When I was growing up, in a large family (ten
of us kids) fry bread was one of the staples that mother made us.
We had it at least, it seemed, once a week. Ah, but it was the best.
The smell of fry bread takes me back to those days. I can remember the
plates we ate it from, the kitchen where I saw it made. The bowl mother
mixed the ingredients in, the cutting board she kneaded it out on. I can
see her cutting it into squares and then the most important part, the slice in
the middle. Then into the hot oil. The oil was heated in a
huge cast iron skillet, the fry bread would sizzle in it.
That
wasn't the only part of the meal, there was more. Mother had also made a
huge kettle full of beans, these were navy beans. Dad's navy beans,
those that he had grown in our garden. I know this was important
from dad's childhood foods. He loved navy beans with his fry bread.
We had sliced bacon too. Us kids would literally pour catsup on the
beans for flavor (ever eat navy beans as a kid?). Then on the fry bread
we would have syrup, sometimes honey. I thought everyone had suppers
like this.
Charlie Gillespie / MatoSha 10/02