Studio Joy Li

for JAVA Magazine, June, 2010

In modern relationship terminology, fashion is bad for us. Time after time it betrays us, and yet we keep going back to it. Even as we remain hopeful, we eventually learn not to put much faith in it.

Rightly so. By its very nature, fashion is an inconsistent and unpredictable partner. Sometimes the traits we initially found charming end up being plain annoying, and it stays around way too long. Other times, just when we think we're ready to settle down and make a long-term commitment, it comes through the door with a crappy new tattoo and an expensive habit and makes us wonder how we could have been so blind to its true nature. Oh fashion - "I don't know you anymore."

The truth is, fashion was always just too self-centered and mercenary to be trusted. How many of us have made the mistake of investing our hearts, only to find that the same pants we thought we understood like no other, will drop for just about anyone with a credit card or a cheap compliment? Fashion uses us and loses us...but still makes us want it.

To flip the (admittedly shaky) metaphor: The purpose of the fashion industry is to get us to stick around - to continue shelling out money in the desperate hope of not being left behind. In a partnership with fashion, any sense that we're in control is merely the result of mind games.

What's worse, and not at all metaphorical or funny, is that the fashion industry has a sad history of overlooking human rights abuses in favor of increased profits.

As you may have guessed, I am not the best choice for a fluff piece on "fashion." Not only am I cynical by nature, but...actually, "cynical by nature" pretty much does sum it up. Thankfully, I met someone related to the world of pret-a-porter with whom I couldn't agree more.

Joy Li, the designer behind Studio Joy Li on Stetson Drive in Scottsdale, has looked at the fashion industry from every angle in her 25-year career, and some of what she's seen has not been pretty. Along with her business partner, Jean Bartolomei, she has begun a design and manufacturing business that is meant to be the exception and perhaps eventually the rule - a partnership between consumer and fashion based upon mutual satisfaction and no guilt.

Studio Joy Li seeks to restore our faith in women's fashion. There is good reason to think they will succeed.

It would be easy to assume that Joy Li's success in the industry was a foregone conclusion. She's beautiful, articulate, self-assured and energetic. Though in her forties, she still has the figure that once inspired ready-to-wear mogul Liz Claiborne to make Joy THE shape of the Claiborne petit model in the 1980's ("I had to lay down in this stuff and they made a mold out of me…then they made dress forms out of the mold.") She has a degree in graphic design from Carnegie Mellon University. Isn't that enough?

"I was LUCKY!" she says more than once, when describing her circuitous rise to independence in the fashion business. And it was luck, both good and bad, along with her innate talents, which brought her to where she is today; bringing both practicality and a conscience to Studio Joy Li.

The first-born child of Chinese immigrant parents, Joy grew up in Buffalo, New York. "We didn't have toys." Instead, Joy expressed her creativity by drawing paper doll designs on the window panes. Still, the choice of a career in fashion was a non-starter as far her father was concerned. "My father always said that the fashion business was bad because it exploited Chinese labor," she says.

One stroke of luck was that Joy's father had been a graduate of Carnegie Mellon University. "I still couldn't take fashion, but since [her dad] had gone there, too, he didn't mind when I took Graphic Design because it was Carnegie Mellon." Though not fashion-oriented, this education gave Joy what she needed in the way of conceptual design fundamentals.

After university, Joy found graphic design work with a Fortune 500 company in Connecticut. One day she saw an in ad in the New York Times, looking for a petit fit model at Liz Claiborne in New York City. "I took the train into New York City and I got the job on the spot," remembers Joy.

Today, the Liz Claiborne company owns many other labels, such as Kenneth Cole, Kate Spade and Lucky Brand Jeans. Between the late 1970's and late 1980's, however, Ms. Claiborne herself was still in control and in the middle of the company's first major growth explosion. Joy had the luck of joining the company during this phase and the opportunity to learn from the master herself.

As a fit model, Joy was part of a small team which would fly to factories around the world where items for the Liz Claiborne brand were manufactured. Being the definition of what was then considered a size 6 (a 2 by modern standards), Joy would try on prototype clothing inside the factory. "Usually we'd put on the samples and then we'd go over the fit - Liz was always there - I'd say this is where it's a little snug or not quite right...then we'd be on our own until they were able to re-make the sample and call us back for another fitting. I always had a pager on me."

