Growing up on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation in the 1970s, I ran wild with my cousins through my grandparents’ cattle ranch, over the hot, sandy South Dakota land of burrs and paddle cactus, hiding in the sparse grasses and rolling hills. We raced over the open plains, and through shelter belts of tall elm trees, the air full of dust and sagebrush. Our dogs chased prairie dogs, pheasants, grouse and antelope, and alerted us to rattlesnakes and jack rabbits.
In late summer, we’d harvest chokecherries and timpsula, a wild prairie turnip, and pick juniper berries off the prickly trees. We camped in the Badlands, sleeping under the stars, and gathered in our family’s rustic log cabin deep in the Black Hills.
Back then, there were no restaurants on Pine Ridge, just one grocery store and a couple of gas stations dotting the immense reservation. Our kitchen cupboards were stocked with government commodity food staples — canned fruit, canned meat, powdered milk, bricks of yellow government-issued cheese, and dry cereals and oats packaged in white cardboard boxes with black block lettering.
Luckily, we also had the birds we hunted, beef from the ranch and eggs from the chickens my grandmother raised. As members of the Oglala Lakota Oyate, part of the Great Sioux Nation, we took part in many celebrations and gatherings like powwows, sun dances, birthdays, weddings, naming ceremonies and cattle brandings, and our moms, aunts and female cousins cooked up contemporary and traditional dishes, like taniga, the Lakota intestine soup with timpsula. The sweet aroma of simmering wojape, the Lakota chokecherry dish, time-warps me back to my 6-year-old self.
Sean Sherman founded The Sioux Chef, a company devoted to Indigenous foods and cooks. His group aims to bring authentic foods, free of colonial ingredients, to today’s diners, tribal and otherwise.
(Marcus Nilsson / The New York Times)
I often think of my great-grandfather, who was born in the late 1850s and grew up like any other Lakota boy, riding horses bareback to hunt with a bow and arrow. At the age of 18, he witnessed the Lakota and Cheyenne victory against the U.S. government at the Battle of the Little Bighorn; he also encountered the aftermath of the Wounded Knee massacre, where hundreds of Lakota men, women and children were viciously slaughtered.
Later, his children were forced into boarding schools, forbidden to speak their native language, required to learn English and to become Christians. Through the 20th century, these harsh efforts at assimilation began to erase thousands of generations of Indigenous traditions, wisdom and ceremonies.
As soon as I was 13 and legally eligible to work, I got my first job, at a steakhouse in Spearfish, S.D. I knew a little about cooking: As the oldest child of a busy working mom, I was often the one who got dinner on the table for my sister and me. I swept floors, bused tables, washed dishes, prepped food and eventually became a line cook. In college, I picked up work with the U.S. Forest Service as a field surveyor, identifying plants and trees in the northern Black Hills, and learning their medicinal and culinary properties.
Through my career as a professional chef, opening restaurants and cafes in Minneapolis, I gained experience cooking Italian, Spanish and other European cuisines. But it wasn’t until I spent time in Mexico, observing how closely Indigenous people live to their culinary traditions, that I realized I had very little idea of what my own ancestors ate before colonization.
So I began to research the history of our land before the Europeans arrived. How did my Indigenous ancestors grow, hunt, fish and then preserve and store their food? Who did they trade with, and where did they obtain their salts, fats and sugars? I met with community elders and connected with native chefs, historians and academics, such as ethnobotanist Nancy J. Turner, and Lakota author Joseph Marshall III, while also discovering rare historical accounts like “Buffalo Bird Woman’s Garden,” the memories of a 19th-century Hidatsa farmer who lived in what is now North Dakota.
In piecing together so much of the story that has been lost, I learned that the original North American food system was based on harvesting wild plants for food and medicine, employing sophisticated agricultural practices, and on preserving seed diversity. My ancestors used all parts of the animals and plants with respect, viewing themselves as part of our environment, not above it. Nothing was wasted.
There are 574 federally recognized tribes in the United States alone, and 634 First Nations — aboriginal groups — in Canada. About 1 in 5 Mexicans identifies as a member of an Indigenous group, according to recent figures from the Mexican government.
In 2014, I started a business, The Sioux Chef, with a focus on identifying, sharing and educating people on the authentic Indigenous foods of North America, from Mexico to Alaska, with dishes free of the colonial ingredients Europeans introduced: wheat flour, dairy, cane sugar and even beef, pork and chicken.
Our team connected with Indigenous chefs, farmers, seed keepers, academics and leaders to create menus for feasts that we served in tribal communities. We worked with Indigenous chefs on the West Coast who use wild manzanita berries and acorn to add tang and substance to berry compotes and puddings. We obtained seaweed from Maine to season Atlantic oysters, and white cedar in Duluth, Minn., for a venison roast. Elders tell us they haven’t tasted these flavors since childhood.
