Fire in the contemporary cuisines of Indigenous peoples in Canada

Abstract

Spiritual dish, medicine wheel flatbread, flamed game and smoked fish are all examples of the intersection of Indigenous food and spirituality. This article explores this intersection by examining the conceptualization of fire in Indigenous cultures in Canada, particularly in Quebec, through an analysis of cuisines. How do contemporary Indigenous cuisines in Canada express their relationship to fire? What is the significance of fire in Indigenous cuisines? What is the symbolic value of smoke, both as a smell and a taste, in Indigenous foods? The analysis is based on two studies: one conducted with a First Nations community in Quebec and another focused on Indigenous restaurants in Canada. The discussion suggests that fire has a relational potential and helps to signify, through cuisine, the connection between Indigenous peoples and the land.

Smoke is used in different ways by all three Indigenous groups in Canada. Whether it is to smoke fish and meat, to burn sage and tobacco or for sacred ceremonies or celebrations, it is a significant symbol in Indigenous culture. (Government of Canada, n.d.)

This quote is included in the description of the visual created by the Government of Canada for National Indigenous History Month. This note explains the significance of the smoke depicted in the design, which also features the four elements: water, fire, air and earth. These elements are central to various Indigenous teachings, particularly the medicine wheel. The meanings and knowledge associated with the medicine wheel vary. It often represents four colours (black, white, red and yellow), four directions (north, south, east and west) or four dimensions of life (spiritual, physical, emotional and intellectual). However, it is important to note that each Indigenous nation and individual may have their own interpretation (Mashford-Pringle and Shawanda 2023). Salmon n’ Bannock, an Indigenous bistro based in Vancouver, offered a ‘medicine wheel flatbread’ on its menu in the summer of 2018. It included four toppings, which represented the four colours mentioned above: roasted peppers (red), sautéed mushrooms (white), spaghetti squash (yellow) and parsnips with sunflower herb pesto (black). ¹ Thus, an Indigenous restaurant can choose to represent a spiritual symbol, such as the medicine wheel, in a dish. Is this trivial? Or is it representative of a specific characteristic of Indigenous foods?

This article explores the intersection of food and spirituality, and, more broadly, food and ontology. This may seem unusual in today’s world, which is characterized by a certain secularization and medicalization of food. In 1984, the anthropologist Mary Douglas highlighted this disconnection:

The actual current meaningfulness of food is being overlooked by professional food theorists because their thought is doubly restricted, partly by antique metaphysical assumptions about the separation of spirit and flesh and partly by an intellectual tradition which has desocialized the individual. (Douglas, 1984: 5)

In an attempt to challenge this observation, my intention is to address the cultural, social and spiritual dimensions of food. To do so, I want to look at the connections between fire (including its associated smoke) and Indigenous foods. The term ‘fire’ specifically refers to outdoor fires, excluding cooking on stoves (electric, gas) or wood stoves in homes or camps. Studies of fire and its uses among Indigenous peoples in Canada, particularly those living in a boreal forest environment, often focus on issues related to the management of the environment, territory and resources (notably food), or on traditional ecological knowledge (for example, Berkes and Davidson-Hunt, 2006; Cardinal Christianson et al., 2022; Hoffman et al., 2022; Lewis, 1978, 1982; Lewis and Ferguson, 1988; Oberndorfer, 2020; Turner, 1999). Others focus on specific spiritual practices and ceremonies that use fire (for example, Legat, 2012). These often involve food in one way or another (for example, Walsh, 2016). Many scholars have explored the relationship between fire and Indigenous peoples, including Jourdy (2016) among the Mi’kmaq and Miller and Davidson-Hunt (2010) among the Anishinaabe (Ojibwa, Ontario). One constant that emerges from some of these studies is that many Indigenous peoples grant fire an agency – a capacity to act – which makes it an other-than-human (or non-human) person. ² How does this ontological specificity translate into the realm of food and cuisines?

To analyse the conceptualization of fire in Indigenous cultures in Canada, particularly in Quebec, from a contemporary perspective, this article examines their cuisines. Yvonne Verdier (1969: 51) defines cuisine as ‘the sum of the treatments’ applied to food to make it edible, ‘as well as the sequence of behaviors involved in the preparation and consumption of food’ (my translation). According to Francis Dupuy (1996: 45), cuisine is the ‘concerted expression of the value registers, symbolic systems, codes and cultural models of societies’ (my translation). How do contemporary Indigenous cuisines in Canada express their relationship to fire? What is the significance of fire in their cuisine? What is the symbolic value of smoke, both as a smell and a taste, in Indigenous foods? I aim to comprehend the meanings and functions assigned to fire in Indigenous cuisines.