Often, Claiborne would be right beside Joy in the fitting room. "Liz would actually strip down and try on clothes right next to me...she was involved in everything...she really wanted to make sure that the quality was consistent. The goal was for all the clothes to fit exactly the same, no matter where in the world they were manufactured."

One challenge for Joy during this time in her life was that she needed to maintain a consistent body shape throughout the year. "It was a challenge because when I started, I was lifting weights...and then they told me that my arms were starting to get too big...also, on some of these trips maybe I'd get sick and so I'd maybe lose a little weight…"

This was clearly a pivotal and formative period for Joy, and one that she remembers with reverence. "I wasn't making much money, but I was living high and learning about the business," she recalls. "...I wanted to get in to fashion design so bad, but I hadn't gone to school for it. Usually that meant you'd have to start as a receptionist or something and try to work your way up." Joy's foot in the door was undoubtedly more fun than that.

Within two years, Joy had transitioned from model to designer when she accepted a role at Claiborne competitor Carol Little. Other jobs followed, including ones at Guess and Newport Blue Men's.

One incident during this period brought Joy back to Earth and served to mature her thinking as regards fashion and its place in our lives. A family emergency called her briefly to China, where the contrast between the lives of the coastal U.S. fashion set and those of the average Chinese citizen could not have been more pronounced. While frivolous fashions may have artistic significance, and may be fun, Joy started thinking more about clothing that was easy to live in.

In 2001, Joy relocated to the Valley, where she decided the time and place were right to strike out and do things her own way. Two tenets of Joy's "way" were specific corrections in the path she had watched the fashion business take over the course of her career.

The first of these was that the core of Joy's collection would be fundamentals of women's clothing that were meant to be kept for several seasons instead of tossed after only one. These would employ state of the art fabrics that kept their shape and resisted wear. Designed with equal emphasis to form as well as function, the pants, skirts, shirts and dresses in the Fundamentals line come in core colors of black, white and grey and can be mixed and matched with anything else in a woman's wardrobe.

Other lines, while more to the fore stylistically, still employ the ethos of wearability and matchability. Joy describes the brand as "for the woman going from the gym to the office or for the jet-setter who believes that Europe is possible with a single carryon."

The second intentional divergence from what many consider the fashion business mainstream is Studio Joy Li's commitment to fair treatment of the people who make the clothing that bears her brand. All the clothing in every Joy Li line is manufactured in the United States, with Joy and business partner Jean Bartolomei making frequent visits to the factories.

Though Joy doesn't want to isolate any of her past employers as particularly deserving of scorn, she has vivid memories of working conditions that repulsed her. "I'm talking women who had ropes tied to their arms so they had to pull enormous, heavy boxes across the floor…" The words of Joy's father about the exploitation inherent in the fashion business were given vivid detail. "I've quit jobs because of what I saw," she says.

Was there anywhere in the world where it was particularly prevalent?

"In every country in Asia."

Studio Joy Li is located in the Mix group of shops on Stetson Drive in Scottsdale's "SouthBridge District." There, all of Joy's current lines are on display in a showroom that is crisp, airy and bright. Joy encourages women to give her feedback and become real fans. American labor and small runs of fine fabrics mean that clothing from Studio Joy Li is not priced to compete with J.C. Penny; but it is more than reasonable considering the craftsmanship and exclusivity of the line. Prices typically range from tops in the $60's to outerwear in the high $400's.

There are, however, exceptions if you're among the Studio Joy Li in-crowd. "We hold a twice-a-year sample sale. I want to keep it fresh, so we'll have a box where anything in it is $20 and another where everything is $40 and so on."

And the future? "I definitely want to expand the size range. Right now it would be too expensive to offer more sizes than we do." Joy also sees philanthropy and sponsorship in the brand's future, but first things first.

There are a couple of ways to keep current with Studio Joy Li. The best is to stop by the shop at 7144 E. Stetson Drive, Suite 100 in Scottsdale. She also has a Twitter feed, which is studiojoyli, or you can visit the website at JoyLi.net.

