Tasty illegal treats?
For the better part of the last century, my family has lived, worked and played in the Canadian wilderness. Our careers and hobbies generally centred around activities that included aspects of the Canadian environment. Wildlife photography, hunting, fishing, outfitting and other outdoor pursuits ranging from canoeing and horseback riding to snowshoeing and dogsledding filled our days. Careers such as park warden, forest ranger, trapper, land use officer, conservation biologist, wildlife rehabilitator and survival teacher are all represented within our immediate family.
I know this type of family life is not common in the urban areas of Canada where I now make my home, so while I may have routinely swum in frigid northern lakes, sucked the nectar from kinnikinnick, dined on muktuk and caribou, and even played with “domesticated” wolves, I don’t often encounter others who may have had such wonderful experiences.
It was therefore with some surprise that I had a conversation about eating beaver tail with a friend and colleague. She began by telling me about a recent trip she had taken to Montreal, where she had eaten a deep-fried beaver tail. Realizing that northern fare is often shipped to big cities for special events—fresh arctic char served at a New York gala, for instance—I took her news in stride. I replied that I had never eaten deep-fried beaver tail, but given the amount of fat, it would likely be quite tasty.
“Yes,” she agreed, “totally delicious, especially once you pour the maple syrup over it.”
“Now, that would taste good!” I answered, remembering my own childhood enjoyment of the simmering pots of beaver tail and beans that my mother would make. I imagined this sweetened with a hint of maple syrup—mmm, delightful! Something of these memories and imaginings must have shown on my face, because my friend looked at me and exclaimed:
“Not real beaver tail! It’s a pastry called Beaver Tail.”
I stared blankly at her for a few moments while I tried to adjust my thoughts to this new and strange idea. When she started to laugh at my confusion, I couldn’t help but join in. We laughed so hard our sides hurt. For me, at least, it was a memorable moment.
A few weeks later, my niece and I were browsing in a local bookstore, and upon finding the Canadian questionnaire in author Will Ferguson’s book How to Be a Canadian, I shared the story of my social faux pas with her. I guess it was still funny—she laughed and so did a fellow shopper standing next to us. Our fellow shopper felt emboldened enough with this camaraderie to confess that she herself had recently eaten a bear paw for the first time. I gasped; my niece’s eyes widened.
“You can’t do that,” I told the lady quietly, not wishing to cause her too much embarrassment.
“That’s so illegal,” my niece explained. Taken aback by our obvious horror, our new friend seemed to shrink and back away.
“It’s a type of cookie!” she squeaked.
A cookie? Again, a few moments elapsed while my niece and I looked at each other and tried to understand the new reality called a bear paw cookie. Once again I started to laugh, as did my niece. We turned to share our delight with our fellow shopper, but the bear-paw-cookie-eater had quietly and speedily disappeared…still, we’re all Canadians, eh?
—by Karen Taylor, Edmonton, Alberta