To accomplish this, I rely on a food ethnography of fire among Indigenous peoples in Canada. Specifically, I use the example of the Anicinabek of the Lac Simon community in Quebec and, more broadly, First Nations in Canada. This approach is inspired by the work of Virginie Vaté and Sylvie Beyries (2007) on fire among reindeer herders in north-eastern Siberia. However, my focus is limited to the food domain. In the first part, I explore the uses of fire and show how fire is involved in the establishment of different relationships. Then, in the second part, I examine the place of fire in Indigenous cuisines. The analysis illustrates that when fire is involved in the preparation stage, the resulting food or meals are valued more highly. I hypothesize that this can be explained by the fact that fire carries relational potential and helps to signify the connection between Indigenous peoples and the territory (or land – both are used synonymously here), as well as all the associated human and other-than-human entities. Before proceeding with the discussion, I present the contexts of the investigation and methods used to collect data.

Correspondence between family meals and gastronomy

This analysis is based on two studies. One was conducted with a First Nations community in Quebec, while the other focuses on Indigenous restaurants in Canada. The first dealt with everyday, ceremonial, family and community cooking. This was done through an exploratory ethnography of food that I conducted as part of my doctoral dissertation in anthropology at the University of Montreal. I then conducted fieldwork, participating in the daily lives of families in the Anicinabe community of Lac Simon (Abitibi, Quebec) for 14 months in 2017 and 2018. ³ During this time, I lived in the community for a few months and participated in several stays on the land with families or on the occasion of community meetings. This study examined the transformations of Anicinabe food culture using a relational approach and included a participatory component embodied in a community book. ⁴ In addition to exploring Anicinabek cuisine, I had the opportunity to learn about other aspects of their daily life and culture. I was fortunate enough to be invited to participate in several spiritual ceremonies and observe a variety of daily activities. The research data was primarily obtained through observations, experiences, informal discussions and interviews (21 interviews were conducted with men and women aged between 31 and 72). To conduct this research, I obtained local approval from the band council and ethical certification from my university, in addition to the participants’ individual consent to be interviewed.

The second research project focuses on gourmet food – specifically, chef-driven cuisine – in an urban environment. As part of my postdoctoral research project, I am analysing the visibility strategies of Indigenous restaurants in Canada, with a specific focus on the Quebec context and its distinctive features. I visited 13 of them in the summer of 2018 and another four in 2022–2023. I made observations on-site, as a customer, and online, through the their social networks (Facebook and Instagram) and own websites. I looked at speeches by chefs or restaurant owners that were reported in the written media. I analysed the menus, decor and ambiance of these restaurants, which were located in six Canadian provinces (Quebec, Ontario, Manitoba, Alberta, Saskatchewan and British Columbia). ⁵ All of the data related to this corpus is publicly available. However, I have obtained an ethical certificate for the second phase of the research, which requires individuals to participate in interviews.

By comparing both sets of data, similarities were found between the valuations and interpretations of the role of fire and its importance in Indigenous food cultures. Generalizing the analysis to all Indigenous peoples in Canada would be risky and reductive. It is impossible to cover all the cultural peculiarities of each group in one article. While avoiding overgeneralization, I aim to highlight the universality of the conceptualization of fire across various Indigenous nations and contexts of community and urban living. Nevertheless, I think that it is important to emphasize again that there is considerable cultural diversity among Indigenous peoples, their cultures and their food cultures (Settee and Shukla, 2020). Therefore, I would be cautious about claiming that this analysis applies to all Indigenous peoples in Canada, or even Quebec. To be more precise, I would say that the analysis pertains to the First Nations, one of the three groups of peoples recognized as Indigenous by the Canadian authorities, although I do cite some studies conducted with the Inuit. The Anicinabe community of Lac Simon, as well as the nations and communities associated with the restaurants visited, are First Nations. However, many of the restaurants use the term ‘Indigenous’ (or ‘Indigenous-inspired’ or ‘Indigenous fusion’) to describe their restaurant and cuisine.

