22-05-2025
The chef behind Edmonton's Bernadette's is trying to change the perception of Indigenous cuisine
The sounds are familiar: metal against metal, something soft being portioned or pressed, a container shifting on a counter. Unsurprisingly, Scott Iserhoff, chef and co-owner of the Edmonton-based Bernadette's, is cooking as he answers questions, the clinks and clangs of food prep evident, even over the phone.
That atmosphere, he explains, is part of the point. Bernadette's might wear the suit and tie of fine dining, but underneath, 'it's like being at your grandmother's house,' says Iserhoff's business partner Svitlana Kravchuk. It's food that knows where it came from.
'We're not cooking fancy food here,' adds Iserhoff. 'We're cooking approachable food. It has story, there's comfort in it. A lot of the dishes I cook are memories of my childhood.'
Bernadette's seats up to thirty when you include the patio – intimate, without being exclusive. While it's tucked into a strip of downtown Edmonton that doesn't shout for your attention, in just over a year, it's become a restaurant to attend, longlisted as one of the country's best restaurants by enRoute, praised by critics, whispered about by people seeking a culturally different experience.
Opened in May 2024 and named after Iserhoff's grandmother, it's the first sit-down spot from Pei Pei Chei Ow Inc., a venture by Iserhoff, who is Mushkego Cree from Attawapiskat, and Kravchuk, who is Ukrainian. The duo had already built momentum through catering and takeout. Their official site describes the food as 'seasonal, traditional, political,' with Iserhoff leading the kitchen and Kravchuk running the business like a home.
Still, if you walk in expecting just familiar staples like bannock burgers and Indian tacos, you'll miss the point entirely.
'People expect native tacos, fry bread... and sure, those are part of it,' Iserhoff says. 'But they're not everything. It's all Indigenous, but [those expectations are] also limiting.'
This sentiment is echoed by Iserhoff's peers, including Chef Brad Lazarenko, a member of the Métis Nation of Alberta and founder of the Culina Family of Restaurants.
'Most people who interview me already have this romanticized idea of Indigenous food – like we all grew up on the land, hunting, gathering, foraging. That's just not the case,' he says. 'People don't differentiate between pre-colonial and post-colonial food traditions. There's a huge gap between what Indigenous people were eating before colonization and what we're eating after.'
That friction between tradition and modernism shows up at Bernadette's, too – and not just in the food. Take the décor, for example: It's not lodgecore. Thanks to abundant colour and a berry mural by Kayla Bellerose, a Cree-Métis artist from Slave Lake, the space reads downtown-chic but feels like home, where servers look like the aunties, cousins, and grandmothers they are.
'A lot of people come in and say, 'This is Indigenous?'' Iserhoff says. 'They don't get it. But it doesn't matter. We're doing what we're doing and telling a story on the plate.'
For him, that story starts with memory. Fishing with his dad on the riverbank, or watching his grandfather snare rabbits. 'When I make halibut with a little butter sauce and fish eggs, it's my version of that memory,' he explains. 'It's not about being fancy. It's about the feeling. The connection.'
But memory doesn't make a dish political. Constraints do. 'We can't serve moose meat, even though that's what I grew up with,' Iserhoff says with a humour that cuts through. 'So we use farmed rabbit. It's $60 for one.' The point being: food sovereignty isn't free. Federal laws ban the sale of wild game, forcing chefs like Iserhoff to work around the very ingredients that shaped their approach to cooking.
'Everything that grows here grows on Indigenous land,' he says. 'But that doesn't mean we can access it.'
Kravchuk adds that the challenge is also navigating a Western framework that shapes how Indigenous food is perceived. 'Scott is Indigenous, and I'm from Boyarka, Ukraine. The hoops we had to jump through, like any marginalized business, are way more than what others in the industry face.'
In other words, it's a mix of what guests never knew they needed and the traditions that always require unpacking.
For example, Kravchuk points out how often guests can misunderstand Indigenous cuisine: 'When people say, 'Oh, this is like carpaccio,' I try to explain the connection – not Italian carpaccio, but more like caribou shared by an Inuk woman during winter,' she says. 'Or they doubt traditional ingredients like octopus, forgetting this land is surrounded by ocean.'
In that way, Bernadette's is a quiet celebration of heritage, representation, and care that feels like home, or someone else's. For that reason, its status as Edmonton's first Indigenous fine dining restaurant in 2025 is as sobering as it is significant.
'To be honest…it's bittersweet,' says Kravchuk. 'It's amazing, but it's 2025. This shouldn't have to be a milestone. But it is – because of colonization, because of structural barriers.'
Still, she's clear: 'We're proud of what we're doing, proud of our team, and grateful for the community we've built.'
Iserhoff agrees. 'Seeing Indigenous youth come in and light up... when they see staff who look like them. It's priceless. Some try the full experience and say, 'This reminds me of feast food' or 'ceremony food.' Food cooked with intention.'
'There aren't many Indigenous restaurants doing what we're doing,' he adds. 'Places like Owamni in Minnesota or [people like] Zach Keeshig in Ontario are doing amazing work with pre-colonial ingredients. But we need more. Because Indigenous people aren't a monolith. We don't all eat the same, even within our own communities.'
One in a regular series of stories. To read more, visit our Indigenous Enterprises section. If you have suggestions for future stories, reach out to IE@
