Hutterites, Harleys & HFC. Inside The Colony Kitchen

   For reasons I’ll never fully understand, often at the poker table of life, I’ll be sitting on sixteen yelling Hit Me while the dealer keeps flipping face cards. Everything I touch is a complete bust. Then suddenly the game slows down, all the cards in the deck align, and I just keep hitting Black Jack! It’s in these moments I just try to sit back, enjoy the complimentary cocktails, and go where the game takes me.

I’d crossed into Manitoba via the Duck Mountain Provincial Park, exploring its bounty of fishing lakes before zipping over to Winnipegosis just to say I did it. Next, I made my way to the shores of Watchorn Provincial Park to do a little work on my laptop for a few days, lakeside at the campground. After Gimli, I was feeling the mental pressure to get into the impenetrable Hutterite kitchen before exiting the prairies. I was dying to know what went on inside this mystical kitchen of hardy Hutterite cuisine. I made some cold calls hoping to talk my way inside; all of those ended with “No we don’t want to buy that”, click.

    I wasn’t quite ready to give up on my potentially impossible mission, but it wasn’t looking good. After days of nothing but sun and beach, I decided to head back through Gimli to take some photos of the areas I’d missed on my first stop before heading to Winnipeg. The further South I headed, the more rapidly the clouds began to roll in and my plans to veer off the pavement and explore the gravel roads felt like a bad idea. I resolved to take the MB-17 South in case I needed to cut the day short on account of bad weather. The wind picked up and the clouds turned from white to black;  things weren’t looking good for me and Goose. I stopped to get fuel and take cover at the One Stop Food And Gas Station on the edge of the road, but to my disappointment, it was closed…actually, it looked like it had been closed for months. 

As the rain began, I pulled Goose up under the overhang on the store's abandoned front porch. Within seconds thunder cracked, lightning snapped and the heavens split; it was a full-on prairie downpour! Even under the overhang we were getting soaked. After a few hours of rain, it became evident our team wasn’t making it back to Gimli today. I discovered the closest place to stay was just up the road in Fisher Branch, population 465. A somewhat questionable motel and pub being the tourist welcome committee. After spending the afternoon at the abandoned gas station, I finally made a break for it and checked into a room that someone had just checked out of right before being re-checked into a marginally better room two doors down. The upside was, that it was dry and I could park Goose right outside the door.

    While packing my bags on the bike the following morning, a friendly Manitoban spotted me from across the parking lot. He came over to say hi and asked what the hell I was doing in this small town and at this small motel. I explained that I was stranded in the storm the day before and told him what I was up to and about the adventure I was on. He asked if he could help with anything.

Casually I said, Actually I’m trying to figure out how to get inside a Hutterite kitchen if you know anyone? My new friend, Darryl got a bit of a curious look on his face, asked if I was an activist or anything, and after confirming I didn’t have any nefarious intentions, he said. I might be able to help you, let me make some calls and get back to you.

It turned out Darryl worked for the Manitoba power company and two of his biggest clients were two of the provinces' friendliest Hutterite colonies. From bust to Black Jack, just like that, we went from downpours and dodgy motels to an all-access pass to the Hutterite kitchen with a local guide!  

As promised, a couple of days later the phone rang and after a brief photo stop in Gimli and cutting my weekend tour of Hecla short, I rode down to meet Darryl in his hometown of Stonewall.

Life Under The Lip

Closed - Closed - Closed

Manitoba is a funny place. With an entire provincial population smaller than that of most capital cities, it’s like being in one vast small town where everybody knows everybody. They are so aware of this small-town friendly feeling that the provincial motto is stamped right on the license plates for everyone to see, “Friendly Manitoba”, and Darryl was a shining example of this.

Not quite six feet, with a cylindrical chest like a whiskey barrel, bodybuilder shoulders that swallow up his neck, and a light salt and pepper beard, Darryl looks like he could tackle a bear while eating a sandwich. Up close this all gives way to a curious boyish grin that materializes across his face as a mix of curiosity, compassion, and mischief. He gives the sense he wants to help, but only if there’s a little adventure involved. 

