Reclaiming Indigenous Food With Chef Sean Sherman

In this episode of Writing the West, Sean Sherman — chef, educator, and founder of The Sioux Chef and NATIFS — shares how a childhood on Pine Ridge Reservation shaped his understanding of food, identity, and access. From government commodity rations to award-winning Indigenous cuisine, Sherman traces the journey that led him to strip away colonial ingredients and rebuild regional food systems rooted in Native knowledge. His new book, Turtle Island, is more than a cookbook—it’s a reclamation of history, a celebration of biodiversity, and a blueprint for a healthier, more intentional future grounded in the original flavors of North America.

Transcript

Cowboys & Indians: Give us a little bit of an insight of where you're from and the role that food played in your growing up.

Sean Sherman: Well, I was born on Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota, so I'm enrolled with the Oglala Lakota Tribe, and I've liked food since I was born, so it's always been a part of my life. But growing up on the res, we had a little bit of Lakota food around us, but largely it was missing from our diets because reservation systems are still segregated systems in the United States, and we had less food access. We didn't have restaurants on the reservation, and Pine Ridge is a big area, and we had one single grocery store to service an area the size of Connecticut. So we had to drive into Rapid City or down into Nebraska to go to grocery stores and restaurants and things like that.

A lot of our shelves were packed with commodity food program items, which were government USDA foods like canned meats, canned vegetables, canned fruits, powdered milk, and government cheese that people are familiar with—stuff like that. Gallons of corn syrup, literally. So that was a lot of our food. We hunted some. We fished barely. I mean, we're in the plains, so there wasn't a lot of open water there. We spent a lot of time in the Black Hills during the summertime. We had a cabin there, so we'd catch a lot of trout in the creeks and stuff like that. But largely, again, we didn't have access to what you would consider Lakota food or Indigenous food like we make today. So that was kind of that background.

C&I:Well, when did you first get involved with cooking, and did you have any sense that this would morph into what it's become today? 

Sherman: No. I mean, I grew up in the nineties, and we were all latchkey back then. Our parents just kicked us outside until dark, and that was pretty much parenting in the seventies and eighties. I spent a lot of time outdoors. My mom moved to South Res right before I was high school age, so I started working in restaurants in the Black Hills in Spearfish, South Dakota, when I was 13 years old. I got my first restaurant job at a mining-themed restaurant called The Sluice. It was just a typical South Dakota Western steakhouse with all the typical pieces there. But that was the start. I worked in restaurants all through high school, and I went to college in the Black Hills and continued to work in a lot of touristy restaurants during that time.

After college, I moved from South Dakota to Minnesota and went to Minneapolis, where I basically continued working in restaurants. I moved my way up into a chef position at a pretty young age. I didn't go to culinary school, but I just had a really strong work ethic. I worked really hard. I'd already had quite a few years of experience, and I learned fast. I started working in nicer restaurants, and when I became a chef, I was managing restaurants. The first restaurant I managed was a Spanish restaurant. Then I moved on to doing a lot of bistro- and farm-to-table-type restaurants. I did Japanese and sushi. So it was a good chef career in my early twenties and late twenties and into my early thirties.

A few years into that chef career, I had this epiphany. I moved down to Mexico for a little while. I lived on the west coast in the state of Jalisco, and I was just kind of hanging out, trying to figure out what to do next. I got really curious about some of the Indigenous communities down there, especially the Wixárika. I started doing a lot of research, and something just clicked. I realized that I had learned about all this European food as a chef, and I didn't really know anything about my own indigeneity and ancestry when it came to food.

Researching this southern Indigenous community, I saw so much connection to us. We shared so many common values. We were all Indigenous to North America. It shot me on a path to want to learn more about my Lakota ancestry—what were we eating, what were we harvesting, what animals did we utilize, what was our plant knowledge, what parts of plants did we harvest and when and how, what were our food processing and preservation techniques, what cooking utensils and techniques did we use? Where did we get salts and fats and sugars? How did we have a balanced diet? It just forced me to learn.

I started researching plants first because that was an easy place to regain some of that knowledge that had been mixed up. I began reading a lot of ethnobotanical books. I talked to family about their memories. I didn’t have to go back far—my great-grandfather fought in the Battle of Little Bighorn on the Lakota side. He was about 18 during that battle. My grandparents were born at the turn of the century and were part of the first generation of Lakota going through boarding schools—hair cut, forced to learn English and Christianity, all of that assimilation happening during that generation.

So it was just a couple of generations that I had to peel back to start looking at things. It forced me to look at what happened in American history, what happened to Indigenous diversity. As a chef, I started considering what people were eating in various regions, what we were gathering, what techniques we used, whether we were trading with each other. And all of this work turned into so many things.

C&I:Given the history of assimilation and the reservation system, did you find it difficult to research some of this, and what were some of the sources you relied on?

Sherman: Yeah, there was a lot of broken information and a lot of skewed information. A lot of pre-contact information came from military or religious perspectives, which were both very skewed. I had to peel that back. There were pieces I found here and there that were distinctly from Indigenous voices with Indigenous knowledge.

When I first found Buffalo Bird Woman’s Garden, it opened up so much. It talks about Buffalo Bird Woman growing up Hidatsa in what is now North Dakota and describes a season in the life of her garden before European techniques came in. She talks about using buffalo shoulder bone hoes and antlers for rakes, and about the corn, beans, squash, sunflowers, and other crops they grew. That was really powerful to find.

That started me searching for who still held seeds, connecting with seed keepers—families and communities still growing heirloom seeds. I've been on the board with Seed Savers Exchange for about 11 years now because I wanted to stay close to that work. I also connected with ethnobotanists around the country.

