A Nebraska chef transformed his life by eating an indigenous diet. Now he's spreading the word.

Pricking his finger with a small needle, Anthony Warrior squeezed a drop of blood onto the test strip. As he saw the number illuminate, the then-40-year-old Absentee Shawnee citizen and Muskogee descendant knew his days of bad eating had caught up with him.

With his weight nearing 500 pounds and his blood sugar dangerously high, Warrior was facing a future of possible blindness, kidney failure and limb amputation – all complications of unchecked diabetes.

If he didn't address his eating habits and weight, he'd eventually be in a wheelchair or a casket.

That moment was the beginning of a dramatic change for Warrior, now 49, and it eventually led him to try to change others' lives for the better.

Warrior, who lives near the Santee Dakota (Sioux) reservation and is one of the region's best Indigenous chefs, teamed with the Santee branch of the Nebraska Indian Community College about two years ago to teach healthy eating courses. Through his catering business, Warrior's Palate, he also travels to other communities to preach the benefits of Indigenous-based eating and healthier dietary habits.

Native American adults have the highest rate of diagnosed diabetes among racial groups in the U.S., according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. They are nearly three times more likely to have Type 2 diabetes compared to white adults.

Warrior was diagnosed with Type 2 diabetes when he was 18. It felt like a death sentence, he said.

"We were told it was hereditary, and that we're most likely going to get it," he said. "And I believed that much of my life, until about 10 years ago."

Like many Native children, Warrior did not grow up eating the type of diet that the Great Plains tribes ate before the arrival of Europeans – corn, beans, squash, bison. Instead, it was a steady diet of processed foods.

"As kids, we lived in a time when two parents working was the norm ... so we were left to fend for ourselves," said Warrior, who grew up in Oklahoma. "We fed ourselves on school lunches. I'm not too proud to say that."

Typical school meals included pizza, sandwiches and spaghetti.

At home his parents made too much money to qualify for federal food assistance, but didn't make enough to keep the kitchen shelves from being bare at times.

Dinners primarily consisted of heavy starchy carbohydrates because they went further in feeding a family, he said. As an athlete, he was told to eat carbs to build mass.

Always a "big boy," weighing 350-375 pounds, Warrior played high school football and wrestled. He thought his weight was where it should be, until that day of the bad test when he was 40.

Refusing to take western drugs to control his diabetes, Warrior embraced an Indigenous diet.

He landed on fresh vegetables and fruits, along with lean meat, as his primary ingredients. Those ancestral staples became increasingly appealing and he started incorporating them in his cooking.

Soon, his blood sugar dropped to around 200 milligrams per deciliter, then lower. A glucose count of 100 is considered normal for a non-diabetic.

With his diabetes under control and his weight below 300 pounds, Warrior turned his attention outward.

A few years ago, Warrior approached the Santee branch of the Nebraska Indian Community College, where he runs a program that helps develop Indigenous-owner businesses, about the healthy eating courses. The college embraced the idea.

Twice a month, people gather at the Santee Dakota (iSanti Dakotah) tribe's food distribution center to learn about healthy meal preparation using commodity foods – items distributed on reservations through a federal program – as well as reasonably-priced items people can buy at a grocery store or farmers' market.

It helps that today's commodity foods differ from a generation ago, said Ken Derby Jr., who formerly managed the tribe's commodity foods program.

Many who received commodities in the past reflect nostalgically on the "cheese," which resembles Velveeta bars and which some question if it's really cheese at all. Canned meat was another commodity staple.

"I remember spending time with my grandma as a kid," said Tristan Runnels, who took the program over from Derby Jr. "We'd eat that unhealthy stuff. I remember the canned meat. It was greasy."

The canned meat is no longer stocked at the tribe's distribution center, which serves nearly 280 Santee citizens who are eligible for food assistance. Instead, it's bison, chicken, fresh eggs, dairy, cereal and vegetables. And, of course, the cheese, which satiates the elders' nostalgia.

On a sunny, warm April evening, Warrior was creating a healthy chicken, egg and berry salad, using mostly commodity food items. About 10 people – all elders – were in attendance.

"Last night, we did a talk at Northeast Community College (in Norfolk), and we had three minorities there," he said. "Tonight, it's a party!"

While discussing each step of the meal preparation, Warrior reflected on his own upbringing with food. His mother began as a home cook and later owned a cafe for about 10 years in Bloomfield. He earned his chops cooking for her and later casinos.

"Tonight, I wanted to bring some different flavors to you guys," Warrior said to the attendees as he prepared his ingredients.

In less than an hour, Warrior served up dishes for the group to sample.

Eventually, he hopes it will progress to a point where Santee residents can raise their own food and not rely on the government for certain staples.

"We have talked about it," he said. "We're looking at land allocation with some of the area farmland we have."

Runnels wants to run the food distribution program as an extension of the tribe, and not a throwback to the days when the federal government dropped off a month's worth of food.

"We don't want people thinking it's rations," Runnels said. "We want it to be more. We want it to be beneficial for all."

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