Right up front, let me say that if you demand irony in dining, keep looking. If you only go to restaurants with names that leap from a Prince song, described with a quirky color such as raspberry, paisley, purple or some such, then there are innumerable other options. If, however, you have some money to spend on dining out and you want to be absolutely positive about what you will be getting and where you will be getting it, then Valley perennial The Fry Bread House at Seventh Avenue just north of Indian School Road is an outstanding choice for you. Guess what The Fry Bread House offers. Yes, fry bread. Where is it located? You got it - in a house.
Purity like this is in abundance at The Fry Bread House, which has brought Phoenicians a little slice of Native American culinary life for the past seventeen years. That's when owner Cecilia Miller, a member of the Tohono O'Odham Nation, opened her 40-seat lunch-counter style restaurant at 4140 N 7th Ave in Phoenix. They use nothing but fresh ingredients, cooked to order, and they do it quickly, courteously, and without fanfare.
My friend and I first visited on a Tuesday afternoon at 1pm, and business was hopping. While the ethnic makeup of the clientele was diverse, Native Americans dominated. I never go to an Asian restaurant that doesn't attract Asians, and the fact that natives seem to flock to The Fry Bread House speaks volumes for its authentic appeal.
One happy observation is that the restaurant is cleaner than it has a right to be. It should come as no surprise that fry bread is cooked by dropping dough into sizzling, boiling hot fat. Despite that fact - despite seventeen years of that fact, in fact - the interior of the restaurant is crisp and clean and fresh-smelling.
There is no table service, but the tables are bussed quickly when patrons leave. The floor is clear of debris and spills. Even the kitchen, which you can peer into from over the counter when you order, is clutter free and clean. It's easy to see why they don't obstruct your view into the kitchen. It's because this place has nothing to hide.
The menu fits one side of a normal piece of card stock, including appetizers, drinks, entrées and dessert
With the exception of the drinks and soups, nearly every item is something else that can be done with fry bread. Flat or folded, the fry bread is first. The choice comes in what to top it with. The spice level runs from chorizo at the high end to unseasoned refried pinto beans. In between you'll find the house specialty red or green chile beef stew. Green chiles - sweet, tangy fresh-roasted ones - are a common ingredient.
Prices range from $2.60 for a plain fry bread, to $7.19 for the "Ultimate Taco."
The mainstay of the menu, the fry bread itself, seems simple, but could easily be ruined. Cook it too hot and it burns, too cool and it is nothing but a grease-sponge. It starts to get stale in about 10 minutes and doesn't refrigerate well. The Fry Bread House makes each disc fresh to order, and it turns out a crisp, golden brown with a perfect, soft, bready center. Their frying oil is kept fresh - there would be no hiding it if it wasn't.
Other specialties include the Hominy Stew, at $3.75, served in a 12oz bowl, chocked full of plump hominy, and chunks of stewed beef, tomatoes and onions. Rounding out the menu is a vegetarian tamale (which they were unfortunately out of when we visited) and either red or white menudo. For those watching their fat intake, anything that can be put into a fry bread is also available in a flour tortilla.
Countless state fair concessions have taught me that the true, God-given purpose of fry bread is to be drizzled with honey and eaten for desert, and The Fry Bread House graciously complies with that notion. Other desert concoctions you will later take minutes to clean off your face include chocolate and butter, cinnamon and sugar, and melted butter and jam. Glug glug yum! Seriously, though, they need to market bibs like the lobster houses do.
If you are from the southwest U.S., then you are probably already familiar with the flavor palate here. The Tohono O'Odham nation, where owner Miller learned her recipes, straddles both sides of the Arizona/Sonora, Mexico border, and there is no spice combination that won't be found in ordinary Mexican food. Actually, the way to appreciate this food is to relax and get in touch with the natural, unadorned flavors of the chiles, the lettuce, the pinto beans. If you think it's bland, you're missing the point entirely.
My dining companion, Roxanne, is from the Hualapai Nation and was raised in Northern Arizona. This was my chance to finally fill a gap in my knowledge of indigenous culture. For instance, what distinguishes the food made by her people from that of the Fry Bread House, whose recipes are Tohono O'Odham? Certainly climate must be play a role, as must elevation. At 5,600ft above sea level, the Hualapai had to contend with vastly different crop varieties than the Tohono O'Odham at 1,600ft.
"Let me explain it to you this way," she said. Roxanne pointed to the first item on the menu, the "Indian Taco," a golden fry bread, stuffed with homemade refried pinto beans, cheddar cheese and lettuce for $5.99. "This is different at home. We call it a Hualapai Taco.'"
Me: O.K., so what ingredients are different for the Hualapai?
Rox: Nothing. They are the same.
Me: Well cool, but what do, say, the Apaches do...
Rox: Apache Taco.
Me: No, you gotta be kidding.
Rox: Nope.
You gotta love the refreshing lack of pretense here. People from MY tribe (the Europeans) would have to puff ourselves all up about how special and unique we were. We'd have a different name for every goddam thing, you better believe it, and we'd change some of the ingredients just to show you. Even if it tasted like Hell. Just so you'd know how cool we are. We'd offer 30 varieties of dough, including 9-grain, roasted olive and acai berry. We'd also have to give it a pain in the butt ironic name, like Custer's Last Sand-wich.
Good thing we haven't got our filthy paws on The Fry Bread House!
The Fry Bread House, 4140 North Seventh Avenue, Phoenix, Az, (602) 351-2345
© Corrin Green
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