Acadian Canadians

It's a warm July afternoon just outside of Moncton, New Brunswick, in tranquil Dieppe. A city renamed to honor the soldiers who died on the beaches of Dieppe, France, in the Second World War. Dieppe is the second largest Francophone city in the country, outside of Québec City, and the only province in Canada that recognizes both French and English as its official languages. However, the locals are not to be generalized as French Canadians as I once assumed; these streets are filled with genuine Acadian Canadians.

On this summer day, I’m hanging out with some local Acadians at the end of their driveway; beautifully shaded by sugar maples and standing across from a boxy Ford Conquest F350 RV that I last saw at sunrise on a turtle hatching mission in Costa Rica six years earlier. The upbeat sounds of Acadian folk-rock band 1755 thump inside the nearby garage that doubles as our culinary corner. There is a simple picnic-style dining area set up under a proudly hung blue, white, and red Acadian flag, only identifiable from the French flag by the addition of a large yellow star to signify Our Lady of the Assumption, the patron saint of Acadians.

In the driveway is a double-burner gas cooktop, next to a gas BBQ aligned to work in unison to boil fish, potatoes, and render pork fat with onions. An unmistakable scent that hangs heavy in the air, waiting for a light shift in the winds to take it away. It feels like a backyard party is building, but I’m told tonight we are dining “à la bonne franquette”, a no-fuss dinner among friends that doesn’t need a reason to celebrate.

I’d originally met these Acadian Canadians, Mathieu, Rachel, and their kids Mélodie and Jérémy, in the boxy Ford Conquest RV parked behind us. I was camping alone on the beach with my tent and motorbike in Costa Rica. They were on their way to watch baby turtles hatch and scurry their way from sandy dens to ocean safety in the wee hours of the morning…I mean, how else do you meet people?

I was passing through Costa Rica on my motorcycle, and Mathieu and Rachel were taking a year to show their kids the world. They’d spotted an opportunity where the kids would be old enough to remember the adventure, but still young enough that it wouldn't interfere with their education or major friendships. Incredible foresight on their part to take advantage of a rare opportunity to further their offspring's global education. And today, they were furthering my education on Acadian culture.

Acadians stand as the first European settlers who came to modern day Nova Scotia from France in the 1630s. At the time, this was a French territory known as Acadie, and covered a large section of what on today's map is P.E.I., New Brunswick, and the peninsula of Nova Scotia. Here, they established a way of life, farmlands, fisheries, and a positive reputation with the local Mi’kmaq First Nations. All of this came unwound in 1713 once the British took control of the region. 

The British, English-speaking Protestants, felt threatened by large populations of French-speaking Roman Catholics and attempted to assimilate them to the Anglophone way of living. When efforts failed, a crusade to either eliminate or relocate the Acadians was launched, and by 1755, the Grand Dérangement (the Great Upheaval) had begun in newly named Nova Scotia. 

Acadians were imprisoned, relocated, or fled back to Europe, across Canada, and down to areas like Louisiana, a region that has since become known for its Cajun people. An adopted, but mispronounced version of the word Acadian to broadly describe ethnically French people who live in Louisiana. 

Between fighting, hiding, the help of the Mi’kmaq, and returning to their homelands after the expulsion, the Acadian people as a whole survived. To mark this achievement and make it very clear to the Anglophones who tried to rid or assimilate them, they celebrate Acadian Day every year on the 15th of August. At 6:00 pm, no matter your location on the planet. The Acadians signal their existence by cheering and banging on anything and everything that will make noise as loudly as they can. Picture your pots, pans, and baking sheets turned noise makers – even the local Catholic Church rings its bells as a symbol of recognition. 

After learning all of this, I was feeling a bit ashamed as I had misrepresented them in my previous book KLaiR. As an undereducated descendant of the British Commonwealth, I labeled them as French Canadians. They have since made me an honorary, non-married Acadian, and to make it up to them, I’ve committed myself to celebrating Acadian Day by banging and yelling their existence in the skies every year on the 15th of August. 

Over moose burgers and Alpine beer (a part of New Brunswick’s Moosehead brewery), on the first night of my arrival, I asked what the most authentic Acadian dish was that I could find. Mathieu pointed out that the wild moose burger and beer in front of me were a pretty good start. We drank and chatted, then out came some jarred clams and some clam-cheese dip. A protein-rich dip that complemented the East Coast environment nicely.

 Another suggested dish was the Poutine Râpée, a dumpling filled with shredded potato wrapped around pork. Historically, the Poutine Râpée was used to hide valuable, calorically rich meat right under the noses of the occupying British, who wouldn’t dare eat a mushy dumpling, but would always be on the lookout to confiscate Acadian proteins. How clever! 

    Then, almost reluctantly, Rachel mentioned Barbue Avec Grillades, a dish the kids grandpa loves. A simple and hardy meal of salted morue barbue (bearded cod), grillades (fried pork belly), garden potatoes, and onion. I thought if this is a traditional dish your dad loves and you are grappling with the idea that this is what I rode across the country for, we have a winner!

