Skip to main content

Breaking Bread, er Injera , With Friends

So fortunate today, Ethiopian food with a BFF and my husband to feed me.
 
I was first introduced to Ethiopian food twenty years ago by my friend, Rita, and her husband (at the time), Darryl. My experience with Ethiopia, or it's people, was zero--unless you count images of emaciated, starving people, including listless babies with swollen bellies, on news programs when I was young. "What could they possibly eat besides the rice that humanitarian groups donated?!", I thought.

How ignorant I was!

They withheld the details, saying only that we would be eating with our hands. "What the...?" Walking through the door, I couldn't even begin to relate the scent that wafted out the door. It was utterly foreign to me--not unpleasant, just not an aroma I associated with food. And, it was smokey, not cigarette smokey, something coffee-ish and dusky spicy in fragrance. Soccer was on the television and a few men, evidently family members, drank coffee at the tiny bar.

It was a sparse establishment, not at all lavish nor cookie cutter. Travel posters, featuring Ethiopia, adorned the humble walls while second- or third-hand furnishings anchored the well-worn floor. This was not the kind of establishment I would've sought out on my own but it became one of my all time favorite restaurants.

The menu was equally foreign as I pondered an unknown language. Alichiya, gomen, misir wot, tibbs, doro, and injera. "What could these things be?" Luckily, I wouldn't have to order as my hosts relieved me of that burden. We began with tea. Much to my disappointment, hot water arrived with a bag of Lipton tea, not an exotic blend as I anticipated.

After a lengthy wait, our dinner arrived. A single chipped, enameled, round platter was hefted to the middle of the table. A bubbled, white-ish, bread-like round (injera) was topped with piles of food; deep red (misir wot) and sunny yellow lumpy mounds proved to be stewed, spiced lentils; the stewed, spiced, spinach-esque greens (gomen), also known as turnip greens; a basic pile of lettuce and tomato salad; another yellow pile obviously containing a stewed marriage of carrot and cabbage (alichiya); a centered mound of greens containing tasty chicken morsels and jalapeno slivers (gomen tibbs).

As promised, we ate with our hands. It turned out, injera is multi-purpose, as a pourous, sauce-absorbing base and the sole implement for eating. Tearing off hunks of injera, enfolding bites of the richly sauced mounds is delicious entertainment.

I have my good friends to thank for introducing me to this unique cultural experience so many years ago. I Was able to share this experience many times with my friends over the years and was even able to introduce it to others. Isn't that what it's all about?

Sharing experiences with our friends and loved ones.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

I Remember...

I remember catching fireflies,  putting them in a jar, as a girl of five. I picked pears off a tree that overhung an alleyway on my route home from school, then enjoyed the forbidden fruit. .I had a golden cat who chased a gray mouse through our living room sending my mother, 3-year old sister, and me screaming atop the sofa and chairs. We lived in a farmhouse and I watched Romper Room. A daddy longlegs skittered across my dirty kid legs as I teeter-tottered on a broken kitchen chair back. I played grocery store and laid out a bedroll for group nap time in preschool. We lived in an apartment attached to a bakery. My maternal grandparents visited and a photo was snapped. Grandma held Dawn and Grandpa held me. I held Grandpa's chin. Walking through the back of the flour-caked kitchen, I saw scrumptious pastries and colorful toys stuck in the cupcakes with my hungry kids eyes. We lived in a two-story apartment building next door to a large farmer's field.  That field was my...

You're Not You...Me, Too!

1 Wow! Spot on...In so many ways.  Granted I wasn't in the the same socio-economic circumstance, and neither do I play piano but I was passionate about knitting and I lost the ability to engage in my passion practically from the onset of the ALS. Symptoms first manifested in my right hand as well. I was big on juicing, supplements, and did not worry about fats nor calories. But ALS advanced relentlessly. I hired friends as caregivers and had to bear the humiliation of being toileted by them.One of the worst hurdles for me was allowing a long time male friend wipe me following a toilet. My mother, stepfather, and sister all toileted me as well. Of course, my husband had to attend to all of my most delicate needs, showering, dressing and make-up application. I could really relate to Hillary Swank's character, Kate, in all circumstances except, she chose not to use the bipap (breathing apparatus).  I don't really get why somebody would opt out of a non-invasive solution to...

Kate

I think about my friend, Kate Struby, who died from this horrible disease in 2013. She lived here at Bailey Boushay House before I did. I reached out to Kate online through FaceBook because I loved her photograph with her head thrown back in laughter. I also loved her posts. I guess I just loved her spirit. I got to finally meet her one month before she died. I happened to be at the University of Washington Medical Center for my quarterly appointment when I saw her FaceBook post. She was awake and in the medical ICU. She was a mere few floors down. I would not be stopped. Relativeor no, I would meet my FaceBook friend. Thank God I did. I rolled into the room to find a beautiful, ethere.al woman flanked by two friends. Although it was an impromtu visit, she said she knew me immediately.I was in awe of her with her fiery spirit despite the ravages of our shared disease. She, unable to lift even a finger, lifted my spirit.