Eat THIS!

Nothing poetic this time, but I have great news for anyone living or working around downtown Phoenix. If you like to cook with farm-fresh, locally grown produce, you no longer have to wait for a weekly market. In case you haven't heard, the Urban Grocery and Wine Bar is open for business at Central Avenue and Pierce St. It bridges the gap between the convenience of Safeway and the direct-from-the-Earth purity of Phoenix Public Market.

The grocery occupies a building adjacent to the parking lot where the normal Wednesday and Saturday markets continue to be held. Sharing the space is Royal at the Market coffee bar, which roasts their own coffee and offers a variety of homemade baked items.

Local farmers, four of whom I profiled in my piece for JAVA Magazine, keep the grocery supplied with fresh fruits and vegetables on a daily basis. The current inventory also includes locally made pasta, bread, chocolates, sauces and artisan cheese. Don't feel like cooking? Order a sandwich or soup from the lunch counter and choose a glass of Arizona wine to get that glow going. A handful of tables just inside the sunny front window make this a great place to pass the time with a friend (Or the remainder of the bottle of wine. Or both.)

The Urban Grocery and Wine Bar is all part of a master plan developed by Community Food Connections to bring a thriving and much larger permanent market to the heart of the city. According to Cindy Gentry, Director of CFC, this stage of the plan has so far gone well. "I think it's exceeded our expectations. We did a lot of careful planning because there's not a lot of room for mistakes...but we're right on target."

By next week, the Urban Grocery shelves should be completely full, after the arrival of staple items that Gentry feels are absolutely vital to the success of the shop.

"People need to be able to do a lot of their shopping here and not just their produce. Rice, flour, baby food...we're not very big, but we need to have some of the everyday items." That gives people less reason to make a trip to one of the huge, traditional stores, where convenience will likely tempt them into buying their produce as well.

"The next step is to grow the capacity of these vendors and increase the size of the store...A typical public market is about 25 to 40 thousand square feet. We have about 17 hundred here now." Whether that means purchasing adjacent lots or moving elsewhere in downtown, only time will tell. First Community Food Connections needs to prove that the community at large will support Urban Grocery by giving it some of their regular shopping time and money.

Urban Grocery and Wine Bar is located at 14 E. Pierce St., and is an easy walk from the lightrail and bus hub at Central/1^st Ave and Van Buren St. Hours are 11am to 8pm, Tuesday through Saturday. Royal at the Market coffee bar is open 7am to 8pm, and can be entered through a door around the side when the grocery is closed.

Growth Industry

For Java Magazine

November, 2009

by

Corrin Green

"How ya gonna keep 'em down on the farm after they've seen Paree?" So went a popular song of 1918, as American sons and daughters began trading the agrarian lives of their ancestors for cleaner, more "sophisticated" work. Over time, giant agri-business concerns gained control of much of U.S. food production and either consumed or killed their smaller rivals. What family farms remained became slaves to government subsidies which dictated not only what they raised but how they raised it. Bigger was better, and Americans experienced "better living through chemistry."

Today, though, innovations in farming methods, and growing consumer demand for healthier food has opened a niche in the U.S. food supply chain which allows small farms to exist, if maybe not quite thrive. Increasingly, the grandsons and granddaughters of the generation which abandoned farming are returning to the land. They hope to change the way we grow as well as the way we eat.

Maya Dailey tends an acre and a half of land near 32nd Street and Southern, known as Maya's Farm. She is a powerhouse, and among a number of locals who are helping the small farm niche grow in the Valley. Her father was in the garment business in New York and her mother was an activist for human rights, but her grandparents were immigrant farmers. "Farming is in my blood," she says.

It's easy to imagine you're in another time and place as you walk into Maya's Farm, which sits inside a larger compound on the grounds of "The Farm at South Mountain." Remnants of a grove of elderly pecan trees soften the sunlight as you approach row upon row of ripening melons, sprouting carrots and assorted other vegetables and flowers. The rows are precise and the plants are well-manicured. Roughly twenty chickens peck and poke and go about their poultry lives in a shady area that allows them plenty of space to socialize. If one wanted to glimpse idyllic scenes of rural life (albeit on a small scale), one need look no farther.