Uses, functions and relations of fire

Without suggesting an exhaustive review of all the uses and functions of fire, here I present some of them, focusing on those related to food. Fire (prescribed and controlled burning) was used by many Indigenous peoples in Canada to stimulate the production of berry bushes and manage hunting resources (Cardinal Christianson et al., 2022; Oberndorfer, 2020; Roy Denis, 2015), which were important sources of food and medicine. During the summer of 2023, there were major forest fires in the Abitibi region of Quebec, resulting in the evacuation of the community of Lac Simon for several days. The smoke in the air posed a serious health risk to the residents (Radio-Canada, 2023). During a discussion that followed the event, an elder mentioned that the future blueberry-picking season would likely be fruitful. This demonstrates that knowledge of the role of fire in the regeneration of nature and its food is still present. While fire has practical uses, it also possesses other qualities.

Indeed, for many Indigenous peoples living in Canada’s boreal environment, fire is not just a tool. In fact, fire is seen as endowed with agency and part of a set of elements that interact in a network of relationships between humans and non-humans (Cardinal Christianson et al., 2022). For example, Heidi Kiiwetinepinesiik Stark (2012: 120) argues that the importance of fire in ceremonies illustrates the fact that fire is central to the Anishinaabeg world view. ⁶ According to Stark, they often describe fire as the heart of the earth and people. The Anishinaabe word for ‘fire’, ishkode, contains the morpheme ode, meaning ‘heart’. Stark (2012) says that fire serves the Anishinaabeg as a conduit to the spirit world, especially through smoke, and has the power to carry prayers and offerings there. The connection between the words ‘fire’ and ‘heart’ is also present in the Lac Simon version of Anicinamebowin. According to Jean André Cuoq’s (1886: 312, 116) lexicon, ‘heart’ is referred to as oteh and ‘fire’ as ickote. Marlène Jerome, an Anicinabekwe member of the Lac Simon community, explained the meaning of ickote to a journalist as follows:

An elder told me that in our language, the sacred fire is ickode. Icko is the woman, and Ode is the heart, so it is the heart of the woman. In our teachings, woman is the one who received the first gift from the Creator: to bear life. This flame [of life] is represented in the sacred fire. (Josselin, 2023)

Thus, power is associated with fire, its vital force and the potential for connection that fire carries.

Smoke, whether from a fire, a sacred pipe or a burned plant such as sweetgrass or sage, holds spiritual significance and is often used in healing or purification rituals. For instance, Meredith Jean Black (1980) documents various medicinal uses of plant smoke in different Indigenous nations. An Anicinabe elder also described to me a healing practice in which the officiant’s smoke played a central role in the healing process. Sacred fire is present in many ceremonies, including powwows and sweat lodges, and is central to some purification techniques. Fire keepers are responsible for these sacred fires. During healing rituals or gatherings, offerings are often made to the fire for the spirits; these offerings can be tobacco or cedar, but also food such as berries (blueberries, raspberries, strawberries) or a spiritual dish. Offerings of food (meat, fat, etc.) to the fire can be made during daily meals or feasts (more or less ritualistic ones). The practice has been reported in different contexts and periods among several First Nations, including the Eeyouch and the Innus (Tanner, 1974, 2021), the Anicinabek (Desaulniers Turgeon, 2010), the Cree (Westman, 2015) and the Dene (Walsh, 2016).

With the Anicinabek, I was able to observe and participate in this practice on several occasions. For example, during a meal organized for a women’s evening in the community, a spiritual dish was prepared: a small portion of all the food available was placed on a disposable plate and presented as an offering to the fire spirit to thank it for warming us. Sometimes, these food offerings are placed in a bark basket that has been made for the occasion. Once ready, they are laid out on the land. This was explained to me as a way of thanking the earth for carrying and nourishing the animals that were eaten during the feast. The offering can also be placed in a fire, which I was told was a way of thanking the spirits. It can also be used to feed the spirits or invite them to attend a ceremony when their presence is needed. Moreover, a spiritual dish offered to a sacred fire can be used to appease negative or aggressive spirits. By showing respect and caring for the spirits, the same is expected of them in return, along with their interactions. This practice appears to be shared by other Indigenous nations. For example, Allice Legat (2012: 92–95) explains that, for the Tłicho, feeding a fire with food offerings can be a way to show gratitude – in other words, respect – to the ancestors.

