Bannock Then and Now: A Bread that Carries Stories
This is the first part of the series: “Summer Traditions Reimagined: From Ancestral Roots to Trending Tables”
Key Takeaways
Bannock is a bread with deep cultural meaning for many Indigenous communities, though its origins are complex and tied to colonization.
Traditional Indigenous breads predate bannock and used ingredients like cornmeal, roots, and seeds.
Bannock became a survival food during colonial displacement but is now widely reclaimed as a symbol of resilience and identity.
Contemporary bannock takes many forms—from tacos to French toast—bridging ancestral knowledge and modern creativity.
Its adaptability makes it perfect for seasonal eating, summer gatherings, and cultural reconnection.
This article is part of our summer series, “Summer Traditions Reimagined: From Ancestral Roots to Trending Tables.” Each piece explores how heritage foods and traditions influence what we eat today. Read the full series here.
Table of Contents
A Bread with Roots
If you've ever tasted bannock hot from the pan, slightly crisp at the edges and soft in the middle—maybe with a smear of butter or jam—you've felt a sliver of what this bread means to so many. For some, it evokes childhood campfires. For others, it’s a reminder of powwows, family tables, or school lessons in a community kitchen. For Indigenous communities across Canada, bannock tells a story far richer than its humble ingredients suggest.
Bannock is not ancient in the traditional sense—at least not in its wheat-based form—but it has become an integral part of Indigenous culinary identity. Though rooted in colonial rations, it was adapted and reimagined into something deeply personal and culturally enduring.
Today, bannock lives many lives: survival food, comfort food, celebration food. It appears in trendy urban cafés and on traplines alike, and every cook has their own way of making it “right.”
Before European contact, Indigenous peoples made many forms of bread using what was available on their land. In the East, the Haudenosaunee made cornbread from dried, pounded maize, often wrapped in leaves or baked in hearths. In the North, Dene communities mashed roots or seeds and baked them in coals. On the Plains, some nations prepared thin cakes using ground berries, nuts, or even dried fish, held together with fat or wild grains.
Bread was not foreign to Indigenous cuisine—but it didn’t include flour until flour arrived.
With colonization came trading posts and ration economies. Flour, salt, baking powder, and lard became staples—sometimes the only food available on reserve or at residential schools. Indigenous peoples, forced off traditional lands and away from original food sources, made something new out of what little was provided.
The word bannock comes from the Scottish Gaelic bannach, a term for a round, unleavened oatcake baked on a griddle. Scottish fur traders and settlers likely introduced it during the 18th and 19th centuries. But what Indigenous cooks did with bannock was transformative.
They took the flour and lard and created a pan-fried, campfire-friendly bread that was soft, versatile, and filling. Over time, it became a fixture in homes, ceremonies, and communal meals.
While some argue that bannock is a “colonial food,” others see it as a food of resistance—a way Indigenous people fed themselves, built community, and maintained identity under oppressive conditions.
Bannock is sometimes conflated with frybread, a term more commonly used in the U.S. among Native American nations. The two are similar—both typically made from flour, lard or oil, and baking powder—but frybread often carries heavier symbolic weight as a food of trauma and survival during events like the Long Walk or forced relocation.
In Canada, bannock similarly walks a fine line. For many, it recalls hard times: living on rations, experiencing systemic poverty, or growing up in residential schools. For others, it is synonymous with resilience and family gatherings.
This complexity has led some younger Indigenous chefs to ask hard questions: Should we celebrate bannock, reclaim it, transform it—or let it go?
Most seem to answer: we reclaim.
Today, bannock is flourishing across kitchens and communities—not just in its classic form, but as a foundation for culinary creativity. Here are just a few of the ways bannock is being reimagined in 2025:
Bannock Burgers – Grilled or pan-fried rounds used as burger buns, often filled with elk, bison, or veggie patties.
Bannock Pizzas – Flatbreads layered with seasonal vegetables, wild mushrooms, or smoked fish.
Sweet Bannock Rolls – Cinnamon bannock knots sweetened with maple sugar or glazed with Labrador tea icing.
French Toast Bannock – Thick-sliced baked bannock dipped in egg and fried with berry compote.
Powwow Tacos – A bannock base piled high with chili, shredded greens, and pickled corn.
These aren’t gimmicks—they’re evolutions. Young Indigenous chefs, including those in programs like Indigenous Culinary of Associated Nations (ICAN), are using bannock as a bridge between tradition and innovation.
Bannock lends itself naturally to summer cooking. It’s easy to transport, cook over fire, and pair with fresh ingredients. In community gatherings, it’s often served with:
Fresh berries (especially saskatoon, blueberry, and strawberry)
Smoked salmon or dried meat
Wild teas made from Labrador tea or mint
Herbed butters or berry syrups
Foraged greens sautéed or fermented
Its portability makes it a natural fit for outdoor feasts, garden gatherings, and traditional land-based education programs. For more on the use of summer fruits in Indigenous foodways, see First Fruits and Summer Bounty.
Across Canada, bannock is often the first thing taught to youth in Indigenous food programs. It’s simple, tactile, and rich with meaning. Making bannock becomes a way to talk about food sovereignty, family history, residential schools, land access, and healing.
In settler communities, bannock can also be a bridge—a way to open conversations about Indigenous food systems, displacement, and resurgence. But it must be approached with respect. Bannock isn’t “just another campfire recipe.” It’s a story, a survival, a song.
At food festivals, bannock is making a new kind of appearance: not just on the plate, but on Instagram. Search tags like #modernbannock or #bannockrevival and you’ll find beautifully plated dishes, bannock-and-tea pairings, and even bannock charcuterie boards.
At the same time, Elders are continuing to teach bannock-making the old way: over an open fire, no measurements, just feel. There’s no wrong version—just the one that connects you to your people.
Bannock is a bread that carries stories—of colonization, creativity, community, and continuity. It is a food that survives and evolves, never quite settling, always adapting. Whether crisp-fried in a cast iron pan, baked soft in the oven, or grilled over flame with garden herbs, it continues to nourish both body and spirit.
Its story is not over—and like the hands that shape it, it’s still rising.
Read More from the Summer Traditions Reimagined Series:
Bannock Then and Now: A Bread that Carries Stories
Pemmican Power: The Original Energy Bar Returns
First Fruits and Summer Bounty: The Heritage of Seasonal Eating
From Smokehouses to Street Corn: How Traditional Techniques Inspire Summer Trends
Global Palates, Local Plates: Summer Fusion with a Heritage Heart
