More Than a Meal: A Journey Into History, Land, and Self at Owamni

“Decolonized dining.” That’s the phrase that stopped me. I first heard it from Chef Sean Sherman, and I remember thinking, what does that even mean? The more I understood it, the more I couldn’t look away. It’s really about going back—back to the foods and the people that were here before everything else. Before the processing, before the sugar, before the dairy, before the wheat. And as someone who works as a health chef, it hit me. Because even though it’s not labeled “health food,” it kind of is—in the most real, grounded way. That’s why when I first saw Chef Sherman on Top Chef, I was completely locked in.

I grew up in Rapid City, SD, but I’ve lived in New York for over 40 years now. Something about his story felt  familiar and I couldn't wait to start experimenting with some of the ingredients featured in his book.  So I ordered his cookbook, The Sioux Chef’s Indigenous Kitchen, and sat with it for a while. And I remember thinking that I knew this wasn’t going to be just about the food.  There was something deeper in me- something I couldn't quite explain- pulling me to go and experience it for myself.

So I did. I booked a trip from New York to Minneapolis—not for a show, not for a weekend getaway, but for a restaurant. And not just one night. Three nights in a row. I know how that sounds, but I also knew this wasn’t just going to be about food.

Walking to the restaurant that first night, I looked up and saw a banner stretched across the street: “You are on Native land.” I don’t know how to fully explain it, but something shifted before I even walked through the door. It felt grounded, almost like a quiet reminder to pay attention.

I sat at the counter, which is always my favorite place to be. If you’re in the food world, you know—that’s where everything happens. I was dining alone, and it felt right. My server—Tad? Thad? I wish I could remember exactly—was incredibly present. I told him I had come from New York just for this, and that I had reservations for three nights. He smiled and helped me think through a plan—not just what to order that night, but how to experience the menu over all three visits. That alone told me this was going to be different.

Bison Picanha Carrot Tartar Blue Bread (Dessert)

The first dish he recommended was a Bison Picanha. It was one of those moments where the plate is set down and you just pause. It was almost too beautiful to eat. Almost. But beyond how it looked, it felt intentional. I savored every delicious bite. I hope they never take that off the menu!

At one point, I asked what “Owamni” meant. He told me it’s Lakota for “swirling waters,” referring to the powerful waterfall that once existed right there, before the mills and the industry changed everything. That stayed with me.

The next day, I went for a walk in the area. It was cold and quiet, almost too quiet. There wasn’t much around—just the restaurant, a coffee shop, and these old, abandoned flour mills. I visited Mill City Museum, which is built into what’s left of one of those mills. It was interesting, but what stayed with me wasn’t the industry. It was what wasn’t there anymore. The water. The life that existed before all of it.

Somewhere in that, I started thinking about my own history. There’s a photograph of my great-grandparents standing in front of their homestead house. For most of my life, I looked at that photo with pride—this is where we came from, this is what they built. But standing there in Minneapolis, that feeling shifted. I still feel something when I look at it, but it’s not as simple as pride anymore. It’s more complicated than that. I understand more now about what having a homestead meant, what it took, and what it may have displaced. That doesn’t take anything away from my family, but it does change how I see it.

Corn Taco Sweet Potato Turkey Taco

By the second night at Owamni, something had changed. I walked in and I was remembered. The hostess greeted me warmly, and it felt easy, familiar. That night, a woman sitting nearby overheard part of my conversation and asked if she could sit closer. We started talking like we already knew each other. She was from Russia, living in Colorado, and in Minneapolis for work. Two completely different lives, sharing a meal and a moment. That night, I didn’t feel like I was dining alone at all.

I didn’t meet Chef Sean Sherman while I was there, but months later, I was back home in Rapid City for a family reunion and walked into a coffee shop one morning—and there he was. It wasn’t some big moment, just one of those quiet, unexpected full-circle experiences.

What stayed with me most from this trip is something simple. We can’t change history, but we can choose how we move forward. We can be more aware of where we are, whose land we’re on, and what came before us. We can support Indigenous communities—not just in words, but in where we spend our money, what we choose to engage with, and who we choose to support. And we must be intentional. If we think we’re supporting Indigenous work, it’s worth asking: who made this? Where is it coming from? Who actually benefits?

Owamni is moving forward…. At the end of April 2026, it will close its doors, only to reopen on May 1 in a new space as Indigena by Owamni.

And honestly, that just gives me a reason to go back to Minneapolis for another culinary adventure.