Ottawa bakery’s rainbow doughnuts return for Pride, with a call for real allyship

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Little Jo Berry’s

1305 Wellington St. W.; littlejoberrys.com

Price: $5-6 for baked goods

Accessibility: Wheelchair accessible entrance

The rainbow doughnuts at Little Jo Berry’s take longer to decorate than to sell.

Bakers curl strands of pastel fondant over dairy-free whipped cream clouds on each glazed blue ring. Pre-made candy belts would be a quicker substitute, but they contain wheat and gelatin, and that rules them out.

Every item in the Wellington West bakery meets owner Jo Masterson’s standard for accessibility, vegan by default and often gluten-free.

The doughnut base starts with bananas whipped, in Masterson’s words, “until they get kind of yolky and weird,” giving the final product a texture closer to cake than fried dough.

The rainbow rings appear in August only, a marker of Pride in Ottawa as the shop approaches a decade in the neighbourhood.

Inside the pastry case, the references run queer. “We have the Twinkies that are kind of a nod to twinks,” said Masterson. “I also use a lot of ‘Earl Gay.’ I always feel like queer folk love tea.” The Earl Grey latte at Little Jo Berry’s has a surprising fruitiness, akin to the milk leftover from a bowl of Froot Loops.

Much of the menu comes from cravings carried over from childhood. Pop-Tarts are one of the longest-running treats in the bakery, cycling through seasonal flavours of jammy fruit in a flaky casing. Rocky Road bars recall the ones Masterson ate at church reunions, and a cherry on a cupcake is a wink at 1950s diner sweets, they said.

That sense of play has helped the bakery become one of Ottawa’s most recognizable vegan businesses. At 24, laid off from another bakery, Masterson opened Little Jo Berry’s within a year. “Because I was young, I was not afraid of it failing,” they said.

“I never imagined being openly queer in my business. Luckily, I think I just became more of a brat and was like, I don’t care,” they said. Now, they see visibility as both a privilege and a responsibility.

“I can be a little more bold online,” they explained. “If I work with organizations and they’re problematic or they’re weird with identity, I can correct them and I’m not afraid of consequences like newer businesses might be.”

That visibility makes the bakery a particular draw during Pride season, especially thanks to their markets — Pride Night Market, Vegans Who Snack — that have become lifelines for small queer- and trans-owned businesses. “COVID took out so many businesses and was so hard and we all have so much debt from that time,” said Masterson. “I thought, well, what if we found a way to have this huge festival and a huge boost of income outside of the shop?”

The need has only grown. Vegan and vegetarian restaurants in Ottawa are showing signs of strain. The Table shuttered its doors in 2022 after 22 years of serving vegetarian dishes in Hintonburg. The popular plant-based Chinatown restaurant, St. Elsewhere, announced this month that it would be closing after two years on Somerset Street West; earlier this year, Pure Kitchen closed its Rideau Street location.

“In the next few years, we’re going to see a huge shift away from storefronts. I think we’re going to see the embrace of shared spaces and shared kitchens and shared storefronts,” said Masterson.

Commercial pressure has sharpened the bakery’s politics. Requests often come in from organizations wanting to “support queer business” on the condition of discounts, unpaid catering or inconvenient terms. “We don’t go to McDonald’s or Tim Hortons and ask for a deal,” said Masterson. “But we’re going to local queer- and trans-owned businesses and not paying them their worth? That’s not allyship.”

They argue that support can be simple. “Sharing events, leaving positive reviews, literally emailing a queer-owned business you love and saying I had this product, it was great. Little things like that. Showing up and validating queer- and trans-run businesses. (There are) easy, free ways to do that.”

This year, Masterson has opted out of Capital Pride, citing high vendor fees and concerns over the organization’s removal of a statement supporting Palestine. “I don’t want to lend my brand to it. I don’t want to be a vendor. It’s just not a space I’m interested in being part of.”

“For me, Pride this year is more about the smaller local economy,” they said, a deliberate counter to what they see as the corporate hollowing of the annual celebration-protest. Pride traces its roots to the 1969 Stonewall uprising, a defiant response to police raids that sparked decades of LGBTQ+ resistance and festivity.

The survival of small queer businesses depends on the same collective care that has defined Pride from the start, said Masterson. An injury has kept them out of the bakery for months, but staff and friends have stepped in until they can return.

“I did a call out for volunteers, I got like 20 emails the same night,” they said. “People were saying, I can drive stuff over, I can work. Everyone was covering everything.” That support, Masterson argues, is what keeps businesses like theirs afloat — and what has kept Little Jo Berry’s baking.

“If it’s a queer or trans person, honestly, I just want them to have some joy, be happy, have a nice treat,” they said. “If it’s someone straight who’s shopping, just be kind. Kind and respectful, that’s it. The bar is so low.”

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