I was invited by some Anicinabek to put the rest of my meal in the fire, as an offering, to avoid wasting the food by throwing it in the garbage. Damian Castro (2015) and Peter Armitage (1992) have reported a similar practice among the Innu. Armitage (1992: 80) explains that placing animal fat and leftovers in the fire is one of the rules of respect followed by hunters, and a way of showing respect to animals and animal masters. Also, during a communal stay on the land, I intended to wash a pot but was advised to leave the remains in the wilderness. In this way, I would nourish the land. A little later, several yellow butterflies came to feast on them. So, it seems that offering, whether to the fire or to the land, is seen as a gesture of reciprocity that engages the person in relationships with different entities, as opposed to throwing leftovers in the garbage, which is a gesture that does not engage in any relationship at all. This ties in with the analysis of David Walsh (2016), who argues that the need for sustenance and the sharing of food are fundamental components of Dene (especially Tłicho Dene) spirituality. He notes the existence of a complex of relationships negotiated through and for food, a reciprocity rooted in respect.

Among the Anicinabek, fire was presented to me as a means of communication with the spirits, the Creator, the invisible or the other world. This also seems to be the case with the Innu, where fire is presented as a very effective means of communicating with the Creator, especially during the sweat lodge (Desaulniers Turgeon, 2010: 68). During this ritual, people can communicate with the Creator through the fire, but the Creator can also infuse power through the fire, which in turn can be transferred to the stones that are placed in the fire before entering the sweat lodge. Walsh (2015: 84–85) also reports this explanation among the Tłicho, for whom fire is used to communicate with and nourish their ancestors, who are seen as family members who continue to watch over their own. More broadly, Garrison McCleary (2023: 112) states that ‘for many Indigenous cultures, fire opens the doorways to spirit so that spirit can be present in the healing relationship’. The unifying character of fire can be seen in the relationships fire engages in not only with the invisible world, but also with the tangible world – for example, when people gather around a fire, whether for ritual, discussion, cooking or eating. At Lac Simon, I participated in several conversations around a fire. Some were more informal, with everyone sharing stories or reporting on experiences they had had. These conversations were sometimes accompanied by roasted marshmallows but always punctuated by laughter. Others were more formal, such as those held during or after healing rituals. On these occasions, people gathered around a fire to reflect and share their thoughts and feelings.

Fire thus represents an entity that is endowed with an agency that enables, among other things, communication and connection with the other world and other-than-human entities. Fire acts as a mediator and helps to bring people together. I now aim to show how this conceptualization of fire translates into the cuisine of some Anicinabek families, as well as aspects of the experience offered by several Indigenous restaurants in Canada. Moreover, we will see that the value placed on the entity that is fire seems to make its use in cooking or preservation techniques one of the distinctive culinary features of Indigenous foods in Canada.

Fire and cooking

On the territory, within communities

Smoking and drying were important preservation methods for many Indigenous peoples in Canada, and they had different techniques for doing so. These are still common practices, although the advent of the freezer, refrigerator and other technologies has changed preservation habits (on this phenomenon among the Inuit, see, for example, Martin (2005)). Dried or smoked meat (and fish) is still consumed and appreciated in many Indigenous communities across the country (see, for example, Bénézet, 2015). I had the opportunity to eat smoked moose meat a few times with Anicinabek from Lac Simon. Even if these techniques are no longer practised on a daily basis by all families in the community, some still have the necessary knowledge (for example, what kind of wood to use or how to cut different pieces of game and fish) and use them occasionally. The persistence of food-sharing practices, although different from the past, means that a wider network of people than the immediate family sometimes has access to this type of preserved food. I mainly discuss techniques for preparing game and fish because these are the ones I have observed or heard about. However, other foods, such as the three sisters (maize, squash and beans; Ngapo et al., 2021) and small fruits (berries; Rousseau, 1951), were also dried.