I meet Darryl at the local Tim Hortons where he picks up a few boxes of doughnuts and coffee as a little gift for our arrival. He asks me a few more clarifying questions to make sure I’m not with PETA, a vegan, or planning to cause any problems with his farming friends. After assessing me and the situation, he decides that my best wrinkled t-shirt isn’t quite the look I should arrive with and gives me one of his dressier golf shirts. True to the license plate motto, the man just gave me the shirt off his back! Twenty minutes later we passed the entrance to the Rock Lake Hutterite Colony and I looked like an eight year old who just arrived at the fair.

I ask Darryl if they are a conservative colony. He explains that for the most part, the ones he knows are all conservative. As long as we’re genuinely curious, kind, and respect what they believe then we should all get along just fine. For them, life is pretty simple and they aren’t looking to change that too much.

    The entrance is a long gravel lane, with a large vegetable garden running the length of it, a trademark John Deere tractor rolling along, and various metal-roofed shops filled with enormous farming machinery. The lane ends at a long line of smooth-walled grain bins giving way to rows of housing and the main eating hall. There is only one door left between us and the mythical kitchen I have been so excited to see and learn about.

We’re met by Larry, a man in his forties with a ball cap, standard issue plaid shirt, and worn black pants, all held together by a pair of hearty suspenders. Larry is one of the colony's electricians, hence he’s Darryl's connection as Darryl deals with the power.

We greet Larry with coffee and doughnuts, he seems to like that. Larry’s a super nice guy and takes us on a little farm tour to explain parts of the operation and its modern edge. The farm is a mix of crops, vegetables, pork, and what looks like thousands of turkeys on site that they retail as the brand “Granny’s”. I quickly realize that under the hood of this operation, it's much more than just farming. They also run a state-of-the-art metal fabrication company, Bruder Built. An incredible in-house business that can custom build nearly any design and deliver it. I thought it was smart to have another business on site because we all know that with farming, you aren’t always guaranteed a good harvest. This becomes evident when we get to the back of the yard to see a large shop that’s been gutted by fire. Another example of how you never know what might bring your operation to a halt.

 The VIP tour is interesting and Larry even takes us over to the school gym to show off the modern mechanical room. A cutting-edge geothermal operation that offsets a large part of their power consumption. He teases Darryl that they are considering offsetting the rest with solar 🙂

 Darryl can see we're getting close to lunch and keeps hinting at the fact that I want to see the kitchen while it’s all being prepared. I’m up against this cultural wall where no self-respecting Hutterite male wants to be seen in the kitchen doing any of the cooking, but for whatever reason I want in there. Larry relents to my weird outsider requests and says he’ll take me to the kitchen and let me talk to the ladies. 

I feel like Indiana Jones as he constantly riddles his way to the Holy Grail. From prairie after prairie, asking, emailing, and cold calling I can now smell the Hutterite kitchen and my guide fails to see the importance or interest of this historical mission. Larry is living in a world of protein-packed farm-to-table riches few outsiders can imagine. To me, the Hutterite kitchen is a nearly un-accessible achievement. For Larry, it’s the thirty-minute gap between what he was working on and what he’s going to get back to working on after a little prayer, lunch, and light chat.

Camera off to avoid giving off that investigative reporter vibe, we make our way into the large commercial kitchen. Having spent a lot of time in commercial kitchens over the years, this one has that cruise ship feel where everything is done on an industrial scale. Giant stainless steel soup pots big enough to fit both Hansel and Gretel, long gas stoves, and deep fryers that could cook two of Granny’s turkeys at a time. 

Larry hands me off like bad debt hoping not to be spotted in the kitchen while he and Darryl slide into the background to bicker over solar. I’m greeted by a seasoned chef in a long floral garment with an apron overtop and green silicone oven mitts to keep from burning her hands on the fryer oil. My host seems interested in the idea that I’m interested in what she’s up to and happily answers my questions.

