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.
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.
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