Make no mistake: This is not survival fare. These are bright, bold, contemporary flavors for today’s palate.
I am not interested in recreating foods from 1491 — rather, I hope to celebrate the diversity that defines our communities now. And so these recipes offer a glimpse into the range of dishes Indigenous chefs and cooks are making today, and highlight ingredients from the regions they reflect.
Through this work, I have become increasingly aware of how much food and history surrounding us goes unnoticed. The greens typically called weeds that get ripped out of backyards make a delicious salad and can be a bold garnish — think of purslane, or wood sorrel. A sprig or two of cedar adds zing and aroma to braised meat and game, as in the bison pot roast with hominy, flavors from the Dakota plains.
The true foods of North America may not be available at every grocery store or even online, and they are not coming from industrial farms: They are seasonal and vary from region to region. To experience true Indigenous foods is to explore the many different ecosystems of plants and animals wherever you are. In many of these recipes, I offer substitutions, but hope readers will want to experiment with true regional ingredients, sustainably harvested.
My team and I are working tirelessly toward the day we will be able to drive across this continent in any direction, stopping at Indigenous restaurants and experiencing all the richness of the varied original American cultures.
Resources
Tepary beans and some other ingredients may not be commonly found in local grocery stores. Check these online sources.
Ramona Farms: Located in Sacaton, Ariz.; https://ramonafarms.com
Native Seeds Search: www.nativeseeds.org
Roast turkey with berry-mint sauce and black walnuts.
(Marcus Nilsson / The New York Times)
Roast Turkey With Berry-Mint Sauce and Black Walnuts
The flavor of heritage turkey breeds is richer and more pronounced than that of commercial turkeys sold at supermarkets nationwide. Put plainly, these breeds taste more like turkey. Heritage birds are raised outside, pecking at a varied diet. They tend to have meatier thighs and smaller breasts, and a higher ratio of dark meat to white meat. The Onondaga tribe, among others from the Northeastern United States, would have been able to serve them with forest berries, perking up the rich, dark meat with color and flavor. Sparked with mint, this berry sauce is bright and fruity, with just enough acid to complement the richness of the turkey.
Makes 8 to 10 servings
1 (10- to 12-pound) turkey, preferably a heritage breed
Coarse sea salt
1 bunch fresh sage
3 cups wild rice cooking liquid or turkey stock, plus more as needed
6 medium leeks, white and pale green portions only, halved lengthwise, cut into 2-inch pieces and rinsed clean
2 tablespoons sunflower oil
½ cup maple syrup, plus more as needed
3 cups fresh raspberries or blackberries
3 cups fresh or frozen cranberries
2 tablespoons chopped fresh mint, plus more as needed
½ cup black walnuts (see note), lightly toasted and chopped
Pea shoots or microgreens, for garnish
(Marcus Nilsson / The New York Times)
Remove giblets from the turkey cavity and discard or reserve for another use. Pat the turkey dry using paper towels. Rub the turkey all over with ½ teaspoon salt per pound of turkey. Tuck the sage sprigs inside the turkey cavity.
Set the turkey on a baking sheet, breast-side up. Place in the refrigerator, uncovered, for at least 4 hours and up to 6 hours to dry out the skin (this will help it crisp when it roasts).
When you are ready to cook the turkey, remove it from the refrigerator and allow it to come to room temperature, 1½ to 2 hours.
Heat the oven to 450 degrees. Pour the rice cooking liquid or stock into a large roasting pan and add the leeks. Place a roasting rack on top, then transfer the turkey to the roasting rack, breast-side up, and tuck the wings underneath. Brush the exposed turkey generously with the oil. Transfer to the oven and roast, 30 minutes. Baste the turkey with the pan juices, adding rice cooking liquid or stock as needed to make sure there is a ½-inch layer of liquid at the bottom of the pan.
Reduce the oven temperature to 350 degrees and continue roasting, basting every 30 minutes, until an instant-read thermometer inserted into the thickest part of a thigh reaches 165 degrees, 1 to 1½ hours. If the skin begins to darken too much, tent the turkey loosely with aluminum foil. Brush ¼ cup maple syrup over the turkey. Transfer turkey to a cutting board to rest for 30 minutes before carving.
Transfer ¾ cup of the turkey pan juices to a heavy-bottomed saucepan. Add the raspberries or blackberries, cranberries and the mint to the saucepan, stir with a wooden spoon to combine, and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to medium and cook, stirring occasionally, until the cranberries have popped open, the raspberries have fallen apart and the liquid is thick enough to coat the back of a spoon, 10 to 12 minutes. Stir in the remaining 1/4 cup maple syrup, then add maple syrup and mint according to taste.