I ask what they are cooking today and she smiles and says “HFC”. 
“What’s HFC?” I say 
She looks at me, laughs, and through her German accent says “Hutterite Fried Chicken, A bit like KFC, but with a special Hutterite recipe!”
I’m caught off guard by her wit and I’m afraid I’m going to spit on the chicken as laughter bolts from my mouth. Her and a few of the other ladies in ear-shot giggle. 
I can see I’m going to like this little lunchtime stopover.

The witty woman who is now my host, is standing in front of a wall of baking sheets on a cooling rack that has been repurposed to hold the lightly battered chicken. Let's say there are 50+ pieces of chicken on each sheet and she’s slowly offloading them into the boiling oil trying to time it with the deep fryer next to it so they finish at separate times. It's getting close to lunchtime and I can clearly see she is right in the thick of things. It is the equivalent of interviewing a heart surgeon just as he is trying to clean out the clogged arteries. 

 I can see that I’m probably more of a nuisance than a help right now, but she lets me grill her about the days' menu, what typically goes on in here, and how long she’s been doing this job. She explains the ladies do 12-week rotations in the kitchen. With this you get ten to fifteen ladies with different ideas and a lot of different meals with a lot of different influences from our multicultural world. Then to keep my interest and so as not to halt production she offers me another option.

The HFC chef explains that one level down is the prep kitchen, even bigger than this one and today they are making turkey pot pies. She says it might be interesting to go have a look. It sounds like a win for both of us and I motion to Darryl that I’m heading downstairs.

As I come down the stairs my eyes balloon with piqued interest and I can feel a tingle run up the back of my spine with excitement. I’ve made it, I’m officially inside the belly of the beast and today it’s chugging away at full steam! I forget that it’s really me who's out of the place here and the girls' laughter and German chatter quickly slows to a hush while this foreign male enters the room with his camera and questions. 

What’s hidden underground is just as impressive as what’s going on upstairs. A well-oiled machine of young ladies in equally dazzling floral print dresses protected by vibrantly designed aprons and black scarfs pinned to their hair. There is a team of probably eight to ten in here diligently working away. I spot large bowls of mixed dough, six-inch deep steam table pans filled to the top with diced carrots and diced potatoes, table after table of half-constructed pies, and more cooling racks stacked with finished turkey pot pies on them all ready to be cooked or frozen. 

For the most part, they are just as curious as I am and want to know why I’m here and why I want to know what they are doing. One girl asks if I work with the news, another wants to know if I’m a YouTuber, and after some brief explanation, one girl asks for some clarity. She wanted to know if she heard me right. You just travel around asking about food? I try to make it sound like I have a real job so as not to look like a slacker in front of one of the hardest-working cultures in the country. “Ahh, well, yes kind of. It’s like a hobby. Ohh and I work a lot too.” Nice save Mr. Marshall, way to add in that you work a lot.

This group is pretty young and doesn’t mind if I take photos or record what's going on. I ask about the process, about how many pies they turn out in a day, and what some of their favorite jobs are. The lady I’ve been talking to thinks about it and says: Most of the jobs are pretty fun, but in the summer it’s nice to do some garden work and be outside. I think this job seems pretty good as you’re around your friends all day and it’s social. 

After pestering them with enough questions about how to make the pie, the recipe, and how to make that stunning crust edge that looks like a braided weave, one girl finally says she can’t really explain how to do it, that I just need to try it and learn, then asks if I want to try.

The pie shells are already laid out with the filling inside, all that’s left for me to do is put the top on and make it look pretty. As an example, one lady lays out the top, picks it up, and with one hand, spins the pie; with the other hand, she then runs the edge of a fork around the pan rim to remove the crust overage, then sets it down and uses her finger and thumb to sort of pinch and roll the edge to perfection. I try to repeat the process and with some heavy encouragement, I turn out a crust that resembles the look of tacky gum that was stuck to my fingers while trying to get it from my mouth to the garbage. They smile and comment on how great it looks while holding back what I’m sure are faces of disappointment.

One of the girls notices my camera recording off to the side and asks if she wants me to take some photos. I try to explain the complexities of the camera to her and she looks at me, then grabs the camera, and pushes the button as if to say, I’m pretty sure I can figure out the complexities of pushing the button.  

