The Not-Navajo-Tacos Event

Spoiler Alert! Everyone pees blue at the end.

For the past year, I have been drifting blissfully in the limbo known as "suspended calling". Previously, I had been asked to reach out to members of our ward by organizing massive dinners based around their cultures. Nat-chan inspired make-your-own sushi night and the Hindu Festival of Colors was followed by a (very colorful) curry feast. But when summer hit, we had so few members of the ward that we decided to conserve out budget. Then the bishop was released, a new one was called, and my calling was forgotten in the transition.

Elly and I still stalk visit our second counselor-turned-stake clerk quite a bit, usually when we should be in Relief Society, and have gotten to know our stake president in the process. And he got to know, through Brother W's praise of me, about my old calling. He grabbed the bishop, the bishop reinstated me, and my first opportunity to pull at the ward's purse strings was this Sunday.

Having heard wonderful things about Dana's frybread, I decided to commandeer Break the Fast and hold a Navajo Taco feast. She was kind enough to not hate me for asking her less than a week before the event and agreed. Having been to a few BtFs where under 20 people showed up, I planned to make enough for a generous guess of 40 people. A nice, easy first meal where people could come and get a taste of how awesome our dinners will be.

Yeah.

No.

The actual BtF committee scheduled the meal, for very good reasons that I fully support, for a few hours earlier than I expected. A quick check with Dana before Relief Society revealed that she had planned for later too, so the dough wasn't made. She left early to throw a batch together while I went in search of a cooler. Naturally, it was missing (it showed up later with the activities committe as a drink cooler). I emptied our Christmas decorations box, lined it with tin foil, and called it good.

The next hour involved massive amounts of Crisco, two women 'flipping' and 'flapping' at mad speed, and a repeated cycle of the guys worrying about how long we were taking and us shooing them off via text, phone calls, and in person. We were almost done with our 40ish frybreads when we get the message that more people showed up than we expected.

More, in this instance, meaning "most of our ward, some significant others, and even a few parents."

So we show up with half as much frybread as we need to clapping and an arm tunnel, panicking just a little bit inside at the huge line of people. That's when Dana tells us about Smoke Signals, a movie where the Indian mother is presented with exactly the same problem. The solution?

riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip

"And there shall be frybread for all!"

...and that is the story of how we fed almost a hundred hungry college kids (and company) with less than 50 pieces of frybread.

Seriously though, Undisclosed spiked the dessert. Enjoy your urine everyone! :)