It's true-You are what you eat

Page 25

Let me know if this makes sense to you. First of all, recently when I was in Finland, I was talking to this woman from France who now lives in Canada. That, in itself, may make sense, but the rest of it is what is difficult for me to understand. She was lamenting what she called Canada's bizarre preoccupation with all meals chicken. She was sick of being served chicken all the time. It was putting her in a fowl mood. Then she began to tap dance down the nostalgia highway, reminiscing about how much she missed eating rabbit. Evidently rabbit meat is quite popular in France. She found it much more preferable to the poultry feasts she now is forced to consume frequently in Canada. But alas, it's far more expensive here than in her home country of France. It was at least $16 a serving she told us.

Now a price that high surprised her, and me even more. Sixteen dollars for rabbit! That's a lot of money. Do you know how much SPAM that could buy? I grew up in the country with rabbits running everywhere, eating my mother's flowers. And it's from those furry creatures I learned the tragic term "road kill." I remember one cousin shooting at a rabbit that happened to be running out back near our propane tank. You don't forget something like that.

For those of us who live in rural Canada, rabbits are the equivalent of squirrels in the city. More importantly, rabbits were once also thought of as poor man's food. That's what Indians who couldn't afford baloney had to eat. Could you ever imagine yourself paying $16 for some freshly prepared city squirrel, perhaps with some delicately flavored scalloped potatoes? What kind of wine goes with squirrel anyways? Probably something with a hint of nuttiness. It was then my French friend told us that in her country, escargot, commonly referred to as snails, had once been eaten only by the poor. Luckily, my family has never been that poor. Now it's an international delicacy. I've often heard too that out East, lobsters were originally consumed largely by the lower classes. Maritime kids were ashamed to take lobster sandwiches to school, the Atlantic Canada version of the potato for the Irish. I've even heard lobster was frequently used as fertilizer.

What has happened in the world? Lobster, I'm told, can go $20 for just a piece of tail (insert own joke here). For some reason, the food of the under class has now become the fare of the patrician class. Now, poor people can scarcely afford to enjoy their cultural legacy.

As a Native person, we're no stranger to food for the poor. But you won't see any Cree or Ojibway slamming down 16 hard earned dollars for a serving of rabbit, not when there are some much more economical pet stores in the area. Pet stores-also known as Aboriginal take out. I have a parrot penne you would die for. But back to my original concern, what about some of the other local cuisines that all us First Nations grew up with? Someday, will they be the purview of only the rich and influential? Now there's a scary thought. Our beloved fried baloney, might one day be advertised as free range, organic, brandy-seared Bal Onne. Twenty-two dollars, but it will come with a side order of Le Dinner de Kraft. Instead of the Anishnaabe, we'll be the Anni-snobs.

And, of course, there is the meal that has allowed Native families to survive for untold decades. It provides complex carbohydrates for energy, the vitamin C necessary for good health, and protein for muscle maintenance. It's been consumed for generations. I distinctly remember enjoying it in my baby bottle. Affectionately it's known as Hangover Soup, or simply macaroni and tomatoes.

I've got a lump in my throat just writing about it. It's a motley mixture of hamburger, elbow macaroni, and tomatoes. Cultural variances may include salt, pepper, onion, tomato soup, and for the truly daring, a dash of garlic salt.

When I travel in Europe, Asia, or where ever, it is the memory of a warm bowl, still steaming, that my moher used to bring me that makes me want to come home. It's the ultimate comfort food. It's just not the same in China, India or Sweden, and God knows I've looked. I'm afraid some day I'll come home and I'll see it advertised in some high-end restaurant for some ungodly amount of money. That's when I'll know the end of the world will be coming.

Actually, you know, that squirrel idea might not be so stupid. It's all in presentation. Chittimo is squirrel in Ojibway. Chittimo chowder... natural, free range, hormone free... I like it.