None of it is for show. Maya's produce is featured at several local farmers' markets, and is also sold on-site. In addition to that, a growing number of locals actually subscribe, in a way, to be first in line for a selection of her vegetables and eggs on a weekly basis (It's called CSA. More on that, shortly.) She claims to be making a profit. She took her life in a new, old, direction and it is rewarding her.

New directions seems to be a theme among local small farmers, in fact.

Carl Seacat ran a successful software design company in Seattle for a couple of decades prior to starting Seacat Gardens, basically in his backyard. Today, he manages an acre of land in Litchfield Park, and couldn't be happier about it. "We designed a specialty piece of software that addressed a need in this one industry," he says, "and that kind of sustained us for about fifteen years." Does he miss the business world? "You joking?"

The geek side of Seacat shows as he explains the workings of his farm, but it's engaging. He's kind of a mixture of your favorite teacher, the next door neighbor who always has the barbecues, and Bob Ross, the painter guy from PBS. He's had this acre for a year now, and discovering what makes workable land healthy and productive clearly turns him on.

"We'll actually save a few of the best items of each crop for ourselves." Those would be the actual fruits or vegetables from each variety, each season, that displayed the quickest time to-harvest, and the choicest characteristics for color, shape and flavor. "We'll eat them and save the seeds, and those will be the seeds we plant when we raise that crop again next year." No microscopes and no teams of white-coated vegetable Nazis, conducting evil experiments. Just good old genetic engineering the way agrarian civilizations have been doing throughout history - ways that didn't put extra chemicals into the soil or make genetic alterations with possibly unpredictable consequences.

In addition to selling directly to the consumer at farmers' markets, Seacat supplies to a small handful of local restaurants. Although he can't compete in volume with some other growers or the traditional suppliers, he plants certain crops specifically for chefs who talk with him and, in some cases, also help him plant and tend. He gets some extra help in exchange for an assurance that, if the produce is excellent, it will be bought.

Not that he is content with this arrangement as is. Oh no. By planting more than one variation of a single item, each suited to a different temperature range by nature of its origin, Seacat hopes to extend the period during which he can provide that item to the restaurants and markets.

He takes me to a section of six rows of vines, all with broad green leaves. On closer inspection, though, it's easy to tell that the leaves in the first three rows are starting to get yellow. "These plants over here," he points to the yellowing ones, "...are starting to die out because it's already getting too cool for them at night. The ones over here, though…" the very green ones, "…they come from a slightly cooler part of the world and are just now starting to really thrive and produce. That means I can pretty much double the time I can deliver this fruit." That's not only cool in kind of an agri-Tetris sort of way, but that's a great selling point when trying to convince a restaurant or third party purveyor to start getting their produce from Seacat Gardens.

On the other side of town, in the Lehi district adjacent to downtown Mesa, another budding family farmer is following a similar route, but with some notable differences. Michael Thompson had a digital imaging business in San Francisco before chucking it all and moving to the Valley where his wife was born and raised. He bought a house and several acres of land which had never been cultivated (not in modern times, at least) and started Love Grows Farms.

Thompson's intensity is conspicuous, even in a peer group of all intense people. It's easy to see why farming and the business of farming suits him - it's an all-encompassing endeavor that uses every bit of energy he can give it. He hit the internet, he hit books, he hit chickens. (Just seeing if you're awake, that should be "got" or "purchased" chickens, of course.) He also built two greenhouses where he grows luscious herbs, and did a lot of digging. He got selling to restaurants and he got in-touch with the public through some great publicity (including a piece in Martha Stewart's living) and a concept called CSA.

Now I'll tell you what CSA is, in case you haven't heard.

CSA stands for "Consumer Supported Agriculture" and is a growing trend in this growing trend. Basically, a consumer buys a periodic subscription to a farm. In the case of Love Grows Farms, that period is 10 weeks and the price is $250, up front. It's a win for the farmer, who gets some cash for a change; and it's a win for the consumer, who gets a weekly selection of the freshest, local, hand-picked, pesticide and hormone-free produce and, in many cases, eggs. For some, the rub in the CSA equation is that the consumer has little say over the exact contents of their weekly package. Whatever is ripe for picking is what goes into the mix. On the other hand, that's no different from if they actually owned the farm themselves.