I ask what the best part about this colony is, she thinks about it and asks her friends what's so great about living here. While maybe not the location, it’s not very scenic. It's the people, they are pretty great. We all get along very well.

Despite being here for the food, I just can’t help but get into relationship questions again. I forget about my mission for the pie recipe and want to know how they meet other people or find romance with someone else. I want to see if it’s consistent with what I heard from the Saskatchewan colony I had visited before on this trip.

Me; So ladies, how exactly do you meet people or boys for example if that’s who you want to meet?
Ladies; A lot of young people go to other colonies just to meet people or maybe play sports, and for us, it’s mostly colonies in Manitoba. Sometimes we go for visits on Sunday nights or sometimes we’ll go and visit family for a full weekend someplace.

Me; Would you go there with the intention of meeting a husband?
Ladies; Maybe in the back of our minds, but usually it’s accidental. The weekends are usually pretty eventful, with different people at different colonies all the time.

Me; But if you meet someone, don’t you then have to move away to be with them and lose all your friends and family?
Ladies; Maybe, but then you just come back to visit here. Haven’t you ever moved away somewhere away from all your friends?

I can tell that they can see my genuine interest in trying to learn what I can in a short time with a series of questions. However, it is becoming more and more obvious that despite my thinking we are all so different, we are all basically the same. If I want to make dinner with my family they come over and we all do a series of jobs to get the dinner to the table. There might be ten of us, whereas there are a hundred and ten of them. If I want to meet someone it will probably happen at a party or event with people who have similar interests as me. Same for them. At the core, we are all the same, the difference is, I haven't seen the inner workings of their culture and I want to know more. 
​
The entire time I’m in their space and in their face, not one person stops what they are doing or is looking for an excuse to take a break because I’m standing there. They work, they talk and the jobs keep getting done no matter what the distraction. I try to get the exact turkey pot pie recipe in between my relationship questions; she says they make the dough for the crust and use garlic, onions, carrots, salt, and turkey for the filling.

I’m trying to make some recipe notes on my phone as I hear Darryl yell my name. Apparently, I’ve been down here awhile and he came to see if they had locked me in dry storage. It’s lunchtime and I’ve been invited into the main dining hall for HFC and a buffet of fresh colony creations. 

    We’re guided into the dining hall with Larry, then Darryl (who has been here before of course), followed by myself who is feeling wildly overstimulated by this whole experience. I’m torn between wanting to film every detail of this rare moment or at the very least snap some photos. At the same time, I can feel a hundred or so eyeballs stopping to gaze at the guy with the investigative reporter's camera over his shoulder. 

Two rows run down either side of a long table of breads, pickled goods, fresh vegetables, potatoes, and the crispy HFC. It does not get any closer to farm-to-table than this. The line and the hall are all full of the men who have been plucked from whatever job they were working on and are now ready to eat. I try to ask just enough questions about the food and dining hall to make conversation, but not too many questions to make it look like I don’t do this all the time. 

    Dining is group-style with eight or so per table. I say hi to everyone around us and set my camera and mic face down on the table to show that I’m clearly not recording anything. We sit, the place fills, the preacher says a quick prayer over a microphone and we have a little chat over lunch with everyone around us.

    Larry explains that the kids usually eat first in another room, then the men in this room, then the ladies once the men clear out, but rarely do the groups mix. I eat a homemade pickle, some fresh beans and spend the next twenty minutes chatting. Then in one fluid motion, the whole room finishes, says a little muted prayer, and the room empties out. Ohh damn, I’ve only had two bites of food and every other person has finished eating and is headed back to work. Darryl looks at my plate, laughs, and says; They don’t mess around. Lunch is fast, you might want to shove that in your mouth, we gotta go.

HFC

A lesson on efficiency learned, I cram as much chicken and potatoes in my mouth as I can on the way to drop off my plate. With a mouth full of food and a half-finished plate, I look like I was kicked out of the buffet for not paying my bill!

