What comes to mind when people think of Minnesota foods often depends on who is being asked. For some, it leans Scandinavian toward dishes like lutefisk. For others, it is the state’s mashups like pickle pizza, the Juicy Lucy burger or even a fried stick of butter. But the foundation of Minnesota’s food culture runs far deeper and is rooted in the traditions of the Indigenous communities that have lived here for generations.

Long before restaurants and state fair inventions, Indigenous food in Minnesota was shaped by what the land and water provided, moving with the seasons. Wild rice, or manoomin in Anishinaabemowin, sits at the center of this food system. Around it are ingredients gathered and prepared with care, including bison, freshwater fish and berries like blueberries and raspberries. Plants such as sage, cedar and maple are also essential, for their flavor as well as nutritional and medicinal uses carried through generations.

Linda Black Elk, an ethnobotanist, educator and food sovereignty activist, said, “I would want someone in Minnesota to eat wild rice, but more importantly, to hear and understand the Indigenous relationship with wild rice, including how it has been valued historically and the multitude of ways in which Indigenous people are fighting to protect wild rice today.”

Junior Stella Hunter has grown up eating Indigenous food, and shared that they are not just everyday staples, but often tied to moments of gathering. “We’d mainly have them on special occasions, during community gatherings, like powwows,” she said. “When I go visit on the reservation, those are the foods that we’ll have.”

The sense of occasion is not just unique to Hunter’s experience. Indigenous food is not just about consumption. It appears at powwows and funeral ceremonies, where food marks time and connection.

In mourning traditions, food is not something an individual prepares alone. The community cooks and provides meals over several days to support the grieving family. Depending on the nation and the family, foods like venison, fish and corn-based dishes may also be served.

However, Indigenous food has evolved since colonial times, which has brought forward dishes like fry bread. While fry bread is now a staple at many Indigenous gatherings, the food emerged from postcolonial times. It emerged in the mid-1800s after the Long Walk of the Navajo, when the Navajo Nation and other

Indigenous communities were forced to rely on government rations like flour and lard. Made from what was available, it became both a staple and a reminder of the resilience of Indigenous people. “Frybread is a deeply cherished survival food born out of a time when Native people were forbidden from harvesting and eating their traditional foods,” Elk said.

Still, Indigenous food is often misunderstood. “There’s this mentality that we’re just hunter-gatherers eating sticks and berries,” Hunter said. “But that is not true.”

Agricultural systems like the Three Sisters, which involves planting corn, beans and squash together, show the depth of agricultural knowledge and sustainability practices that Indigenous communities have maintained.

The sustainability associated with traditional Indigenous lifestyles is part of why some see Indigenous food as not just cultural, but necessary. “A lot of native people have intolerances to the food that we eat today in postcolonial times. My whole family is lactose intolerant, because we didn’t have cows, and there are a lot of gluten allergies, and sodium is very hard for a lot of native people,” Hunter said.

In the Twin Cities, there has been a growing effort to bring Indigenous food into the public sphere. Restaurants like Owamni, led by Sean Sherman, have gained national recognition for centering precolonial ingredients and preparations. But visibility does not always mean accessibility.

Hunter pointed out the contradiction. “It’s kind of funny having a restaurant made for Indigenous people and not being accessible to them,” she said, noting the high prices.

Sherman does offer alternatives, such as the Indigenous Food Lab, which serves many of the same dishes but with the aim of being more affordable and community-focused.

For Hunter, the future of Indigenous food is not about exclusivity. “Everybody can have some … I really wish that we would switch as a whole society over to more Indigenous foods because it’s just way more sustainable,” she said.

Minnesota’s food identity is often tied to popular dishes and different communities. Beneath that is something older and still present. It lives in the lakes where wild rice grows and in the kitchens where it is prepared and shared, Indigenous food.