At Lac Simon, fire is used not only to preserve food, but also to cook it. Many parts of the moose require at least some cooking or processing over the fire. For example, the muzzle is first burned in the fire to remove the fur, which is then scraped off, or the intestines are thoroughly cleaned and then smoked before cooking. Bustards, too, after being plucked, can be put on the fire to burn off the last of their feathers. Beavers and bustards can also be cooked directly over the fire, with the whole animal hanging over the flames. Moose bones are placed directly on the fire to extract the marrow, which can be eaten on bannock with salt, for example. Bannock, a yeast-free bread, is commonly made among Indigenous peoples in North America (Mihesuah, 2016; Phillipps and Skinner, 2022). Although prepared on a stove or in an oven, bannock is also often baked over a fire. The dough can be rolled on a wooden stick stuck in the ground near the fire, or the dough preparation can be placed in a pan on a grill over an outdoor fire. Fish can be cooked directly over the fire.

Regardless of the type of food cooked over the fire, what often stands out in the discourse of the Anicinabek interviewees is the fact that this type of cooking transforms the taste of the food in question, and the taste is greatly appreciated. Many of them told me that cooking over an open fire makes the food taste better. It was often presented to me as resulting in traditional cooking, also known as ‘Anicinabe food’. It is present in many family memories and culinary heritage. For older Anicinabek, the taste often brings back memories of growing up on the land and cooking with family members. For younger people, food cooked with fire may evoke memories of time spent on the land with their families, or of workshops and community trips on the land where this kind of knowledge was passed on to them. There seems to be a strengthening of identity associated with the taste and smell of smoke. The latter is sometimes directly associated with Anicinabe identity. For example, when I smelled smoke myself after spending a few days on the land with a group, or when I stood in front of a fire during a stay on the land, some Anicinabek told me that I smelled or would smell like an Anicinabekwe. Wearing this scent brought me, a non-Indigenous woman, closer to being associated with an Anicinabe identity. So, there seems to be a strong connection between the land and Anicinabe identity, a relationship that can be embodied by fire and its smoke, whether through smell or taste.

Cooking and preserving food with fire are techniques associated with the territory, although some Anicinabek also practise them in the community, behind a house or at a community cultural site. Practising them seems to activate the relationship with the territory that the Anicinabek maintain and value. It is a source of pleasure and pride. While on the territory, fire is central to the stay. It is used not only for cooking (and for preparing tea, a beverage of great cultural importance), but also for heating the camps. Maintaining the fire and planning and organizing wood reserves are some of the things I learned quickly during my stays on the territory with Anicinabek families and groups. The land is also where the Anicinabek of Lac Simon continue to make maple syrup the way elders taught them – by boiling maple water over a fire in large barrels for long hours. Throughout the production process, the fire must be constantly maintained. In short, it is a whole set of culinary and cultural practices that connects fire to the land and, in doing so, cooking with fire evokes and embodies the land because it is associated with it.

Cooking over an open fire seems to be an expression of intimate contact with the land. Lévi-Strauss (1965), with the culinary triangle, states that cooking is organized around three poles: cooked, raw and rotten. In terms of cooking methods, he presents roasting and boiling as the two main ones. In roasting, there is a direct contact between the fire and the food, whereas, in boiling, there is a (double) mediation between the cooking source and the food. If we consider that roasting is done with a cooking utensil such as a pan, there is certainly a distance between the fire and the food, but it is still less than when food is boiled because water is added. In the case of smoked game, the direct contact, without any intermediary, allows this form of cooking, which preserves the food, but smoked game is often cooked again over the fire in a frying pan before consumption. This is not the case with dried meat, which can be eaten as it is, especially when travelling. Thus, food roasting and fumigation techniques embody relationships with fire more directly.

When it comes to appreciating smoked or dried meat, it seems to be a matter of the flavour imparted to the meat by prolonged contact with the fire. The smoke becomes a natural seasoning that does not completely change the flavour of the meat. The same goes for cooking bannock, game or fish over a fire. It is the smoky flavour that comes from close contact with the fire, without mediation, that is valued and appreciated. This could be seen as a form of embodiment of the relationship with the land and the connection to the land, since fire is generally prepared there and therefore associated with the land. Even when these preservation techniques are carried out in an Indigenous community (or reserve), for example, the whole thing takes place outdoors, in contact with the other elements of the environment. It seems that it is precisely this connection to the territory, embodied in the taste and smell of the smoke, that is valued in Indigenous cuisines, both in everyday family cooking and in Indigenous restaurants throughout the country, as we will now see. ⁷