This work has taken me all over the continent to learn about different communities and agricultural zones. If you look at the book Turtle Island, there's so much plant and protein diversity in it compared to the Western diet, which ignored so much of what was here.

C&I: You mentioned your time in Mexico awakened your curiosity. Was there a point when it became more of a calling?

Sherman: It definitely felt like a calling. Once I found that path, I felt pulled in that direction. Doors opened as I went along. I formed my company officially in 2014 after a few years of researching and practicing. I started a business called The Sioux Chef with the intention of eventually opening a restaurant, which felt unattainable at the time.

I developed a philosophy: to highlight Indigenous foods, I needed to cut away European influences—dairy, wheat flour, cane sugar, beef, pork, chicken—and focus on regional ingredients. There are wild onions, gingers, garlics, greens, fruits, seeds, nuts, tubers, protein diversity, agricultural diversity. That’s why the book was important—to show North America without colonial borders and highlight Indigenous diversity across the continent.

C&I:What struck me about the book was how recipes are accompanied by stories. Can you talk about matching recipes to cultural histories?

Sherman: Food is a connector. It's a language we all share. It opens doors to curiosity and empathy. I wanted to use this book to not only highlight food but also acknowledge difficult histories—what Indigenous communities endured to still be here today. It gives people a chance to learn about the land they're standing on and the communities that have been and still are there.

C&I: This was a collaborative book with Kate Nelson and Kristen Donnelly. What did they bring to the table?

Sherman: Both played massively important roles. Kristen was the project wrangler, keeping everything moving. She helped ensure recipes were written clearly and properly formatted. Kate brought a journalistic approach, helped interview people across regions, and pulled stories from our networks. We didn’t want to dictate other people’s food stories—we wanted them to voice those in their own words.

Many recipes are traditional, but many represent a vision of the future—what’s possible if we cut away colonial ingredients and focus on what’s Indigenous to each region.

C&I:You included health in the book. Is there a goal to change health trajectories in Indigenous communities?

Sherman: Chefs should feel responsible for what we feed people. There’s been a lack of nutritious food access in many tribal communities, leading to high rates of diabetes, obesity, heart disease. It’s not about choice—it’s about access.

Our restaurant, Owamni, follows these guidelines—gluten-free, pork-free, focused on plant and protein diversity. Popularizing healthy, regional food makes people feel better.

C&I:What’s the reaction been at the restaurant?

Sherman: We use the term “ironically foreign” because it’s food from where we are. We've been sold out every night for four and a half years. We won Best New Restaurant in the United States by the James Beard Foundation. We’re proud we can do this without ranch dressing.

C&I: Have you studied the health implications?

Sherman: The restaurant is part of our nonprofit, NATIFS—North American Traditional Indigenous Food Systems. Restaurants aren’t food relief; they’re a privilege. So we’re launching Meals for Native Institutions to distribute ready-to-eat healthy Native recipes to schools, hospitals, and community centers.

We also offer education through Indigenous Food Lab’s YouTube channel, with 200+ videos. We created an online market through natives.org featuring products from 80+ Indigenous producers—wild rice, heirloom corn, beans, teas, jerky bars.

Restaurants create jobs and move food dollars. Owamni alone moves over half a million dollars annually to Indigenous producers. We’re expanding in Minneapolis, opening a Native barbecue concept called Chota, expanding to Bozeman, and planning regional hubs nationwide.

C&I:What’s the response from ground-level communities?

Sherman: We’ve connected with tribal communities nationwide. This work turned me into a public speaker. I talk about American history and why we don’t see Native restaurants everywhere. A lot isn’t taught in schools. We just present history as fact and discuss how to move forward better.

C&I:Why was the communal nature of Turtle Island important?

Sherman: It was massively communal. We leaned on networks from Mexico to Alaska. Even with a book this big, we barely scratched the surface. Every region could be its own book. We hope it opens doors for more learning.

C&I:How has removing colonial borders changed how you think about food and place?

Sherman: It changed everything. Culinary fads lost importance. I wanted to understand the land I stood on and make food that tasted of place. Early attempts included Anishinaabe Taste of Spring—fiddleheads, ramps, morel mushrooms, wild rice, duck, cedar, balsam fir. Entire stories on a plate.

This work applies globally—Central America, Africa, Australia, India—anywhere colonization impacted Indigenous knowledge. Indigenous knowledge offers connection to land, biodiversity, agriculture, health.

C&I:Is there one overarching idea from decolonizing food?

Sherman: It’s not about recreating the past—it’s about learning from it to build a better future. Regional identity matters. Drive across America and every interstate restaurant tastes the same. We can do better by supporting Indigenous producers and regional diversity.

C&I:Is there a recipe beginners should try first?

Sherman: People will likely gravitate to their region. For me, Papa Wapi—dried bison soup with prairie turnip and wild onions—tastes like home. Not every recipe is accessible everywhere, and that’s okay. Instant access to everything isn’t necessary.

C&I:You mentioned a market.

Sherman: Yes—wild rice, heirloom corn, beans. We’ll keep expanding offerings. Learn plant identification. Stop calling everything a weed. Everything has a name and purpose.

C&I:What gives you hope for Indigenous food ways?

Sherman: The 1800s were brutal for Indigenous peoples. So much violence and erasure. This book acknowledges that history but points toward a better future. We can eat better, care for land better, support Indigenous producers, and move forward respectfully—not through appropriation, but partnership.

C&I:Sean, thank you so much. Turtle Island: Foods and Traditions of the Indigenous Peoples of North America is available now.

Sherman: Awesome. Thanks for having me.