Italian immigrants arrived in Alberta in small numbers as early as the 1890s, often settling in mining towns like Coleman and Blairmore. By the 1920s and again after World War II, larger waves of immigration brought families from Calabria, Abruzzo, Sicily, and Veneto to Edmonton.

In a prairie city known for long winters and vast distances, sustainable dining might seem like a contradiction. Yet Edmonton’s culinary landscape is undergoing a quiet transformation—one where the values of sustainability, cultural integrity, and community resilience are driving new standards in food service.

Edmonton is a city that wears its age quietly. While much of its modern identity has been shaped by oil booms, arts festivals, and growing immigration waves, the story of its food is told in tucked-away diners, enduring bakeries, and family-run restaurants that have outlived trends.

The story of Chinese food in Edmonton begins not in a kitchen, but along the Canadian Pacific Railway. Chinese immigrants were among the earliest non-European labourers to arrive in Alberta in the late 1800s, often facing harsh working conditions and systemic discrimination. After the railway was completed, many were forced to turn to low-margin industries, including laundries and food service.

Cinnamon comes from the inner bark of trees in the Cinnamomum genus. The most prized variety, Cinnamomum verum (or Ceylon cinnamon), is native to Sri Lanka. Other types, particularly Cinnamomum cassia, originated in China and Southeast Asia and are often sold under the same name, especially in North America.

In the heat of summer, food is everywhere. Gardens overflow, berries ripen faster than hands can pick, markets brim with colour. But this abundance carries an old urgency: gather now, because it won’t last.

In many Indigenous cultures across North America, the arrival of the first fruits—especially berries—has long been a time of ceremony, gratitude, and renewal. In particular, wild strawberries were often the first fruit to ripen, marking the beginning of summer and the opening of berry season. For the Haudenosaunee (Iroquois), the Strawberry Festival is a time to give thanks and honour the medicine and joy these berries bring.

Long before protein bars or trail mixes filled store shelves, Indigenous peoples across North America created a food that was rich in calories, nutrients, and meaning: pemmican.

Summer in Canada is a celebration of the seasons, and at the heart of this season lies the barbecue—a tradition loved by nearly every community across the country. As Canadians fire up their grills, they don’t just cook food; they also celebrate the diversity of the country’s culinary heritage.

Across Canada, grains have played a central role in shaping the country’s food culture, providing sustenance, nutrition, and economic strength for communities throughout the land. From Indigenous grains like wild rice to European grains like wheat and rye, grains have been the backbone of both daily life and celebratory feasts.

Fish is not just a food source in Canada—it is integral to the cultural, spiritual, and economic identity of many communities. Indigenous Peoples across the country have relied on fish for millennia, developing complex techniques to fish, preserve, and honour the creatures of the water. From the coastlines of the Pacific to the inland lakes of the Prairies, fish has sustained communities, shaped economies, and maintained deep spiritual connections to the land.

Poutine? Nanaimo bars? Barbecue ribs glazed with maple syrup?

Ask five Canadians what defines our national cuisine and you’ll get five different answers—and all of them will be at least partly right. That’s because food in Canada doesn’t come from a single origin or follow one thread. It’s a patchwork of memory, migration, adaptation, and survival.

Maple syrup is often taken for granted as a sweet topping for pancakes, but its roots stretch far deeper than weekend brunch. It is one of the most enduring food traditions on this land, with a history that predates the formation of Canada by millennia.

Every Canada Day, backyards across the country fill with the familiar scents of grilled meat, corn on the cob, and something sweet with strawberries or maple. The scene is familiar, but often misunderstood. What we now think of as “classic Canadian summer food” is not a product of modern convenience—it’s the result of generations of knowledge, trade, migration, and resilience.

Outdoor cooking is often viewed today as a leisure activity—barbecues, fire pits, grilling weekends. But for millennia, preparing food over fire or in the ground was not only practical—it was essential.

Summer is more than a season—it’s a rhythm. It’s when gardens overflow, fish are pulled fresh from lakes, berries are gathered by the handful, and food is cooked outside, often surrounded by community.

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.

In kitchens warmed by wood-fired stoves and cellars lined with clay, cheese has been made for millennia. Before plastic tubs, refrigeration, or global supply chains, people transformed fresh milk into something resilient, flavorful, and nourishing—cheese.

Asma Khan’s Monsoon: Delicious Indian Recipes for Every Day and Season is a vibrant exploration of Indian culinary traditions, organized not by courses but by the six seasons of the subcontinent and the six Ayurvedic tastes.