In restaurants, in the city

How is it possible to transfer the presence of fire and its potentials to urban restaurants? In fact, the restaurants visited for this research were all located in an urban context, mainly in large Canadian cities. It should be noted that there are also restaurants in some Indigenous communities, but since they generally cater to a different audience (i.e. a more local and Indigenous one), they were not included in the study. First, the imaginary presence of fire was represented by the decorative fireplaces found in at least four of the restaurants visited. Some had several, and the top of the fireplace at Wanuskewin (Saskatchewan) was shaped like a tepee. I also noticed a photo of cooking on the fire at the Feast Cafe Bistro (Winnipeg). The photo showed a pan-fried bannock on a grill over an outdoor fire. Fire cooking was not practised in the restaurant itself but was symbolically present in the decor. These decorative features seem to help create an atmosphere that symbolically transports the consumer to the land.

Second, the restaurant menus featured foods prepared over fire, such as meats and fish. ⁸ Bison was undoubtedly one of the most common meats, along with venison, on the menus of the Indigenous restaurants. ⁹ Smoked versions of both could be found on many menus: smoked bison at Sagamité (Old Quebec City), smoked venison medallions at La Traite (Wendake, Quebec) and smoked venison carpaccio at the Red Fox Club (Kelowna). Smoked fish was perhaps even more common. Smoked salmon was served as a bite (Tea-n-Bannock, Toronto), in a breakfast sandwich on bannock (Kekuli Cafe, Kelowna), in a salad (Little Chief, Calgary), in a grilled sandwich (Thunderbird Cafe, Whistler) or as a mousse (Salmon n’ Bannock, Vancouver). Smoked trout was available as a croquette at the Pow Wow Cafe (Toronto) and on the menu at Sagamité. The menu at La Traite listed suppliers from the region where the menu items were sourced, including Oushata-Wendake, the source of ‘incredible smoked salmon and arctic char’, an ‘ancestral Indigenous method’ (La Traite, 2023; my translation). Emphasizing the historical nature of the smoking technique used by the producer, I believe, helps to support the identity enhancement associated with it. The qualifier ‘ancestral’ marks cultural continuity and enhances the value of the know-how.

In most cases, game and fish were served roasted, sometimes having been smoked or at least impregnated with the taste of smoke (for example, with a sauce). This is not surprising according to the logic of Lévi-Strauss (1965). He points out that boiled food often belongs to the ‘endo-cuisine’ of peoples – that is, that which is shared in intimacy – whereas roasted food tends to be offered to guests and thus characterizes the ‘exo-cuisine’. In fact, this corresponds to the observations made in Indigenous restaurants, where boiled game and fish were rarely found on the menu, apart from certain stews (for example, venison osso buco). But, as we have seen, roasted foods are also consumed in intimate settings.

There was also a dish from one of the restaurants where fire played a central role in the presentation to customers at the table, bringing them into direct contact with the fire. I am referring to the Yatista, a dish served at Sagamité in Old Quebec City. It was presented as a house specialty. Next to its name on the menu, the word ‘fire’ was written in parentheses, as if to mark a translation. It was also stated that the more common term for it was potence (‘stem’). When the order was placed, the dish was presented at the table by means of an installation: three sticks formed a tepee, in the centre of which were pieces of meat of the customer’s choice (beef, deer, elk, etc.). During the service, a reduction of alcohol was poured over the pieces of meat, which were then flambéed at the customer’s table.

The on-site menu explained that the dish was ‘created to illustrate the importance of fire to us. Our ancestors communicated with the Creator through fire, and discussions and meals were shared and enjoyed around fire’ (my translation). In an interview, the restaurant owner, Steeve Gros-Louis, a member of the Wendat First Nation, added that, in his family, ‘cooking revolves around fire, which is sacred to us; the elders communicated with the Creator through fire, fire brought large families together in longhouses, it was the place for decision-making, we ate around the fire’ (Gaudreault, 2023; my translation). This is reminiscent of the communication potential associated with fire mentioned above. It connects people with each other and humans with the other world – that of the ancestors and other-than-human entities. And, as the owner explained, the goal of offering this dish was to provide customers with an experience that allowed them to understand the value of fire in their culture. Adding a written presentation to the menu helped the consumer understand this significance.

