Beans and meat wrapped in a tortilla is a taco, but the same ingredients piled on a piece of fry bread qualifies as a sandwich. At least, "sandwich" is how you'll hear folks refer to the Navajo taco, aka Indian taco, despite the "taco" in the name.
I've convinced myself that the defining factor of sandwichness is bread, so I tested the theory at The Fry Bread House in Phoenix. The Navajo taco arrives swaddled like a papoose, the corners of its butcher-paper blanket tenderly knotted at the top. Undo the wrapping, and out springs a frisbee-sized cushion of traditional Navajo fry bread, covered by a bed of refried beans, smooth red salsa, chopped red onions and iceberg lettuce, strips of mild green chiles, and shredded cheddar cheese of the blandest bagged variety. The lack of adornment extends to the Fry Bread House’s décor, with formica tabletops the color of its creamy homemade beans and Styrofoam sodas in two sizes: medium and “chief."
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