    

We wrap up the day with another little tour, meet some of Larry’s family, and head back to Stonewall. Darryl seems to think I’m harmless and calls another colony to see if we can stop by for a visit in a day or two. Then the guy who gave me the shirt off his back invited me to stay at his house. My guide has now become my host.

Over the next few days, Darryl fed me, entertained me, and toured me around the local sites including Winnipeg. He showed me a few of his own recipes, and one day I walked into the basement and he was even doing my laundry! I literally met this guy in the parking lot of a questionable hotel earlier in the week and he’s since rolled out the red carpet of Manitoba, it’s incredible. I think the one part of the tour he came to regret was unleashing his Harley V-Rod 1150cc. A bike that resembles a rocket lashed to a set of handlebars tied to a 240mm rear tire. 250cc Goose, loaded down with camping and camera gear takes about three minutes to get up to triple-digit speeds, I could sense Darryl’s agony watching me from the rearview mirror, haha. Later that week I asked his wife if Darryl usually brings strangers home. She said this was the first time. Maybe I looked like a guy who really needed some looking after 🙂

Two days later we wound up at the Keystone Hutterite Colony. Smaller and more laid back than Rock Lake, there was a calm relaxed country vibe to it. Keystone runs a hobby farm and the main business is decorative bricks for gardens and driveways as well as manufacturing custom firepits with some contracts for the CFL. Sammy the preacher meets us to show us around. A soft-spoken man with a warm smile, he gives us a site tour and then takes me to the kitchen where we’re first met by a group of seasoned ladies peeling rhubarb in a circle who find it funny I want to take their photo. Here, only about three ladies turn out daily meals for around seventy people. I ask them how they constantly churn out ideas so it’s not the same food day in and day out. One lady in her late 60s in a pastel dress with a hand-stitched apron overtop says; It's not too hard, I belong to a Hutterite WhatsApp group for food and recipes. Surprised by her answer, I feel like I’m standing at the intersection of culture, tradition, and technology.

Sammy takes me into the main kitchen and drops me off with the head chef who gives a brief overview of today's menu. A mix of farm fresh vegetables, spinach salad, some pickled carrots, roast chicken, and these delightfully sweet and chewy cookies that look like jumbo Oreos.  

I’m invited to sit at the head table next to Sammy where he introduces us to everyone, gives a prayer over a microphone and I snap a quick photo of a moment in time that likely won’t repeat itself anytime soon. Somehow we get on the topic of cults vs colonies and Sammy openly explains that in a cult you can't leave and one person makes all the decisions. In a colony, a board makes the decisions and you can come and go if you’d like. He goes on to say that a lot of men tend to leave when they are between 17-20 years old to explore life outside of the colony. However, a lot of them end up coming back to the community. 

The day wraps up and Sammy sends me off with a special jar of creamed honey he has stashed back at his house. It’s stamped Keystone Apiary, Warren MB. Sweet, thick, and lion yellow, it tastes like it’s been kissed by the Manitoba Prairie Crocus. I wrap this in a sock and stash it with my growing collection of delicious gifts.

In my opinion, looking at it as an outsider, the Hutterites all work towards one goal as a group. I think this can be hard for the rest of us to understand who all work for ourselves. We are very much an individualistic society. We have a one-household mentality and the chances that the one or two bread-winners under that roof are good at a vast number of things like generating capital, saving, investing, and growing our future can often be limited. 

 Whereas Hutterites are of a collective mindset. They have a large roof and under it is an array of people who are good at work, generating income, investing, planning for the future, cooking, and on and on. On top of that, they are constantly re-investing in themselves and if you are next in line, there might already be a home, job, system, and community support in place for you. Their team is going to crush my solo efforts every day of the week. It should be no surprise to anyone why colonies can set up, get established, and flourish into a self-sufficient entity in a short amount of time. 

Community and culture aside, Darryl and his friends at Rock Lake & Keystone certainly have the skill of hospitality and unbelievable farm-to-table dining down to a work of edible art.

Darryl trying to get my camera out of his kitchen :)

The V-Rod allowing Goose to catch up