Carve the turkey. Smear some berry sauce on each plate. Top with the leeks then the turkey. Garnish with walnuts and pea shoots or microgreens, and pass more berry sauce alongside.
Note: Black walnuts are smaller and more flavorful than most commercial varieties and are worth seeking out (they are available online). They’re very perishable, so are best stored in the refrigerator or freezer.
(Marcus Nilsson / The New York Times)
Tepary Beans With Chile-Agave Glaze
The small tepary beans that grow in the harsh, dry American Southwest are an heirloom variety that has been cultivated and harvested wild by countless generations of native people in the region. The Diné (more commonly known as the Navajo) seed savers even protected them during the Long Walk of 1864, a brutal forced march to eastern New Mexico, hiding the beans in their clothing. This is an amazing bean that can withstand and even prosper in the most extreme heat and drought. The white variety I use here is slightly sweet and nutty, while the brown variety has an earthier flavor.
Makes 4 entree servings or 8 side servings
1 cup dried white tepary beans (see Note)
1 cup dried brown tepary beans (see Note)
1 tablespoon sunflower oil
½ small yellow onion, thinly sliced
3 tablespoons light agave nectar
1 tablespoon New Mexico Hatch chile powder or chipotle powder, plus more for garnish
Sea salt
2 teaspoons whole fresh oregano leaves
Place the white and brown tepary beans in a large bowl. Add enough water to cover by 4 inches and let soak overnight at room temperature.
Drain the soaked beans, discarding the liquid, and transfer the beans to a large pot with a tight-fitting lid. Add enough cool water to cover the beans by about 4 inches. Bring to a boil over high heat, then lower the heat, cover and simmer gently, stirring occasionally, until the beans are tender, about 1½ to 2 hours. Reserve 1 cup of the bean cooking liquid, then drain the beans.
In a large, deep skillet, heat the oil over medium. Add the onion and saute until translucent, about 3 minutes. Add the cooked beans and the reserved bean cooking liquid, the agave and the chile powder. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the liquid has reduced to a glaze, about 10 minutes. Season with salt to taste. Divide among bowls, sprinkle with additional chile powder and top with oregano.
Note: Tepary beans are available online from Ramona Farms (https://ramonafarms.com, located in Sacaton, Ariz.) and Native Seeds Search (www.nativeseeds.org). You may substitute any dried bean of choice for the tepary beans, adjusting the cooking time as needed, but please avoid using canned beans, which lack texture, bite and flavor.
Sean Sherman, the founder of The Sioux Chef, a company devoted to Indigenous foods, created recipes to showcase tribal diversity across the lower 48 states.
(Marcus Nilsson / The New York Times)
Chia Pudding With Berries and Popped Amaranth
Based on flavors from the Ohlone tribe, this simple pudding doubles as both breakfast and dessert, and gets its silky texture from chia seeds. Though optional, the wild manzanita berries that grow abundantly throughout California make a wonderful addition to this dish. When the berries are ripe, they turn a burned-red hue and become slightly sticky. The flavor is often likened to sour apple, which adds a nice tang when crushed with milder mixed berries, though any combination of mixed berries lends plenty of acidity. Toasted amaranth seeds gives it all a nutty crunch.
Makes 4 servings
1½ cups unsweetened almond milk, plus more if needed
½ cup chia seeds
1/4 cup light agave nectar
Pinch of fine sea salt
¼ cup amaranth
1 to 2 cups fresh mixed berries (any combination of blackberries, blueberries and raspberries)
¼ cup crushed manzanita berries (optional)
Small fresh mint sprigs, for garnish
In a lidded quart container, vigorously whisk together the 1½ cups almond milk, chia seeds, agave and salt. (This ensures the chia seeds are evenly hydrated.) Let the mixture soak in the refrigerator at least 1 hour and up to overnight, so it develops a rich, creamy texture that is similar to that of rice pudding. If the mixture becomes too thick, whisk in more almond milk.
While the pudding soaks, heat a small skillet over medium-high. Add the amaranth and cook, shaking the skillet, until the amaranth begins to smell toasty and about half the seeds have popped, 1 to 2 minutes. Transfer the amaranth to a plate to cool to room temperature. (Popped amaranth can be prepared up to 3 days ahead and stored in a lidded container in a cool, dark place.)
To serve, whisk the pudding to incorporate any liquid on top and break up the chia seeds, then spoon pudding into bowls. Top with the berries, popped amaranth and mint sprigs.
Recipes by Sean Sherman. Beth Dooley assisted in developing the recipes for this feature.
Sherman is a chef, educator, author and activist who is a member of the Oglala Lakota Sioux tribe. This article appeared in The New York Times.
