Bryson’s cipaille supper has been a community staple for longer than those assembling the famous meat pies can remember, and this year’s feast was no different.
Sunday afternoon at the Lions hall in Bryson, 26 pots of cipaille, four pots of beans, mashed potatoes, coleslaw, and 244 pieces of pie were served to the community either in classic sit-down style or packed to-go.
Bryson Lions president Betty Leach said the feast saw an early lunch rush, but by the afternoon, the hall was pretty quiet because the community was gathered outside the hall at the ball field for a fundraiser tournament for the Bryson Revitalization group.
But between pitches, the tournament announcer called out that there was still pie left inside for those who wanted to get some.
Leach said they were expecting a later rush too, once the tournament wrapped up.
The massive meal doesn’t magically appear. It takes a group of dedicated volunteers to make it all happen – volunteers who, according to Leach, are harder and harder to come by.
The crew preparing the supper was a mix of Lions members and volunteers at large, who all played an important role in continuing the cipaille tradition, which takes a pile of work.
Two evenings before the supper, a group of volunteers met to freshen up the big cast iron pots the group agreed must be at least around 100 years old, cut up 200 lbs of pork and 400 lbs of beef, make and roll the pie dough, and then build the pies into the pots, one at a time, layering the meat, seasonings, and dough.
The recipe has not changed at all since as long as any of the cooks could remember. According to volunteer Paul Lacroix, it’s just something that gets passed down from person to person.
“It’s written down somewhere only if we get too old to remember it to pass on to the next guy,” he said, while evenly pouring melted butter on top of a layer of meat and spices.
From sourcing ingredients to prepping the dishes, to cooking, and cleaning up afterward, hosting the feast is a labour-intensive process, and the regular volunteers aren’t getting any younger.
“I’m no spring chicken,” Leach said. Without a solid group of members and helpers, she worries the future of the supper is uncertain.
“It gets tougher every year.”
Starting Saturday morning, the work needs to begin to heat the large wood-fired oven used to cook the pies, which means it needs to be tended to every two hours.
Brent Ostrom has been tending these oven fires for the past four years. He said once the oven reaches temperature, the pies are cooked for almost 10 hours.
This year he had help from his grandson, Ethan Lafonte, and his grandson’s girlfriend Emma Cameron to tend the fire and more importantly, lift the pots that, when full, weigh around 75 lbs.
Ostrom said he hopes he can hook the younger generation into continuing the efforts, by enlisting them now.
When asked whether Lafonte would lend his strength again next year, he said “possibly,” looking to his grandfather with a bit of a smirk. This was his third year helping out, he said.
“Probably,” Cameron added lightheartedly, correcting him.
“It’s something, a tradition, that you want to cary on,” she said.
When asked whether they might change anything to make the labour of love that is preparing this feast easier on the thinning volunteer base, Leach didn’t hesitate to say no.
“No point changing it and people not liking it,” she said, proud of the reputation of the dish’s taste. She insisted the pie’s signature texture can be attributed to both the quality of the ingredients inside, and the dedication and care given to preparing it.
