On my journey home yesterday, I came upon a fry bread stand and enjoyed lunch with a young couple near Four Corners on the high desert. She made the fry bread, while he grilled the mutton. They topped it off with some NM green chile, which I washed down with a cold Coke.
I always try to find a good meal while passing through The Nation. Much better than a McDonald’s which seems to have entrenched itself at every major stop on the Rez.
The lunch was fresh and hot and succulent. My lips had the slight coating of the fat on them that only comes from mutton or chivo which felt soothing after being chapped from the dry altitude of Colorado. My fingers smelled of the camp stove the mutton was cooked over. The flavors of lamb, salt, fat, and chile stayed with me long after I left NM and was well into AZ, almost to Flagstaff, before I needed anything more to keep me fueled for driving to Phoenix.
It made for a good Friday the 13th. I will always look foward to my next real fry bread meal, because I never know when it will be available.
I thank the sheep that nourished me and the people that prepared it, and am thankful for a safe trip.