Sourcing Spotlight: Real Stories from Indigenous Foodways

IN PART TWO OF OUR SERIES ON INDIGENOUS FOOD SOVEREIGNTY, WE SHARE THE VOICES OF SOME INDIGENOUS LEADERS IN MEXICO AND WEST AFRICA, AND THOSE WORKING TO SUPPORT THEM. THESE STORIES POINT TO A DIFFERENT WAY TO PRODUCE FOOD — ONE THAT’S BETTER FOR PEOPLE AND PLANET.
Pujol: Supporting Indigenous foodways in Mexico City
Based in Mexico City (and recently certified with three stars in the Food Made Good Standard), Pujol restaurant is a great example of how hospitality can support native food sovereignty, making Indigenous foodways a central part of the story they tell through their menus. Xochitl Areli Peña Valencia, Sustainability Coordinator at Pujol, shares how they approach this.
“Industrial agriculture narrows the world, not only in terms of biodiversity, but also in memory, in flavour, in meaning. Chefs don’t just cook ingredients; we cook with histories, climates, even languages. When we rely on monocultures, we erase these layers.
“In Mexico, the richness of native ingredients is inseparable from the people who have kept them alive. It’s not just about sourcing native corn: it’s about recognising who holds the knowledge of that seed, who tends it, and why it tastes the way it does. Working with Indigenous communities is not an act of charity. It’s a step toward restoring a system that was violently disrupted — and listening, not without humility, to those who never broke their link to the land.
“At Pujol, we’ve learned to let go of fixed expectations and to understand that we are not the centre. The menu is not a demand; it’s a conversation. We ask what’s growing, what’s thriving, what’s struggling. We adapt dishes accordingly. We visit fields, we ask questions, and we pay fairly. Flexibility is key not only in recipes, but in mindset. It’s not about chefs “elevating” ingredients. It’s about building long-term relationships rooted in trust, transparency and shared purpose. And above all, it’s about continuity — supporting farmers not only when something is trending, but year after year.
“Communication matters because this work can’t happen in isolation. If only the chef knows the story behind the corn, the lesson is lost. Our cooks, servers, dishwashers and sommeliers are all part of the chain that gives meaning to what ends up on the table. Our guests, too, are not passive; they are participants in a system and, sometimes, willing accomplices in its transformation. We don’t preach, but we do share. We say where something comes from, who grew it, what the land looked like that season, and who did the research so that we know these things. And in that moment — that tiny pause — something tends to shift. Someone, if at least one person, begins to care. Hopefully.”
“Working with Indigenous communities is not an act of charity. It’s a step toward restoring a system that was violently disrupted — and listening, not without humility, to those who never broke their link to the land.”
Arca Tierra: Forging new connections in Mexico City
Elsewhere in Mexico City, Arca Tierra works to connect city dwellers to farmers through a weekly CSA service that reflects the rich diversity of colours, textures and flavours of the Mexican countryside. “This connection transforms cooking and eating into a mindful act — one of belonging, and one that supports more just food systems,” says Lucio Usobiaga, Founder. “Chefs and restaurants are the storytellers of the food system; every dish they serve has the power to make visible where ingredients come from, who grew them, and how. From the kitchen, we can challenge the idea that Indigenous knowledge belongs to the past. We can show it is present, urgent and absolutely delicious. Rebuilding that connection is part of healing our food system.”
At Arca Tierra, they work hand-in-hand with traditional farming communities, most of whom carry ancestral knowledge — and also with a young generation of farmers whose parents were pushed into conventional agriculture and who are now able to transition into a regenerative operation.
“These systems are not relics of the past — they are living, resilient models that are culturally rooted and environmentally regenerative,” says Lucio. “Rather than imposing top-down solutions, we listen and learn from those who have cultivated in harmony with their ecosystems for generations. We’re not here to single-handedly change the global food system. We are here to show that there is another way to eat — one that is fairer, more nutritious and deeply connected to the Earth.”
One way Arca Tierra does this is through its support of the chinampas, a UNESCO World Heritage site and an impressive 14th century feat of engineering. Developed by the native Mexica people, these ‘floating gardens’ consist of man-made elevated, narrow platforms used as fields, surrounded by water canals. Around 5,000 acres of chinampas are still in existence, but just 2.5% of these are still used for farming. By offering gastronomic tourism experiences in the chinampas, Arca Tierra directs funding to the preservation of these resilient systems.
They also support Indigenous farmers by creating demand for heritage crop varieties. “Seed diversity is the foundation of food resilience: if we sow them, we can preserve them,” says Lucio. “Each heirloom or native variety is a response to place — a story of adaptation to drought, pests, poor soils or climate extremes, carried out by generations of farmers. When we plant a milpa with many types of corn, we are not just growing food — we are growing autonomy, memory and future. Replacing these seeds with hybrid or commercial varieties doesn’t just mean losing biodiversity. It means losing flavour, knowledge and sovereignty.
“We collaborate directly with seed keepers in Xochimilco and other regions — not as a romantic gesture, but as a real strategy to regenerate soils, improve diets and adapt to climate change. To forget our traditional seeds is to forget who we are. Protecting them is a collective act of care — and a responsibility rooted in the land.”
“When a chef chooses to work with regenerative producers, features native varieties or simply tells the story behind an ingredient, they help redistribute power and recognition. This isn’t about appropriating tradition — it’s about building transparent, lasting and equitable relationships with those who have kept that heritage alive.”
