lock in the juices. Put roast in a roasting pan and add the boiling water, then roast for 1 hour, basting at least 4 times. Makes 3 servings.
EDMONTON – Aboriginal Elders hold prominent, vital and respected roles in their communities — positions that are bestowed on a select few.
This is why a local Elder is concerned with an apparent trend he has seen taking shape in Edmonton.
Jerry Wood, an Elder in Residence, educator and cultural facilitator at Grant McEwan University, says he is commonly encountering people of non-Aboriginal descent passing themselves off as Elders.
“This confuses people,” said the 72-year-old Cree First Nations Elder, who also sits on the Council of Elders with the Edmonton Catholic School District.
“Native people don’t want to see others play around with their culture, it’s very spiritual, something they hold sacred.”
Wood described two recent occasions where people self-proclaimed themselves as Elders. He calls these people “plastic” or “popcorn” Elders.
“I saw this happen in a women’s jail,” he said. “A woman self-proclaimed that she was an Elder and told the ladies everything they wanted to hear.”
People passing themselves off as Elders do not realize the harm it creates in their communities, Wood says.
“The young ones who are vulnerable and unknowing believe in the myth of who these people are,” he said.
Wood believes that Elders should only be Métis, Inuit or First Nation.
“It’s a way of life. I can’t be a priest, I haven’t been given that right,” he said.
Elders in Aboriginal societies are role models and share wise counsel. They provide advice and guidance about harmony and balance in a community. They are also considered the educators of heritage and language. Much like the differences in a doctor’s specialty, some Elders are teachers and some mentor youth or the community at large.
Others are Christian Elders, ceremonial Elders or they can take on the responsibilities while being a medicine man or woman.
But all Elders must be recognized by the community, Wood says.
“You just can’t be an Elder— it’s a process of becoming an Elder,” he said. “There is a process of learning, participation, ceremonies, such as sun dancing and fasting.”
Generally, Elders are older people in the community but sometimes youth can be “gifted” from the spirit world, Wood explains. Before being recognized as an Elder many people often act as “helpers” in the community.
Helpers, Wood says, are respected people who mentor under an Elder. All must also be alcohol and drug free.
But at the crux of the issue is that there is no Elder certification that proves people were “recognized by the community. You just can’t call yourself an Elder when you haven’t been given that right by the community,” he said.
“Even some Aboriginal people have not earned the title,” Wood said. “But there is a process… when people start calling you an Elder, seek your mentorship and you start sharing your knowledge in the community and you take on those responsibilities of Eldership, that is when you’re an Elder. You just can’t call yourself an Elder when you haven’t been given that right by the community.”
Carter Camp, who helped organize the 1973 uprising at Wounded Knee in South Dakota, has died at the age of 72.
The Associated Press reports Camp succumbed to cancer on Dec. 27 in White Eagle, Okla.
Camp, a member of the Ponca Tribe of Oklahoma, was a longtime member of the American Indian Movement, organizing more than 30 chapters in his home state of Oklahoma, (his sister Casey) Camp-Horinek said. The American Indian Movement was founded in the late 1960s to protest the U.S. government’s treatment of Native Americans and demand that the government honor its treaties with Indian tribes.
He had a leading role in the Trail of Broken Treaties in 1972, in which a caravan of Native American activists drove across the country to Washington, D.C., to protest treaties between tribes and the federal government. They took over the Bureau of Indian Affairs for several days.
Although several people in leadership roles went on trial for events that took place at Wounded Knee, the AP reported that Camp was the only one to ever serve time. He spent two years in prison.
“He was the only person in (a) leadership position in Wounded Knee who never left Wounded Knee, not to go out and do press junkets, not to go and sit in a hotel for a while. None of that. He was a war leader there. He stayed inside with his warriors,” Camp-Horinek said of her brother.
Most recently, Camp fought the Keystone XL pipeline.
At the beginning of every year, we read the tea leaves to see what new food trends we’ll be tasting in the coming months. This year, the tea itself is the trend.
Tea leaves will be big in entrees, desserts and, of course, cocktails. Starbucks has opened its first tea shop.
We won’t be just drinking tea; Artisan distilling keeps on growing. This could be the year of gin, made with local botanicals as well as the traditional juniper berry.
New — but still ancient — grains will join the now-common spelt and quinoa. Teff and freekeh may be as familiar to us by the end of next year.
Nuts aren’t new either, but a Harvard study shows that nut eaters live longer and lose weight. Tada: next year’s favorite snack food.
Another study finds we threw out 40 percent of our food last year. Now grocery auctions offer unsold food, and even the former president of Trader Joe’s will open a market selling perfectly good food that’s just past its sell-by date.
Vegetarianism is no longer just for vegetarians. While most Americans still eat meat, 47 percent of the country eats at least one vegetarian meal a week.
Cauliflower, by the way, is the new Brussels sprout.
Eating local is going into overdrive. Restaurants and markets have planted gardens and built farms — on the ground and on the roof.
And if you can’t grow it, you can buy it from professional foragers, who will bring chickweed and chanterelles to chefs and consumers.
Small-scale meat producers will be available as we continue to fret about industrial farming. Expect more goat, rabbit and pigeon — or squab, if that makes you feel better.
The meats may be flavored with za’atar or sumac, which should easier to find as we dig deeper into the foods of the Mideast.
From the Middle East we go to the Middle West for simple, hearty cooking. The Food Network names the Midwestern food movement as the No. 1 trend for 2014. You betcha.
Dessert? Ice cream sandwiches. Probably made with tea leaves.
Bonny Wolf is managing editor of americanfoodroots.com and editor of NPR’s Kitchen Window.