The inclusion of smoked game or fish on the menu, or the presentation of dishes that involve fire, seems to be a way of ensuring that the relationship with fire – and, by extension, the land – is reflected in the consumer’s culinary experience. It is interesting to note that this kind of strategy was already evident in earlier Indigenous restaurants. Indeed, Priscilla Hewitt (1989) reported that the owner of Vancouver’s Quilicum restaurant, which operated in the 1990s and a few years earlier, wanted to keep her menu as traditional as possible. In addition to culturally impregnated ingredients, including smoked ‘oolichans’, she pointed out that the food was cooked over an ‘open alder fire’. Although this restaurant was not part of the sample of this research because it is now closed, it shows that fire was already remarkable and associated with tradition in Indigenous restaurants. As I have explained, this echoes the Anicinabek, who associate fire in cuisine with tradition. This tradition is also linked to life on the land. In urban establishments, the relationship to the land is also embodied in other elements of the decor and menu, such as the use of wood, cedar or animals. The connection to the land embodied in fire seems to be a continuity between the cuisine of urban Indigenous restaurants and that of community-based Indigenous families. Thus, despite a change in the food register, the distinctiveness is maintained.

Conclusion

Smoke appears to be an important symbol in Indigenous cultures. More broadly, in cuisine, this importance seems to be linked to the potentials of the fire that produces the smoke. This food ethnography of fire has aimed to propose possible explanations for the importance of fire in the cuisines of Indigenous peoples in Canada. Drawing on two different sets of data – one on the food culture of an Anicinabe community located in Quebec and the other on professional cooking in urban Indigenous restaurants in Canada – I have shown how fire enables the engagement of a variety of relationships (with the territory, with humans and other-than-human persons) and the roles that food can play in this process. The meanings and functions of fire could be grouped under the concept of relationality.

This appears to reflect the way in which Indigenous foods are often conceptualized – namely, as having a social character. In other words, they contribute to interconnectedness and coexistence. As Tabitha Robin Martens (2021: 35) notes: ‘food, in Indigenous cultures, is seen as more than sustenance, but rather the practices and relationships that Indigenous peoples have to the land and their community’. This echoes the critique of Douglas (1984: 5) quoted in the introduction: it is important to look at food beyond its nutritional aspect if we are to understand this kind of conceptualization. This article has attempted to do this by looking at the intersection of food, spirituality and ontology.

This examination of Indigenous cuisines (of various kinds) suggests that the fire’s relational potentials can be transferred to the foods that the fire helps to prepare, whether through cooking or preservation techniques. On the plate or through the atmosphere, the presence of fire and smoke seems to reinforce and characterize an important part of Indigenous food identities – namely, their distinct relationship to the land (and associated human and other-than-human entities). Jean-Paul Lacasse (2004) shows that the Innu do not view the land as their individual property. Rather, they control and manage the land collectively. I would add that animals that are hunted, trapped or fished are not considered property either. During my research, the Anicinabek explained to me that the animals give themselves to them. They are gifts from the land. Since animals give their lives to humans, humans must share them in return. Food-sharing practices are guided in part by this conceptualization, which implies human–animal reciprocity relations. This conceptualization is found among several Indigenous peoples in Quebec (for example, Feit, 2000) and Canada. Indeed, Robin et al. (2020: 3) state that ‘Indigenous relationships to the land see plants and animals as gifts, part of an interconnected system of all living things’. Without delving further into the details of this system of social relationships and responsibilities, we can acknowledge that this distinct conception of relationships with the land and related entities appears to be transversal to Indigenous peoples, who express and live it in their own ways. My analysis suggests that the mobilization of fire and smoke in cuisines is one way of expressing this conception, which includes a spiritual dimension.

The presence of fire and smoke (physically, through taste or smell) is one of the distinguishing features of Indigenous cuisines and the culinary experiences offered by restaurants that feature them. Thus, although the cultural diversity of the cuisines of different Indigenous peoples is remarkable, it seems that one of the common characteristics that unites them is precisely this territorial anchoring. Indigenous, Indigenous-inspired and Indigenous-fusion restaurants face the challenge of communicating this special relationship with the land in an urban setting. Several strategies are used, and I think that incorporating fire or smoke into many aspects of the experiences they offer consumers is one of them. Of course, it would be important to interview the owners and chefs directly to confirm this. However, the public data that has been analysed so far points in this direction. Indigenous cuisines in Canada cannot be reduced to the sum of their ingredients and preparation techniques. In many ways, they hold the key to understanding Indigenous cosmologies, or at least seem to be a field through which one can be introduced to some of their values and ways of interacting.