Slice of Lime-You Say Fry Bread...I Say Fry Bake

Over the weekend I was not only working hard to finish a quilt, I was also visiting Calypso at the camp where she is interning with a group of other kids her age.  Back in January twelve of them spent the night at out house before flying to Costa Rica early the next morning.  At that time I made some Trini treats for them to snack on, fry bake and tomato chokha.  In the group there are a few Navajo students.  They especially seemed to love the fry bake and said it tasted like Indian Fry Bread.  When I showed up at camp this weekend one of the Navajo boys saw me and cried, "Hi, Mom!  You're here!  Are you going to make fry bread again?"  He called me Mom, he is at least a couple thousand miles away from home, I know what it is to be far from home and craving just a taste of it.  How could I say no?

Calypso grabbed my camera to document portions of the process.  In case you're interested, here's the recipe.

4 cups flour
Baking powder (I dunno a couple giant spoonfuls)
half a fist sized blog of shortening or so
1 1/2 cups water

Like my consistent standards of measurement there?  Ok, hush, and just go with it.  Use your hands to rub the shortening into the flour and baking powder.  Pour in the water and knead until the dough is smooth and elastic.   Then let the dough "relax" for about a half hour.  It's hard work being kneaded.  After it relaxes pull a hunk off and hand knead it into a ball.  (That's what I am doing in the picture)  Roll it out, slice it up and fry it on both sides in hot oil.  Pictures to follow.

Calypso took this one and said it would be the Nanzo picture.  Nanzo was my Trini mom.  She hated having her picture taken.  The only time you could get away with it was if she was busy rolling dough because that was serious business.  Just take it and run before she could start swinging the rolling pin!  Truth be told she'd only threaten with it. 

Here's the dough all slice up ready to be fried.  One young ma came in and asked if i was making pot pie noodles.  I very nearly kissed him.  Any self-respecting Pennsylvania German knows potpie doesn't come in a crust.  It has gravy and noodles.  So I was making Trini food at the request of a Navajo but it was mistaken for PA German.  How many more cultures could I hit in the kitchen? (The next day I'd make a Kenyan stew for everyone if you must know.)

And the frying commences.  The hardest part is waiting to eat.

My Navajo "son" needed to do quality control before everyone else was served.

Judging by how many he ate I'm thinking he approved.  He was a happy boy.  Fortunately he shares well and there were enough for the other 12-15 people who wanted some too.  We didn't worry whether it's fry bread or fry bake.  We just savored it together.