So here we are, set up in the driveway in front of the Costa Rica road trip mobile, with 1755 pumping out from beside an Acadian flag and the family cooking on the gas broilers. Rachel’s mom, Louisa, whom they affectionately refer to as Mamisa, is sautéing the onions in a heart-healthy mix of lard and pork fat. Rachel is tending to the rehydrated and boiling morue barbue. Mathieu and the kids are setting up the table while Romain, the grandpa, who everyone calls Babou (not to be confused with Barbue, which I did many times) and the inspiration for today's menu, keeps an eye on things – ocasionally nibbling a piece of fried pork fat or boiled fish to check the quality.
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As the fish is already salted, and so is the pork, there are no additional seasonings required. The garden potatoes boil, skin on, until soft, and so does the fish. The pork strips are fried until crispy in lard (cue the cardiologist appointment), then out they come, and in their place go the diced onions until translucent.


The table is set, à la bonne franquette style, with nothing more than a plastic tablecloth, dishes, and enough room for family and friends. On the plate in front of me is a dish designed for its regional simplicity and ability to fill your hunger gap or potentially your hunger canyon. The potatoes have been flattened for maximum caloric absorption, then topped with shredded chunks of the barbue, and a garnish of extra-thick, extra-crispy side bacon. The whole dish is then drizzled with the lard, pork fat, and fried onion blend. Then topped with Chow-chow green tomato relish, and a few of Grandma's jarred beets added for a touch of color. 

No matter how many times I look at this plate, I still can’t believe we fried pork in lard. I’m told it was to prevent the pork slices from sticking. My father, much like Babou, would be in heaven eating this dish! Both of them are from generations when taste and the ability to fill you up were regarded as the most important things in a meal; nothing had a label to identify that your arteries might be clogging before your eyes. The confusion on the kids' faces as to why I would want to try this dish reflects nicely off the smile on Babou’s face, who eats this once a week. He seems delighted that everyone loves this dish so much that they we want to use it as the culture's focus point of edible enlightenment. For me, I’m ecstatic to have uncovered something no one outside of this part of the country has likely ever tried, and the company as well as the ambience are pure bliss. 

Then, as my protein and salt intake reach beyond levels I’ll be able to stabilize with mere water and walking, out come three pies! Not A pie, but one apple, one blueberry, and one sugar pie. Ohh my, I may need to walk back to Alberta to offset what’s been going into my mouth since departing earlier this Spring!

At the table, Babou mainly speaks French/Acadian French. I only speak English.  Everyone else over forty is bilingual in French, Acadian, and English. The remaining two, under eighteen, speak all of the above languages, plus Chiac, a very regional form of Acadian French spoken in southern New Brunswick that borrows words and word structure from English. Not to be confused with Franglais, a blend of French and English.  Jérémy leans more towards Acadian, Mélodie more towards Chiac, I lean more towards whoever can translate for me.  

A very excited group, the conversation is now bouncing between historical and travel stories, with each person talking over or through the next to share their personal favorite food or road trip highlight. It’s a fairly organized routine they have clearly been working on for years, where everyone is heard and everyone gets to speak, even if it’s while someone else is speaking. To add to this, there is a sort of sub-conversation one octave below the main conversation happening, where one person or another is translating the words I might not have understood. The whole thing was an extraordinary dance of communication where no one was left out and everyone got an opportunity to speak. Incredible! 

It takes me back to one of the nights we were all hanging out in Costa Rica, along with a couple of other families from France. I was the only 100% English speaker and didn’t want to have everyone swap languages for my benefit. Noticing this, Mathieu dubbed the entire conversation into English for me, slightly quieter than everyone was speaking, while still keeping his position in the conversation. At the time, I was amazed he could do this; now I see he’s had plenty of practice at it 🙂

You don’t necessarily need to drive all over the planet to meet some of the planet's most interesting people, discover their cultures, and sample their foods but if you do get that opportunity, take it! 

Recipe
Barbue Avec Grillades

• 5 lbs Barbue salé (Salted Barbue) A.K.A. morue barbue /white hake/bearded cod
• 2 lbs Grillades de pork (a slab of bacon that includes the belly fat)
• 3 TBSP of tender flake lard
• 4 onions 
• 10 lbs garden or new potatoes
• Chow-chow relish 
• Jarred beets (optional)

    
Soak the salted hake in water overnight to release the salt, then drain and soak briefly again before using to clear out as much of the salt as possible. Cut the fish into chunks 3-4” long and cover with water to boil for 15-20 minutes.

Wash potatoes thoroughly, and in a large pot, add them whole and unpeeled. Smaller or medium potatoes work best. Cover the potatoes with water and boil until soft, about 20 minutes. 

Next, slice half the bacon into thick slices about ½” thick and as long as the slab. The rest into strips about ½” thick by 2” long. First, cook the slices as crispy as possible without burning them and then the strips with diced onion until the onion is translucent and the bacon is a bit softer than bacon bits. 

    Once everything is cooked, drain and smash the potatoes, then drain and lightly crumble or mince the fish with a fork. On your plate; first the potatoes, then the fish, then drizzle with the bacon onion mix. Garnish with an extra thick slice of crispy bacon, a side of Chow-Chow, and some of Grandma’s jarred beets. 
    
Crank up the 1755, enjoy the à la bonne franquette dining, and try to keep yourself in the conversation 🙂