“When a chef chooses to work with regenerative producers, features native varieties or simply tells the story behind an ingredient, they help redistribute power and recognition. This isn’t about appropriating tradition — it’s about building transparent, lasting and equitable relationships with those who have kept that heritage alive.”
Groundswell International: Crops as culture in West Africa
Freda Aagyereyir Pigru, West Africa Communications Coordinator for Groundswell International, tells us how the use of diverse seeds and heritage crops is more than just tradition for Indigenous West African communities: it's a food security strategy that has allowed families to survive famine and climate extremes for generations.
“Early-maturing crops are grown alongside long-maturing ones to ensure a steady food supply throughout the seasons,” says Freda. “Heritage crops carry significant cultural and spiritual meaning across various communities. Farmers strive to save such seeds to ensure the continuity and sustainability of these traditional crops and cultural practices. In most tribes in Ghana, certain varieties of guinea corn are stored by the heads of households in woven buns and used in funeral rites. The larger the bun and grains, the greater the farmer's pride.
“In Dagara and Northern Ghanaian cultures, crops like okra, pepper, groundnuts and Bambara beans are seen as 'feminine crops'. Even though women often don't have direct access to land, they traditionally grow these crops by intercropping them onto their husbands' or male relatives' fields. They will later harvest and save these vegetables for family consumption and sell them to help with household needs. These practices indirectly became insurance systems and antidotes to monocropping, avoiding conventional agriculture’s many disadvantages.
“In West Africa, the rise of foreign food brands has changed tastes and pushed traditional dishes to the margins. Children are now growing up eating expensive imported processed foods instead of cereal porridge and local vegetables. To revive these almost extinct traditional dishes and create awareness, Groundswell International's partners throughout West Africa have adopted local food fairs as a strategy of connecting consumers with producers.
“Restaurants and chefs have contributed by promoting local dishes made with food grown by local farmers, but more can be done. Chefs can continue to explore indigenous ingredients with creativity and build stronger links with local producers to ensure demand and supply go hand in hand. Food is an integral part of a people's culture. When chefs and restaurants include indigenous crops and traditional dishes on their menus, they help preserve and revitalise cultural identity.”
“Food is an integral part of a people's culture. When chefs and restaurants include Indigenous crops and traditional dishes on their menus, they help preserve and revitalise cultural identity.”
Selassie Atadika and Midunu: Memory made visible in Ghana
Selassie Atadika is a food systems advocate, TIME Earth Award-winner and Founder and Executive Chef at Midunu, an event venue, private and nomadic dining concept in Ghana, designed to celebrate Africa's culinary heritage.
“Supporting Indigenous farming communities is not an act of charity — it’s an act of foresight,” says Selassie. “These communities are stewards of the ingredients, techniques and knowledge systems that can truly nourish both people and planet. During the pandemic, I began growing some of these ingredients myself. As I searched for seeds in Ghana, I was struck by how difficult it was to find anything outside the imported, hybridised options in the market. It was only through conversations with aunties and elders, and time spent in their gardens, that I discovered ancestral herbs and spices I had never tasted before.
“Now, in my own garden, I grow things like akokobesa and scent leaf. Some are flavours I remember from childhood; others I’ve come to know only recently. But the impact they have is undeniable. When guests taste a broth infused with these ingredients, I see their posture change. I hear memories flood back. There is a sense of dignity, of belonging, that emerges simply from encountering something that carries their story.”
“We are at risk of losing ingredients and the memories, medicinal properties and nutritional value tied to them before we even know their names. Supporting Indigenous food systems is how we ensure those ingredients, that knowledge, and those connections endure. Heritage crops go beyond being ingredients — they are memory made visible. They carry the taste of place, of people, of persistence. When I work with grains like fonio or legumes like Bambara groundnut, I’m preserving a lineage. Replacing these crops with commercial monocultures doesn’t just diminish biodiversity — it erases identity. We lose not only the resilience of these plants in the face of climate change, but also the stories, songs and spiritual relationships that surround them. My culinary work is centred on restoring that connection: honouring the archive that lives in every seed.”
“Chefs can be gatekeepers — or bridge-builders. At Midunu, I’ve chosen the latter. Our plates tell stories of forest and farm, of migration and memory. When chefs make deliberate choices to source from Indigenous farmers, credit origin stories and resist the flattening of flavour into trend, we begin to shift power back to its rightful stewards.”
“Standing with Indigenous food systems requires more than inspiration — it requires humility and respect. It means learning where a dish or ingredient comes from, acknowledging its cultural significance, and never presenting it as your own innovation. It’s about collaboration, not appropriation. If a recipe or ingredient holds ancestral meaning for a community, chefs have a responsibility to honour its context and give credit to the people who have protected it for generations. True solidarity also means creating pathways for economic empowerment — ensuring that the grandmother who grows amaranth or the farmer who saves seeds isn’t just a silent supplier but recognised as a co-creator of culture and flavour.”
“Food has the power to reclaim, to reimagine, and to resist. Chefs must move beyond inspiration to participation — creating not just menus, but movements that uplift and give back. Flavours have origins, and acknowledging them is how we build trust and truth in food.”
“True solidarity also means creating pathways for economic empowerment — ensuring that the grandmother who grows amaranth or the farmer who saves seeds isn’t just a silent supplier but recognised as a co-creator of culture and flavour.”
If you missed our previous article exploring what Indigenous food sovereignty means for food systems and for restaurants, you can find it here. Keep your eyes peeled for our third and final piece, highlighting how restaurants can integrate Indigenous food sovereignty into their sourcing practices.
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Lead image courtesy of Chef Selassie Atadika.