For the week of October 17 2009, Love Grows Farms CSA members received tons of fresh basil, four kinds of squash, tomatoes, okra, a sweet pepper, a pomegranate, a red chile pepper, and half a dozen freshly-laid eggs.

Both Maya's Farm and Love Grows Farms feature a CSA program.

Maya's Farm, Seacat Gardens and Love Grows Farms are relatively small. One could walk around all three of them combined and still be less than halfway around McClendon Select Farms in Peoria. At 25 acres (with another parcel in a cooler area just out of town), McClendon dwarfs them all in geography as well as production, yet it is every bit a family farm.

True to form, Robert McClendon wasn't born a farmer. For twenty years he was a pharmacist and eventually the head of Surgical Pharmacy at St. Joseph's Hospital. A backyard garden put him in touch with nature and growing. The business began strictly with internet sales. "We started by selling citrus, dates, and honey over the internet and then people started coming to our farmers markets at Town and Country," says McClendon, referring to the seasonal weekly farmers market at Phoenix's Town and Country shopping center at Camelback and 20th St. "We used to sit and wait for people to come up to us and buy our stuff. We kept putting the best quality out there and finally it caught on. Now when we do Town and Country we have five cashiers and 600 customers in about five hours."

McClendon uses not only his family, including son Sean, daughter-in-law Kate, and wife Marsha; but also paid and volunteer help. He has also hosted interns from Israel who he says brought his organic farming techniques back home.

Today, internet sales are the smallest portion of McClendon Select Farms' revenue. "Our biggest business is restaurants - around 35 or 36 restaurants in the Valley and four in Flagstaff. We also supply to three restaurants in Las Vegas," he says. "We're very closely attuned to the chefs. They basically request more things all the time. We'll always try it and if it works for us, great." Direct sales at farmer's markets make up most of the rest of McClendon Select's sales.

Clearly McClendon Select Farms is a rousing success which has far outgrown Robert McClendon's ability to be out picking the potatoes (just chosen because it starts with "p" - I'm not sure he grows 'em). And yet when you call the toll-free hotline to order your gallon of Desert Blossom Honey for $38, you better believe it's Robert who answers the phone.

Among this diverse group of farmers, there are a couple of constants. One is involvement in the product. Each one can quote chapter and verse on what went into their soil on any given date and in what quantities, what pests had been spotted and repelled, what they produced for their weeks of labor. Carl Seacat won't say who, but a large entity in the state hired him as a consultant when they wanted to enter the agriculture business. It wasn't pretty, and it wasn't successful. "When I start hearing 'oh we didn't get around to that', or 'that's not so important so let's just skip it,' that's when I knew it wouldn't work. You gotta be out here every day and you gotta know what's going on with every plant." They all agree.

They also all agree on the concept of organic farming as the way to responsibly treat the earth as well as our bodies. According to McClendon, "organic was a personal part of our mission as a family. As we became educated to realize the health benefits of organic there was just no question." Both his and Seacat's operations are certified organic by third parties who base their certifications on federal guidelines. Love Grows Farms and Maya Farms aren't certified yet, but both are using methods which meet or actually exceed the standards, and say they are going through the necessary steps to achieve certification.

In many ways, a certification is more relevant in the marketing of organic produce than it is in actually describing the specifics of the growing method, which is why each of these farmers encourages consumers to learn beyond the label.

Each of these farmers shows a real passion for what they're doing. They believe in it, and they believe all our lives would be better if more people joined the cause, both as producers as well as consumers. Maya Dailey even has a patriotic angle: "We get our food right now from Argentina, from Asia. We depend on all these other countries. America's independence, its REAL independence, is in its ability to grow its own food. Food that doesn't make us sick, food that makes us smarter and healthier. Not just nationally, but locally, too. Every community. That's what makes a strong, healthy nation."

© Corrin Green

House of the Frying Bread

by

Corrin Green

For Java Magazine, October, 2009

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