Backcountry Mystic’s Soulful Chef: Isaac Nodin

You know those people who don’t say much, but somehow command the room without even trying?
That’s Isaac.

He’s the reason Backcountry Mystic didn’t implode in the first three months.

I first met Isaac the week we moved into the ramshackle property that was supposed to be our new B&B. I was standing in the middle of the porch, holding a sage bundle like it might double as a fire extinguisher. The kitchen was flooded, the fuse box had sparked, and Nova had already managed to cover herself (and the walls) in some kind of glitter-based oil.

Isaac just stood there at the edge of the driveway, arms crossed, watching.

“You need help or are you planning to cleanse it with optimism?” he asked.

Reader, I hired him on the spot.

Well, not immediately. But that was the beginning.

A Meeting of Fire and Flint

Isaac Nodin is Anishinaabe, from a nearby community, and one of those terrifying people who actually follows through on things. While I was spiraling through existential dread and poorly labeled boxes, he was building a working kitchen in his head and outlining permits before I could remember where we put the coffee filters.

He originally wanted to open a locally-sourced Anishinaabe diner—simple, honest food rooted in tradition. He’d scoped out the same property we bought, but we beat him to it. Instead of holding a grudge, he asked if we had a business plan.

Cue my blank stare and a mumbled something about “upcycled vision boards.”

Isaac blinked once. “So, no.”

But instead of walking away, he rolled up his sleeves, quite literally, and offered a counter-proposal: he’d open the café inside the building. We’d split the commercial space—my metaphysical store on one side, his café on the other.

It wasn’t just practical. It felt right. Like the land had nudged both of us to the same place, and we’d agreed to stop arguing with it.

Building Something Worth Staying For

Isaac’s café isn’t a vibe—it’s a grounding cord. He doesn’t do trendy or complicated. His menu is small, intentional, and seasonally based. Bannock. Wild rice bowls. Cedar tea. Maple butter scones that will ruin your life.

He sources ingredients from Indigenous suppliers when possible and includes stories with certain dishes—if you ask. If you ask twice, he’ll assume you’re genuinely curious and not just collecting “exotic experiences” for your Instagram.

The space itself is warm and minimalist, with earthy tones, reclaimed wood, and plants that somehow aren’t dead, which baffles me. He plays instrumental flute and bluesy folk in the mornings, and jazz in the afternoons. There’s a tiny corner shelf for books—some in Anishinaabemowin, some cookbooks, a few unexpected zines—and a “leave one, take one” tray of loose-leaf tea samples that Nova keeps trying to turn into glitter bombs.

When people ask what it’s like to work with Isaac, I usually say, “Imagine partnering with a mountain. Not loud, not fast, but absolutely immovable once he’s decided on a direction.”

Not a Man of Many Words (But the Ones He Uses Matter)

Isaac doesn’t argue. He waits. He lets people talk themselves in circles, unraveling like unspooled thread, until they realize—usually too late—that he’s already solved the thing they were bickering about.

When we disagree, he just gives me that look. You know the one. The “do you want to be effective or just dramatic” look. I hate it. I respect it. I keep falling for it.

He doesn’t have time for nonsense, but he makes time for people. Especially if they’re open to learning. He’ll explain his spiritual practices, but he won’t perform them for you. And he doesn’t dumb things down.

“You don’t need to understand everything to respect it,” he once told a tourist who asked if he could “do a smudge ceremony for the ‘gram.’” That guy got banned from the café. Permanently.

The Spiritual Core of the Backcountry Mystic Café (Even If He Pretends He’s Not)

Isaac doesn’t run the metaphysical store, but let’s be honest—he grounds it. I’m over here with my tarot decks and Celtic dream logic, calling it “spiritual trial and error,” while Isaac reminds us that land, food, and story are sacred too.

He’s not interested in magic as spectacle. He’s here for the kind that nourishes people. Quietly. Daily. With intention.

Which means we don’t always agree. But we’ve found a rhythm. I bring the chaos; he brings the calm. I build altars out of books and crystals; he makes food that is the altar.

We both believe in something bigger. We just approach it from opposite ends of the table.

Want to Meet Isaac Nodin in Person?

Drop by Backcountry Mystic Café next time you’re in BriarVeil. Try the cedar tea (seriously, it fixes more than you think). Ask him a question. Listen more than you speak. And maybe don’t ask to smudge for content.

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💜 Everlie